Class President Says I Rigged Stocks; Seeing Comments, I Went Berserk

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I took first place in the intercollegiate stock-trading contest, and the moment I got back to the dorm, the class president was waiting to block my way.

You know better than I do how you got that title.

Hand over your graduate-recommendation slot, and I'll keep quiet about all of it.

When my face stayed blank with confusion, he sneered again and again.

"If I didn't know the truth, I'd almost be fooled by that innocent little act of yours."

"But use your head. With a dirt-poor background like yours, how could you possibly win a stock-trading contest?"

The crowd around us kept growing, and his voice climbed right along with it.

"Behold, the number-one prodigy of our finance department. She got some stranger she picked up outside to win the contest for her."

The onlookers erupted, the jeers rolling in one after another, and a line of text drifted across my vision.

Do not argue with him. He's already forged the evidence!

This is a trap. He wants to ruin your name and take your graduate-recommendation slot!

That only made it stranger to me, because I didn't need the slot.

"Look how clean and pretty she is, and yet her methods are this filthy!"

"Never shows up to class, but somehow wins the stock contest? Nobody would buy that there's nothing shady going on."

"People like this are what's dragging the whole school down. She has to be punished, and hard!"

The class president, Francis Pruitt, turned to face everyone, his expression full of grief.

"Honestly, I didn't want to bring this up, since it concerns someone's reputation. But she stole the only graduate-recommendation slot our department has."

"We've all buried ourselves in books for over a decade. Are you really willing to lose it to dirty tricks like this?"

The crowd answered as one.

"No, we're not!"

"Expel her! Give the school back some clean air."

Francis raised a hand, and the crowd fell silent. He fixed a stern look on me.

"Annabel Henson, what do you have to say for yourself now?"

Call the police right away. Get law enforcement involved, or he's got a whole string of moves lined up after this!

The second you start explaining, he'll throw the evidence out, pull in the Office of Student Affairs, and get the Registrar's Office to expel you!

Don't forget, he's a Student Council officer too. A lot of these people are his lackeys.

I didn't know Francis well, but the floating messages had told me plenty.

Day to day, my life ran along three points: dorm, dining hall, library.

As for showing up to class, that happened maybe once a year.

"This graduate-recommendation slot, I'm not fighting for it for myself. I'm fighting for the students from poor families who keep climbing anyway."

Francis carried himself like a righteous man, without a trace of anything self-serving showing through.

"If someone like you gets that recommendation, then as a Student Council officer and the class president, I'd rather drop out of school on the spot!"

The words were barely out before everyone around him roared in agreement.

I looked at them and shook my head with a bitter smile.

"Since you've all gone this far, I suppose I have no choice but to admit it, is that it?"

Francis blinked, then quickly worked himself back into a fury.

"What kind of talk is that? Are you saying I'm framing you?"

He pulled out his phone and held it up high.

"Everyone, take a look. This is the evidence I gathered through some private channels"

I was standing right in front of him, so I could see it even more clearly than the rest.

In the video, I sat at a table with several men in their fifties and sixties.

"Annabel, are you confident about the contest this time?"

"Professor Donaldson, do you even need to ask? For Annabel, a stock-trading contest is child's play."

"That may be, but if Annabel doesn't take first place, I'll start doubting the fairness of the whole contest."

"Rest assured, Professor Donaldson. Annabel will be just fine."

The video ended there. Francis put his phone away and pressed on with a cold snort.

"Annabel Henson, am I framing you?"

"Or maybe you'd like to explain to everyone why several executives from finance firms are going to bat for you."

The video was real. It wasn't faked.

On that point, the floating messages had gotten it a little wrong.

"And what if I told you that was just everyone joking around?"

I was still perfectly calm. A video like that proved nothing on its own.

"There's one thing I'd like to ask you, actually. How did you get hold of this video?"

The meeting I'd attended that day was a closed-door one. My advisor, Professor Donaldson, the man in the video, lives in the campus back courtyard.

So that was where we'd held it.

"What's wrong? Guilty conscience? Afraid to say?"

Francis dodged the question and pressed in closer.

"Let me tell all of you something. Those people talking with Professor Donaldson just now happen to be executives at the same finance firm."

"And our own Annabel Henson took first place in the contest precisely by trading that same firm's stock."

He didn't say the rest out loud. But everyone had already filled it in.

I guessed at the filth going through his head and frowned before I could stop myself.

"If you don't have solid evidence, this counts as slander. I can call the police."

"Then go ahead, call them. I'd love to see what they make of insider trading and stock manipulation."

Francis didn't back off an inch. If anything, he looked eager for it.

I told you to stop wasting words on him. Why won't you listen?

Why is our heroine so dense?

Actually Francis is the one who had his family manipulate the stock price. Too bad in the end he still couldn't beat you!

"I don't believe for a second that a girl out there hooking up with random men can cover the whole sky with one hand here at school too!"

The words were barely out of his mouth when several security guards came trotting over, clustered around a heavyset man.

"What's everyone crowding around for? Who's causing trouble?"

Francis went to meet them with a smile and murmured a few words to the heavy man.

A moment later the man came striding up, big belly leading the way, and swept one hand through the air.

"You all know who I am. Get back to whatever you should be doing. Break it up, or you can worry about your credits."

The heavy man was Martin Finch, Dean of Student Affairs.

Once most of the students had drifted off, Martin turned to me with a frown.

"Did you do what young Pruitt says you did?"

What was that supposed to mean?

Was he really pinning it on me without a single investigation?

Martin Finch is Francis's uncle. Of course he's going to take his side.

They're about to bring up your attendance record to use against you. Call the police, now.

Seeing I wasn't going to answer, Martin's temper started to show.

"What kind of attitude is that from a student? I'm asking you a question. Didn't you hear me?"

"Young Pruitt says you not only rigged the trading contest, you also don't bother showing up to class"

He paused, and his voice turned colder.

"I didn't believe it before. But looking at you now, I'd say it's true."

"Come on. Follow me to Student Affairs and explain yourself."

With that Martin turned to go. I stayed where I was and pulled out my phone to dial.

But the call never went through. Francis snatched the phone out of my hand.

"This is an internal matter for the school. What do you think you're doing, calling those random men out there?"

"Annabel Henson, I'm genuinely ashamed to have you as a classmate. And you call yourself a girl!"

Francis Pruitt kept saying it, over and over, that I was just a girl.

But everything he did was as far from that concern as it could get.

"Francis, do you understand what it means to grab someone's phone?"

I'd let everything before this slide without a fuss, but there was information on that phone that mattered to me.

I turned back to the security guards beside us, my voice sharpening with urgency.

"He's stealing my phone. Can't you see that?"

The guards traded looks, glanced at Martin Finch, and in the end did nothing at all.

"I said, the two of you, keep up."

Martin Finch looked faintly annoyed as he spoke, and Francis Pruitt took off after him with my phone in his hand.

I gave the guards one long look, then lifted my feet and followed.

The Dean of Student Affairs' office.

I was the last one in, and Francis Pruitt bolted the door behind me, wary as anything.

"Annabel Henson, if I were you, I'd come clean right now. Might even lighten the punishment for you."

Martin Finch waved him off and looked at me with a warm, gentle expression.

"There's no need to be nervous."

"The Office of Student Affairs exists to serve you students. Just walk me through the whole thing from start to finish."

"If the fault's yours, we fix it. If it's Francis's fault, I'll have him apologize to you."

Don't fall for his lies. This isn't the first time he's pulled this trick.

There's a hidden camera in this office. The moment you start talking, they'll release an edited version of the video as hard proof.

Get out that door right now and go find your professor for help.

The floating messages might well be right, but I had no intention of leaving.

"First, let me be clear. This year's intercollegiate stock-trading contest was jointly organized by more than sixty finance firms across the country."

I ignored Francis Pruitt's murderous glare, sat down on the couch as if the room were my own, and even poured myself a glass of water.

"If Francis really thinks I could rig a contest like that, he might as well say I control the entire financial market."

"And you, Dean Finch. Everything you did in front of those students just now only backs up what Francis said."

"If you can't give me a reasonable explanation, I'll file a formal named complaint with the school."

When I finished, Martin Finch froze for a beat, then pointed at his own nose.

"You want to report me?"

It didn't sound like a question. A moment later he burst out laughing.

"Students these days really do get bolder and bolder. Run into a little trouble and out come the formal complaints. What exactly do you think this school is?"

Martin Finch rose slowly, brought his hand down hard on the desk, and his voice turned much harsher.

"A moment ago I was thinking maybe Francis had been a bit unfair. But now I see he was being too generous."

"Annabel Henson, I am now ordering you, as Dean of Student Affairs, to confess your violation truthfully."

"Otherwise, I won't hesitate to post a school-wide notice about you, or even move to have you expelled."

Francis Pruitt got his second wind too, jabbing a finger at me as he shouted.

"You're nothing but a dirt-poor hick. What gives you the right to report a dean?"

"I'll give you two choices right now. Withdraw from school, or hand over the graduate-recommendation slot and admit you cheated in the contest."

"Neither."

I answered calmly, then pointed at the phone in his hand.

"Now I want to ask you one thing. Can you give me my phone back?"

This girl is so stubborn. But I have to say, I really like her.

Did we overlook something? Could he actually have some hidden backing?

It's not that you overlooked anything. It's that old Professor Donaldson hasn't shown up yet!

"With that many people watching you drag me into the Office of Student Affairs, if something happened to me in here, do you really think the two of you could walk away clean?"

Francis still looked ready to argue his way out, so I laid it out for him, nice and clear.

"Maybe the two of you carry some weight around this school. But surely not enough to bury anything you want?"

I handed his own words right back to him. He shook with rage, so close to putting his hands on me.

Martin gave a dry cough.

"Give her the phone back."

Francis tossed it to me, grudgingly.

I caught it and looked. Almost noon already.

"If this is still about what you accused me of, you're welcome to investigate. Or take your evidence to the police and have me arrested."

I got up, walked to the door, and pulled it open.

"If there's nothing else, I'll be going. It's about time for lunch."

Slick move. She didn't play their game at all. Our heroine's pretty sharp!

Good, she didn't fall into the self-incrimination trap. But these two didn't get what they wanted, and their next move will probably be even more unhinged.

Francis moved to block me, but Martin snapped at him under his breath.

Long after I'd left, Francis finally spoke, unwilling to let it go.

"Uncle, how could you just let her leave?"

Martin shot him an irritated glare.

"This is a school. We have no authority to hold anyone. Don't you think a little too much of yourself?"

"Didn't you already put the evidence together ahead of time? Get someone to post it on the campus network. Put some pressure on her."

Francis's eyes lit up. He threw Martin a thumbs-up.

"That's why it's you!"

Of course I didn't know exactly what these two were plotting, but I could guess there'd be some kind of follow-up.

After lunch in the dining hall, I stopped by my dorm for my laptop and jogged over to the campus back courtyard.

"Professor."

I knocked, stepped inside, and greeted Professor Donaldson with a smile.

He gave a slight nod, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.

"If I remember right, you only picked your research topic a week ago?"

"You have a wonderful memory, Professor."

I took the compliment in stride, sat down beside him, opened my laptop, and typed out a few keystrokes.

"Please take a look, Professor."

My gratitude to him ran deep.

From grade school through high school, I'd always been the champion of lopsided report cards, brilliant in some subjects, dismal in others.

Coming from a remote town, a lot of information simply reached me too late.

My teachers were always making inquiries on my behalf, and through a chance opportunity they got in touch with Professor Donaldson, who was already retired.

He quizzed me on a few problems over a video call, then made the trip out to my school in person.

"You. I'll take you as my student."

From the day I enrolled, I was Professor Donaldson's direct-track PhD student.

"I never expected this. I truly never expected"

After a long silence, Professor Donaldson kept marveling at it.

"Finish this project, and you could earn your doctorate outright."

What on earth did I miss? How is the heroine a PhD student?

Now let's see how that whole crowd ends up. She never cared about the recommendation slot in the first place, because she's already a PhD candidate!

Hahaha, they're all going down, every last one of them!

After some back-and-forth and a few questions, I decided to tell Professor Donaldson the truth.

"Professor, someone reported me for rigging the stock-trading contest."