Scandal

by Lauren Kunze

  “I know you did it,” Callie muttered, staring at her archrival’s likeness. What I don’t know—yet—is how to prove it.

  “Don’t worry,” said Vanessa, placing a hand on Callie’s shoulder. “It’s only a matter of time until you find a way….”

  Pursing his lips, Matt tacked a final item onto the lower right-hand corner of the board. It was the notice alerting Callie to her mid-May hearing date with the Student-Faculty Judicial Board: a grim reminder that, unfortunately, time was also running out.

  TWO

  I Pledge Allegiance

  * * *

  “TODAY’S GOSSIP IS TOMORROW’S NEWS.”

  >>IVY LEAGUE >>HARVARD >>STUDENT BODY SCANDALS >>GREGORY BOLTON

  Harvard Student Flees Campus

  Following Father’s Hedge Fund Fiasco

  #FirstWorldProblems #RichWhiteBoyProblems #HedgeFundScandals #HarvardCampusCelebs

  He may still have his smarts, looks, and a bangin’ hot girlfriend, but Harvard University freshman Gregory Bolton’s trust fund, estimated at way more money than our collective readership will probably see in a lifetime, has barely enough left to fund his tuition.

  *Cue “The Ballad of Rich White Boy Suffering”*

  No, but seriously, you’ve got to feel at least a little bit bad for the guy. According to sources at the Crimson, he’s been absent from campus for over a week now, rumored to have fled in the middle of the night before the scandal broke surrounding his famed—now infamous—hedge fund founding father Pierce Bolton’s alleged use of personal funds to pay off investors after a series of toxic investments. Well, shucks, you’d probably run away if Daddy lost all of your classmates’ parents’ money, too!

  Perhaps the most ominous development for the younger Bolton in the unfolding scandal is the widely circulating rumor that investors at Bolton and Stamford Enterprises may have been paid off largely with assets originating from a trust fund in Gregory’s name. (Prior to his eighteenth birthday, his father, Pierce, acted as trustee for the account.)

  So exactly how complicit is the young Mr. Bolton? Did he have no idea Daddy was pilfering an account set up for him by his late mother, or did he, a former summer intern at Bolton and Stamford, authorize the transactions willingly? No doubt the SEC is also quite curious. Though a criminal complaint still has yet to be filed against Pierce Bolton, certain financial insiders swear that it’s “only a matter of time.”

  It may be too soon, however, to predict that Gregory might eventually trade his single in Wigglesworth, a Harvard dormitory, for bunk beds with Daddy in a white-collar clinker.

  Earlier today the New York Times reported that a huge “miracle investment” from Constantine Capital Investments in Bolton and Stamford Enterprises is likely to keep the firm afloat even in spite of the large number of withdrawals requested by clientele over the past week.

  Is it just a coincidence, then, that the confirmed girlfriend of the younger Mr. Bolton is Alessandra Constantine, a sophomore at Harvard University?

  We think not!

  Ms. Constantine declined to comment, though a recent profile in [FM magazine] of the “Cutest Couples on Campus” has her swearing to “stick by [Gregory] no matter what happens.” (Incidentally, Bolton—rumored to be under “house arrest” imposed by family attorneys in Manhattan—could also not be reached for comment.)

  Constantine and Bolton met this past winter during a New Year’s Eve party at the Ritz. According to various classmates, they have been “attached at the hip” ever since, and though the pair has been together only a few short months, friends describe their relationship as: “serious—very serious.” Pictures of the couple can also be found in the aforementioned [FM magazine] piece.

  Ooo la la! Is it just me or does it seem like those two could live on looks alone?

  In conclusion, Gregory: whether you emerge unscathed or if the old adage “like father, like son” proves altogether too true, this reporter can be reached @lizbarker in the event that your relationship fails to withstand the scandal(!).

  * * *

  “Now repeat after me,” said Tyler Green from where he stood at the head of the largest banquet table in the Hasty Pudding social club. “I solemnly swear—”

  “‘I solemnly swear,’” Callie muttered along with the rest of the club members who were seated in the dining room anxiously awaiting their lunch.

  “That I am not responsible for any of the events that led to the publication of our Punch Book,” Tyler boomed, peering slowly around the room.

  “‘That I am not responsible for any of the events that led to the publication of our Punch Book,’” the members chorused.

  “Nor am I the author of the series of Ivy Insider articles,” Tyler continued.

  A sharp elbow caught Callie in the ribs. “Louder,” Vanessa, who was sitting next to Callie, instructed under her breath. Callie glared at her but nonetheless raised her voice in time for Tyler’s next missive.

  “Nor am I the source for the aforementioned series of articles.”

  Mimi’s stomach grumbled from where she sat on the other side of Callie. “S’il vous plaît, just confess already, before I starve to my death,” Mimi murmured as everyone repeated, “‘Nor do I have any knowledge of the individual or individuals responsible for these traitorous acts.’”

  “Mimi!” Vanessa managed in hushed tones, keeping her eyes trained straight ahead. “This. Is not. The time. For jokes!”

  “If anyone does have information pertaining to the events of the past few days,” called Tyler, ending the session of Simon Says (otherwise known as “The Initiative to Reaffirm Our Loyalty”) and pacing around the room, “please come forward immediately. Even the smallest seemingly insignificant details,” he continued, making eye contact with first Vanessa, then Mimi, and then Callie as he passed their table, “could prove relevant to exposing the asshole who did this. Now Ian,” said Tyler, turning to the computer science major responsible for club security, “are you still absolutely certain that this was an inside job?”

  Ian nodded from where he sat at one of the other tables. “As I’ve told you already, it’s simply not possible my system was hacked. Whoever did it had the correct password.”

  “Are you sure?” Tyler pressed.

  “Do you think the United States Department of Defense would have just paid me an obscene amount of money to license my software if it didn’t work?”

  “No,” said Tyler. “No I don’t. But I would have preferred to believe that than the alternative: that the Ivy Insider is currently in this room.”

  Callie swallowed. From across the way a girl who had temporarily unraveled herself from the arm of the boy sitting next to her smiled.

  This smile was different from her usual I-know-your-deepest-darkest-secret grin or the oft-appearing corollary, I-look-genuinely-happy-only-because-I-am-picturing-your-violent-or-publicly-humiliating-demise smirk.

  This was the smile of victory, lighting the face that haunted Callie from the center of her bedroom’s bulletin board.

  Alexis Thorndike had finally won. The evidence was sitting right next to her, wearing one of his signature cashmere sweater vests: Clint Weber, Trophy Boyfriend of the Year, who looked perfectly thrilled as the salad course arrived to offer Lexi the first bite off his fork.

  Seriously? Spoon-feeding already crossed a million PDA lines but fork-feeding? Since when were vegetables supposed to be sexy?

  Callie’s stomach rolled over and not just because she was hungry. Clint seemed content to act as if Callie had never existed, as if he had never scrawled Callie + Clint in the snow after they’d constructed an award-winning snowman, or built Callie a private ice skating rink, or brought her favorite Starbucks coffee drink to the Crimson offices nearly every evening she had to work late for COMP.

  “Ahem-hem-hem.” Vanessa cleared her throat. “Stare much?” she added, poking Callie under the table.

  “Oops,” Callie muttered, averting her eyes. “Still, I don’t know why I ag
reed to let you two drag me to this thing, anyway.”

  Appearing scandalized, Vanessa brandished her knife. “Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘Guilty until she shows up at the next charity event dressed to the nines’?”

  “Uh…no?” said Callie.

  “Oui, oui,” Mimi offered between bites. “In cases like these you have simply got to keep calm and carry on.”

  Callie wrinkled her nose. “Wasn’t that the British government’s slogan created in case the Nazis successfully invaded?”

  “Exactement.” Mimi nodded.

  Before Callie could respond, the main course arrived. As she took a bite of her lasagna, OK’s voice carried from where he was seated on the other side of the table.

  “Now, what exactly are you trying to imply?” he demanded of the boy seated to his left.

  The boy, a sophomore Callie barely knew, shrugged. “Hey, man, it’s not like I’m the first to suggest it! And all I’m saying is that it looks suspicious: not showing up at the emergency meeting about the Punch Book and then leaving school in the middle of the night….”

  Callie ducked her head, struggling to tune out OK’s reply. Unfortunately everyone else in the vicinity appeared riveted, nodding and murmuring their agreement that there was something “very suspicious indeed” about how Gregory had vanished only hours before the final Insider article went live. Even over OK’s protests, rumors began to sweep down the table like wildfire in a sudden wind.

  Callie watched, horrified, Vanessa’s viselike grip on her arm urging her to act innocent and say nothing—

  Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding.

  On the opposite end of the room Alessandra stood, summoning their attention by tinkling a knife against her water glass. “Fellow members…friends,” she began, clearing her throat. “I can assure you, with absolute certainty, that Gregory is not the Ivy Insider.”

  The lingering whispers and murmurs ceased; silence fell across the room.

  “He left before the Punch Book was published, so he had no idea that any of this was going on here at the club until yesterday”—her eyes roamed, pausing briefly on Callie—“when we finally had the opportunity to speak over the phone.”

  Callie stared at her, but Alessandra’s gaze had shifted and she addressed the entire room.

  “In fact, as it turns out, he’s never even read a single Insider article!” She cleared her throat. “And so, with his…blessing…I’d like to take this opportunity to put any rumors to rest. Not only is Gregory not the Insider, but his father’s company will not be declaring bankruptcy, thanks in part to an investment from my father’s firm that I am now authorized and happy to confirm. I—we—are also thrilled to announce our plans to stay together through this despite any external…turmoil.”

  Callie could feel Mimi’s and Vanessa’s eyes on her, but she kept hers trained straight ahead, an odd ringing in her ears making it difficult to process the words that continued to flow from Alessandra’s lips.

  “Unfortunately a lot of the family finances still need to be sorted out, and we’re not sure when Gregory will return to school. He sends you all his regards and thanks you for your support and your patience. He wants you to know that he’s thinking of all of you even though he is going to be unreachable for some time except by his family members and…well, me, obviously!” Alessandra laughed. “And so…if anyone has any messages that they’d like me to pass on, let me know, and I’m happy to answer any questions, too. All I ask is that you continue to be supportive during this time in any way you can. Thank you.”

  “And thank you for the update, Alessandra.” The clear, high voice cut in from the head of the table at the center of the room, midway between Alessandra and Callie. “Gregory has been a dear friend of mine and my family’s for as long as I can remember, and I know that we’re all rooting for him.” Lexi looked at Clint, who nodded grudgingly. The black eye that Gregory had given him over spring break had all but faded, but Clint’s hard feelings for his squash teammate evidently had not.

  “Looks like somebody’s still bitter about what happened between you and Gregory at Harvard-Yale,” Vanessa whispered under her breath.

  Mimi leaned in. “A little ironical, coming de toi, is it not?”

  “Please!” Vanessa snapped in a hushed tone. “That whole crush was so last semester. Besides, it was always Callie who he…Callie? Callie!”

  Callie wasn’t listening. Instead, she could not tear her gaze away from Alessandra. Had Gregory really called her? Were they actually staying together?

  She’s lying, Callie decided. She could still picture that copy of an Insider article in the bottom of Gregory’s trash: obviously he had read at least one of the “Behind the Ivy-Covered Walls” installments. And if Alessandra was willing to be dishonest about one thing, who’s to say she hadn’t made everything else up, too?

  “She’s lying,” Callie said out loud. “I know it.”

  Mimi made a face.

  “What?” Callie demanded, looking between her and Vanessa.

  “It just seems like kind of a big thing to lie about,” Vanessa admitted with a grimace.

  Callie stared from Alessandra, to Clint, to Lexi, and then back to Alessandra. “I—I’ll be right back,” she managed, lurching to her feet.

  Vanessa reached for her hand. “Are you all right?”

  “Bathroom,” Callie sputtered, heading for the facilities.

  A dizzy spell threatened to overtake her. Gripping the edge of the sink, she tried to steady herself, willing the tiny room to stop spinning. Breathing deeply, she turned on the faucet and splashed cool water on her face. Maybe Gregory really had called Alessandra. Maybe they were still together; maybe he’d changed his mind. Or maybe he hadn’t changed at all—and was still the same womanizing, unreliable, irresistible, unattainable a-hole that Callie had turned down at the start of that semester when she’d chosen Clint instead.

  Oops. What had seemed like “better boyfriend material” then was currently out in the dining room fork-feeding Callie’s worst enemy and probably experimenting with various ways to elide their names into a celebrity nickname (Clexi? Alexint? Clinexis? Kleenex!). He had also cheated on Callie (with Lexi) and lied about his friendship (with Lexi), which he had maintained, at least in part, due to parental pressure from his mother, who had urged her son to cozy up to Lexi’s uncle, a governor, for the purposes of his securing a summer internship.

  Eugh—another wave of nausea assaulted her. Was Gregory staying with Alessandra for similar reasons? Because her father had invested in his father’s hedge fund and now he had no choice?

  But then why apologize for the “delay” on a Post-it note instead of just pre-dumping (since they had never really dated) à la season six of Sex and the City (“I’m sorry. I can’t. Don’t hate me.”)? If his Post-it was even recent, Callie realized suddenly. He might’ve written it eons ago—like, for example, in November.

  Reaching into her pocket, Callie pulled out her phone.

  What’s the point? she thought as she dialed, preparing to hear the same automated message (“I’m sorry, but the number you are calling has been disconnected. Please hang up and try your call again”) for the 202,678th time.

  Instead, it rang.

  Callie gasped at the same moment a click sounded and the line went dead. Redialing frantically, she placed the phone to her ear, only to encounter that same, robotic monotone—

  A faint knock sounded at the door.

  Frowning, Callie set her phone on the sink.

  Vanessa, probably, come to insist that “innocent people never poo during a party”—or something.

  Sighing, Callie unlocked the door. “I thought I told you that tandem peeing is creepy—Oh…um….”

  “You missed dessert,” a clear voice said sweetly, its owner stepping into the bathroom.

  Alexis Thorndike.

  Callie backed up until she accidentally bumped into the wall. “What are you—what do you want?” she sputtered.


  Lexi smiled, taking a step forward. “I wanted to check on you, of course! You must be feeling terrible, given the recent turn of events.”

  Callie swallowed. Well, this confirms it: out of all of Lexi’s various personas, Playing Nice was definitely the most alarming.

  “Really, I commend you for your courage in showing your face here today,” Lexi continued, oozing sincerity out of every miniscule porcelain pore. “Most people in your position might be a lot less…brave considering that the only thing preventing everyone out there from finding out about what you did is—well—me.”

  Callie clenched her fists, fighting the urge to smack the smirk right off the older girl’s face. “Dean Benedict insisted that their suspicions stay strictly confidential,” Callie said quietly through gritted teeth. “Break that confidence and you have just as much to lose as I do, starting with your interim position as editor at the Crimson.”

  Lexi laughed. “Relax, would you?” she said. “I’m perfectly content to wait and see how it all plays out during your hearing in May. In fact, since the matter is so near and dear to my heart, I’ve already volunteered to serve as one of the students on the Student-Faculty Judicial Board.”

  Callie stared at her. “You…can’t possibly…” Could she?

  “Don’t worry.” Lexi smiled. “I plan to stay completely impartial until I’ve heard all the facts.”

  “I’m innocent,” Callie stated flatly. “I’m not the Insider.”

  “You know what?” said Lexi, coming so close that Callie could smell her Chanel No. 5. “I’m actually inclined to believe you.”

  Callie’s heart stopped. “Why’s that?” she asked. Because you did it?

  “Because whoever did it,” Lexi started, her eyes dancing, “would have to be incredibly smart and incredibly sneaky…neither of which describes you.”