Chapter 132: Back Off!

NORA’S POV

Knox didn’t let go of my hand as we crossed the threshold into Coach Brennan’s office. The frosted glass door clicked shut behind us, cutting off the low hum of the arena concourse.

The room smelled of stale black coffee, damp wool, and cold leather. Behind the cluttered metal desk, the black speakerphone console was already lit with a steady green glow.

"Sheridan," a sharp, clipped voice came through the speaker. "Is Bennett with you?"

It was Athletic Director Pierce.

"She’s here, sir," Knox replied in a flat and perfectly level voice.

Coach Brennan didn’t sit down. He paced behind his desk like a caged bear, his jaw working as he slammed a thick stack of printed pages onto the blotter.

Spread out across the desk were high-resolution screenshots from Briar Buzz.

Slide One. Slide Two. Both contracts, our handwriting, and both of our signatures staring up under the harsh fluorescent ceiling lights.

"Pierce has been on my back since six this morning," Brennan said in a terrifyingly quiet voice. "Compliance is already pulling bylaws on impermissible benefits and academic fraud. If this thing holds up, they’re pulling you off the ice, Sheridan."

"Miss Bennett," Pierce’s voice crackled from the speakerphone. "As an official university honors tutor, entering into private financial arrangements or conditional relationship agreements with an assigned student-athlete is a catastrophic violation of the athletic code and university honor policy."

"It’s grounds for immediate termination," Pierce continued. "It jeopardizes your honors standing, your research stipend, and could lead to academic probation."

My pulse thudded in my ears, but I didn’t tremble.

I looked down at the speakerphone. "With respect, Director Pierce, you’re reading a headline written by an anonymous account on a gossip forum."

"I am looking at your signature on a six-thousand-dollar contract, Miss Bennett!" Brennan barked, stabbing a thick finger onto the paper. "A contract detailing mandatory public appearances, games, and five thousand dollars paid upfront to your mother’s bakery!"

"Coach, back off," Knox warned, stepping half an inch forward, his frame shielding part of the desk.

"Don’t tell me to back off, Knox!" Brennan fired back, his face flushing red. "If this is what it looks like... if you bought yourself a girlfriend and paid her under the table to fix your macroeconomics grade, you are stripped of the ’C’ before lunch."

"You will forfeit every game you played this season," Brennan growled, "and your draft stock goes straight into the trash."

"It wasn’t under the table," I said clearly.

The room went dead silent.

Brennan’s bloodshot eyes snapped to mine. On the desk, the speakerphone hissed with quiet static.

"What did you say?" Brennan asked.

I unzipped my leather satchel.

I pulled out the thick stack of manila folders I had grabbed from my dorm desk and set them squarely in the center of Brennan’s desk, right on top of the Briar Buzz printouts.

"Every single hour of academic tutoring was logged, verified, and submitted through the university’s official portal," I said, opening the first folder.

I slid the top document toward Brennan.

"Those are the weekly athletic study logs," I explained steadily. "Signed by me, co-signed by the library supervisor, with timecards stamped at the desk. Four hours every Tuesday, four hours every Thursday."

Brennan stared down at the signed timecards.

"This is the syllabus breakdown," I continued, sliding the second sheet across the desk. "Detailed notes on market equilibrium, monetary policy, and regression analysis. Every quiz score, every practice exam."

"That doesn’t explain the five thousand dollars, Miss Bennett," Pierce’s voice cut in from the speaker.

"The five thousand dollars was an emergency personal loan," Knox stated, his deep voice leaving no room for argument. "Nora’s family bakery was facing an immediate foreclosure penalty."

"She refused to take a single dime from me unless it was tied to a strict, enforceable tutoring agreement where she worked off every cent," Knox added.

"I earned every dollar of that money through legitimate academic instruction," I told the speakerphone. "Knox’s midterm exam score was an eighty-one. He earned that score himself."

Brennan picked up the attendance sheets, flipping through the stamped timecards with a furrowed brow.

He looked at the handwritten study notes, seeing the hours of labor Knox had put in on the whiteboard diagrams. Brennan knew Knox’s previous tutors had quit within a week; he knew Knox had never passed a midterm until this semester.

"And there is one more document you should check in your own compliance files, Director Pierce," I added, pulling the final folder forward.

I opened it and laid the certified university form face-up between us.

"Section 504 of the Academic Accommodation Act," I said. "Knox officially registered his spatial-visual learning difference with the university academic board weeks ago. Our tutoring sessions utilized tactile charts and visual models approved under university guidelines."

Brennan froze. He looked from the accommodation form up to Knox.

"You registered it?" Brennan asked Knox quietly.

"I did," Knox answered. "Before the State game. To ensure Nora’s academic standing and tutoring credits could never be questioned."

A long silence settled over the office.

The speakerphone crackled. "Even if the tutoring was legitimate," Pierce said, his tone shifting from accusatory to just cold, "the optics are a public relations disaster."

"A contract explicitly outlining ’rules’ for a fake relationship between a team captain and his tutor?" Pierce pressed. "The compliance committee doesn’t care about private arrangements, Sheridan. They see an unapproved financial transaction and a massive conflict of interest."

"Then let them look at the truth," Knox said. "We didn’t leak that paper. We didn’t post it."

"Who did?" Brennan demanded, looking between the two of us. "That contract was in your private possession. How did an anonymous account get high-resolution photos of both sheets?"

"Someone broke into my house," Knox replied coldly. "They went into my bedroom nightstand, pulled the contract out from under my grandfather’s watch case, went into Nora’s binder, photographed them, and put them back."

Brennan took a slow breath, rubbing a hand across his forehead. He looked down at the speakerphone. "Pierce," he said. "You hearing this?"

"I hear it," Pierce answered after a tense pause. "The documentation protects us against a direct academic fraud charge, but the optics of an athlete paying his tutor five grand upfront are still a compliance nightmare. The athletic board is meeting on Monday morning to review your captaincy and roster status."

"We have a bye weekend," Brennan pressed. "No games until Friday."

"Monday morning," Pierce countered firmly. "Nine o’clock. If you don’t have proof of who leaked this and why before the board convenes on Monday, Knox, I will have no choice but to place you on temporary suspension."

"We’ll find them," Knox said.

"Nine o’clock Monday, Sheridan," Pierce repeated.

The speakerphone clicked off.

Silence rushed back into the room.

Coach Brennan leaned against his desk, staring down at the timecards and the printouts of the leak. He let out a long, ragged exhale.

"You two have forty-eight hours," Brennan said, looking up at Knox with an iron stare. "Forty-eight hours to find whoever breached your house and clear your names."

"We will," Knox said.

"Don’t just clear your names," Brennan added, his voice dropping into a harsh rasp. "Find the person who tried to blow up this team and bury them."

We gathered the folders off the desk and walked back out into the cold arena hallway.

The frosted glass door shut firmly behind us.

I looked up at Knox as we walked down the concrete corridor toward the exit. "Forty-eight hours. Knox, how are we supposed to find an anonymous burner account on a campus forum in two days?"

Knox pulled his truck keys from his pocket, his gray eyes turning to solid ice. "We don’t look for the account," he said, taking my hand. "We find those in charge of the platform."