Isaiah gripped the armrests of his chair, fighting to keep his composure. “I told you in class. I learned that method from my father. He was a mathematician. He worked on that exact problem.”
Hartwell let out a short, dismissive breath. “Ah, yes. The dead mathematician. How remarkably convenient, Mr. Parker. A star witness who can never be questioned.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Here is what I think is the truth,” Hartwell said, his tone turning venomous as he pulled a document from the stack and slid it across the polished wood. “I think you found that solution somewhere. In a forgotten journal online, perhaps. You memorized it, waited for your grand moment, and decided to play the hero in front of my class. This is a formal academic integrity complaint. I am filing it with the dean’s office before I leave today. You have two weeks to prove you did not cheat.” Hartwell leaned back, his eyes gleaming with malice. “If you cannot—and let us be honest, you cannot—you will be permanently expelled. Your transcript will be forever marked by fraud. You might want to ask for more hours at that warehouse.”
Isaiah looked down at the paper. His name was printed at the top, surrounded by heavy, devastating words like fraud and misconduct. He looked up, meeting Hartwell’s cold gaze. “I learned it from his notebooks. My father’s name was James Parker.”
At the second mention of the name, the crack in Hartwell’s facade reappeared, wider this time. The older man stood up abruptly, the leather of his chair squeaking loudly in the quiet room. “I have never heard of him,” Hartwell snapped, his voice suddenly pitched too high, defensive and sharp.
“He studied mathematics. He was brilliant,” Isaiah pushed, watching the older man squirm.
“I said I have never heard of him!” Hartwell practically shouted. He walked rigidly to the door and yanked it open. “This meeting is over. You will receive formal notice of the hearing within forty-eight hours. I suggest you withdraw now, Mr. Parker. Save yourself the humiliation of a public expulsion. Because that is exactly what is coming.”
Isaiah stood slowly, his legs feeling weak but his resolve hardening into steel. He walked to the door, stopping just short of the threshold. “I didn’t cheat. And I’m not withdrawing.”
“Then you are a fool,” Hartwell spat, “just like—” He caught himself, his mouth snapping shut, but the damage was done.
Isaiah froze. “Just like who?”
“Get out of my office,” Hartwell demanded, his face pale.
Isaiah stepped into the hallway, the heavy door slamming shut behind him. His mind raced. Just like who? Hartwell knew something. He knew James Parker, and he was terrified of whatever secret lay buried between them.
That evening, sitting on the floor of his cramped apartment, Isaiah picked up his phone. He stared at the screen for a long time before dialing. When his mother answered, her voice was warm and tired.
“Mom,” Isaiah said, his voice trembling slightly. “I need to ask you something about Dad.”
A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the line. “Why are you bringing this up now, Isaiah?”
“Because a professor here is trying to expel me. He’s accusing me of cheating. And Mom… when I said Dad’s name, he looked terrified. Like he’d seen a ghost.”
The silence stretched further, until Isaiah heard a sound he hadn’t heard in years. His mother was crying softly. “What is the professor’s name?” she asked, her voice shaking.
“Hartwell. Richard Hartwell.”
Isaiah heard a sharp intake of breath, followed by a muffled sob. “Mom, what is it? What happened?”
“Come home this weekend, Isaiah,” she whispered, her voice laced with an ancient, heavy grief. “There are things I should have told you a long time ago. Things about your father. Things about that man.”
“What things, Mom?”
“Not over the phone. Just come home. Please.” The line went dead, leaving Isaiah sitting alone in the quiet apartment, surrounded by the leather-bound notebooks of a man he was only just beginning to know.