WEDNESDAY

I wait patiently on the uncomfortable seat provided in the administrative waiting area. I hate how familiar and homey the smell of this place is. I spent three years here, so I suppose it had to leave some impression on me.

I'm frustrated that they're keeping me waiting still, even after this long. I reread the letter; they're reassessing my expulsion. New evidence. There's nothing more specific. I marvel at the short notice given for the appointment. I'm lucky I had Casey check the contents of the envelope, or I wouldn't be here. If I were absent, then would they go through with the reassessment?

The man that comes to collect me from the waiting room looks almost offended that I exist.

'Your new employer is causing problems,' he says, like I know what he's talking about.

I'm shown to a seat in a room with several people - one sits beside me, as though he's a lawyer representing me in court.

Two sculptures dominate the table. One is mine. My poor broken garbage heap. It's sprinkled liberally with little self-adhesive notes. The ones I can read seem to be describing fingerprints.

I had no idea I left so many prints embedded in my work. Perhaps I got lazy about smoothing them out, I might have assumed that the glaze would hide them.

I brought all the evidence that had been ignored last time - I wasn't asked to. I thought I might need it. I put the heavy bag on the table beside my sculpture.

The man beside me says;

'Now that you've had plenty of time to review the evidence, I would like to recommend that your organisation voluntarily revise the status of my client's enrollment. It should be clear to you that she did not participate in any form of academic misconduct, and your previous investigation was inadequate.'

One of the people on the other side of the table passes a sheet of paper across to the man beside me.

'We have already done so, and we trust that you will be satisfied.'

The man beside me examines the page and then nods curtly.

'We will also require an investigation into the other parties involved. The other student, the lecturer, and the members of the tribunal that found against my client.'

The people on the other side of the table begin to speak all at once.

They're not paying attention to me, so I surreptitiously slide the page towards myself so I can read it. It's an academic transcript. With my name on it. It says I graduated. I only got 76% in the class I was expelled from, but that's 76% more than I had before. P's get degrees, and that'd be a Distinction, not just a Pass.

With this, I have all I need from these people. I don't need any further investigation.

I look at the people around me. The unknown representative is cool and calm. The ones who seem to represent the university are assorted shades of angry and agitated.

I'm fairly sure I'm not supposed to be here.

I hold the transcript with both hands.

I worry it will be snatched away from me, or dissolve into dust.

I feel lightheaded.

The argument lasts far too long - the university thinks it's too much to ask them to investigate something that happened so long ago. 'My' representative tells them that it's ridiculous that they allowed this 'obvious breach of justice,' and they should be glad that 'his client' didn't take the issue straight to the tertiary education accreditation agency. That silences them. He mentions the possibility of talking to the board of investors. They start to look green.

Charles is having this lawyer threaten them on my behalf.

Was it really so obvious that I was wrongfully expelled? Can he really threaten them like this?

Why go this far?

I'm worried that Charles is doing this so that I owe him something.

I still don't know what he wants from me. I can't help but worry. Whatever it is, he has decided I'm more valuable to keep around than whatever money he's spending on harassing the university. That frightens me.

When the meeting ends, the representative walks out into the quad with me.

'I didn't think you'd be coming. It's nice to meet you.'

He holds out his hand.

I shake it, timidly.

'I got a letter asking me to come.'

I show him the letter.

'Oh, you could have ignored that. It's just a formality. They have to notify all parties involved, but you didn't have to attend.'

I nod, though I'm still confused.

'Why are you demanding a bigger investigation?'

He smiles at me.

'You don't know? Perhaps it would be better if you spoke about that with your employer. He was quite adamant that we push for more than just the revised enrolment.'

My employer.

'Charles Pitch,' I say, probably redundantly.

Yep. Okay. This is totally normal. He's telling people I work for him.

Actually, I think I suggested he do that.

I shouldn't have said anything. Too late now.

I walk to the bus on autopilot - get on, swipe my ticket, sit down, wait. I'm in such a daze I don't recall getting off the bus, I just suddenly find myself standing in front of the old house. I didn't entirely mean to come here.

Lucky I didn't miss the stop, or I'd be stuck waiting for a return bus somewhere super weird.

The old house seems pretty busy for midday on a weekday, though the last production just ended, so perhaps some of them haven't gone back to their day jobs yet. I envy them their well-defined working and non-working hours.

I greet old housemates as I carry the precious page through the chaotic front room and down the hall to Casey's room. She sees me from the corner of her eye as I approach the open door, and takes off her headphones.

'Back from the thing?'

I hold out the paper.

She takes it to read, mumbling as she rapidly makes her way down the page, brow furrowed in concentration.

'...enrolment status.... GRADUATED?!'

She jumps up and throws her arms around me.

'I'm so happy for you!'

I hug her back - her excitement seems to shatter my vague sense of trepidation. I feel euphoric.

'I still can't believe it happened - There was a random lawyer guy there I've never met before - it seemed like I wasn't even supposed to be there at the meeting.'

'But they sent you a letter!'

'I know! The guy said it was a formality and I could have ignored it.'

'But you went, and it's fixed!'

I break out of the hug and go back to close the door. That done, I whisper;

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

'I still don't know if it's a good thing - it could still be bad. Pitch did it.'

'Wait, what? How? Why?'

Euphoria already spent, I feel tendrils of panic begin to emerge from beneath the confusion.

'I don't know, I don't know. I think he might be doing it to apologise, but maybe he wants something from me, I don't know. I don't understand what's happening, or why he's doing this.'

She hugs me again.

'What does Jaques say?'

I haven't asked him. I didn't think to even mention it to him.

'I don't know yet.'

'Why don't you tell him?'

'...I don't know.'

I'm pretty sure he won't have anything useful to say. I should be speaking to my lawyer. I can at least trust her to be level-headed.

I'm not sure she'll have anything valuable to say either.

----------------------------------------

I'm approached by a woman with a lanyard as I make my way up the hotel stairs.

'Excuse me, Ms. Knight?'

I pause at her use of my name;

'That's me?'

'Ms. Knight, in what capacity are you employed by Charles Pitch?'

I frown.

That's news? Already? Did someone at the university leak my fake job to the press? I only say;

'Excuse me?'

'Is he about to release a new album?'

I assume so. If you stop releasing stuff you stop being popular, right?

I probably shouldn't say that.

'I don't know.'

'What project are you currently working on?'

What's that thing politicians say?

'Uh... no comment?'

'What about-'

'Still no comment.'

I push through the front door, hoping hotel security might intimidate her into staying outside. She doesn't follow.

Thank the heavens for small favours.

I feel like I'm dragging my feet down the brightly lit corridor to my room. Once I'm inside, I'll need to make that call to the lawyer. I really don't want to.

How am I supposed to teach a grown man to behave like an adult when I can't even make myself complete a chore like 'tell the lawyer about my current legal troubles.'

She's almost more like a therapist.

I probably need one of those.

I might even be able to afford one now, too.

My phone starts ringing as I reach the door.

Unknown number.

Please don't tell me the press have my phone number, too.

I answer;

'Hello?'

'You answered quickly for once, Jojo.'

Oh no. Anyone but him.

'What do you want?'

'So cold. I hear you attended the meeting this morning - that was very diligent of you.'

'Yeah, thanks for fixing that.'

Do I ask why he's threatening the uni? Before I can decide, he says;

'No problem, honey. Now you're all set for your new job!'

'You're not serious.'

'I am, completely. It's already been announced. You're going to build sets for my new music video. I'll be needing a lot, so you'll be a busy little bee for a good while.'

'How can you announce something I haven't agreed to?'

'Oh, but you will. I pay well.'

I roll my eyes.

'Why me? Surely you have other people who'd do a better job.'

'You misunderstand. I'm doing this as a favour for you. I don't want you getting bored and leaving Jack early.'

'What?'

'I need you to stick with him until the end, so here's something fun for you; to keep you occupied.'

'Why?'

'I can't tell you all my plans, that'd ruin the mystery.'

I grit my teeth. His incessantly sunny tone makes this entire conversation just a little more unbearable.

'Anyway, the contract should be delivered to you in about ten minutes. I guarantee you'll like the terms. If you do well, you'll probably be in quite a bit of demand once you're done.'

Once he hangs up, I drop the phone in the empty garbage bin in the kitchenette.

It's a meaningless act of retaliation.

I fish it back out.

I can't deny that having my name attached to a popular music video would help me immensely. I might even have a career ahead of me, rather than a bleak struggle to get enough for the barest necessities.

Conversely, if I refuse now, after he's announced it, that might be a strike against me. Something to prevent me from being hired by anyone in the future.

I don't know how to feel about any of this.

There's always just... a piece missing. The foundational piece that makes all the other pieces make sense. I wish I were Sherlock Holmes. Hercule Poirot. Nancy Drew. Any of them would have worked out it was... I don't know. The reverend in the study with the candlestick. Then I would understand what's going on, and I could make plans that made sense, instead of bumbling my way through with nothing but blind (and fading) optimism.

On top of all this, he's still watching me. How else would he have known exactly when to call so I'd be here alone?

I sit down on the couch, exhausted.

There's a knock at the door.

I curse.

Of course, the delivery guy had to arrive the second I sat down.

While I'm grumbling to myself, I receive a text;

> You in?

It's Jaq, not the contract.

I let him in, exasperated.

'What are you doing here?'

'I'm sorry. I should have called first.'

Despite my initial irritation, I'm a little relieved he's here. I feel safer accepting a package from Charles now that I have backup.

'It's fine. I have a use for you.'

'A use? Other than helping you pack?'

Pack?

He looks panicked by my confusion.

'Father told me you'd agreed to move to the estate. He said I should help you.'

He was serious about that?

'He commanded me to move in while he was drunk. He wouldn't accept a 'no', so I changed the subject.'

'I see.'

He looks awkwardly at his feet.

'Then you're not moving in?'

Can I get away with saying no?

If I say yes, I probably won't be able to move with my friends when they do... but I'd be safer from Charles at Jaq's house than anywhere they could rent.

They'd be safer without me.

Going back to them was a stupid fantasy to hold on to. I've already completely lost my chance at rebuilding anything resembling my normal life.

I groan.

'Let me think about it.'

It's not that I need to think about my choice. I need time to come to terms with it.

Jaq shuffles nervously. I point to a chair, and he obediently sits.

'You still haven't asked Frances why she wants you to marry, have you?'

He hesitates, but he shakes his head.

'Isaac told me. I don't know if it's okay for me to just tell you. It seems like she wants to keep it a secret.'

I sigh.

'I think it's unfair for her to keep it a secret from you because it affects you. She's forcing you to make big life decisions because of something she won't tell you about. That's all kinds of messed up.'

He listens expectantly.

'Your mother is dying of cancer.'

'Oh.'

His expression is perfectly deadpan. I expected shock... but I suppose I shouldn't have. After a moment, he says;

'I guess that's why she said I'd be cut off and lose my inheritance; like it was something I needed to worry about now.'

'I guess so.'

Inheritance of the sort he's in line for seems like something you should be worried about irrespective of whether it'll happen soon or in the far distant future. He's partial heir to who knows how much. Assuming Isaac is as useless as Frances thinks he is, Jaq and Lionel may be stuck doing everything alone. There will be properties they have to manage, and not just this estate; probably businesses she has a controlling share of, some kind of investment portfolio, their mother's animals, and who knows how many domestic employees. Seeing as she's had time to consider it all, she's probably organised some kind of convenient handover process - maybe a whole lot of documentation for all the things she's got going on now, and if they're lucky, instructions for future investment. It'll be complicated and messy. Not everything could be covered in detail in a will; it would require constant revision, and wills need witnesses. It's a small hurdle, but it's still bureaucracy that would get in the way while she's still living her life.

Jaq's never had to worry about money before, so why would he worry about any of this? That's a concern for someone like me.

Perhaps she's hired someone as an interim estate manager - to take over while Jaq learns the ropes.

Or; while Jaq's wife learns the ropes.

I'm sure she can see he's too disinterested in the nitty-gritty of life to bother learning things vitally important to his future comfort.

She wanted him to find and marry a manager.

I really said everything she wanted to hear when I told her I had enough experience managing a house for both of us. Now she can die happy, knowing her son won't starve due to his own wilful ineptitude.

It feels so much worse, lying to a dying woman like this.

I don't even know why her impending death makes a difference. Everyone dies eventually. Why does it matter that I'm lying to someone who'll die soon?

If I said no, Jaq would have hired someone else. It's not my fault that she's being lied to.

Except it is. I'm the one actively lying to her.

I glare at Jaq.

I want to blame him for everything, to exonerate myself for all my misdeeds.

I made myself into an abettor.

I'm just as guilty.

I might be more guilty - I made it possible for the lie to survive this long. He'd have failed without me. He'd be being forced into a real marriage without me.

But, that's not something that should be forced on someone.

He has every right to want to escape that... and yet she still has every right to put conditions on her will.

A loud rap at the door alerts me to the arrival of the promised contract.

I check the peephole - it's a man in a nondescript uniform. It's not Charles himself. I shouldn't feel safer because of that - but I do.

'Jaq. Be ready to call Lionel if this guy tries to grab me.'

'Why Lionel-'

'Do you want cops involved?'

He shakes his head and takes his phone from his pocket.

I open the door.

'Delivery for Ms. J. Knight?'

'That's me.'

'Sign here.'

I take the offered stylus and scribble on the parcel scanner's touch interface. The man hands me the package.

'Have a good day.'

He walks away, I shut the door and immediately breathe easier.

'What's that?'

I glance back at Jaq.

'Pitch sent me an employment contract. He said he wants to hire me for a music video.'

'That's good, isn't it? He's forgiven you for whatever it was he was upset about.'

Only Jaq could think this is fine.

'He said he wanted me to stay with you.'

'Even better!'

'Are you sure that's a good thing?'

'Why wouldn't it be?'

The reasons are so numerous and obvious that I'm frozen, trying and failing to put them all into words. I give up and ask instead;

'Aren't you worried about what he's planning?'

'No?'

'He tried to kidnap me. He poisoned me. You really think this is just totally fine?'

He pauses, looking thoughtful. I can almost see the gears in his head turning. He knows he can't say it's fine, but he doesn't know what I want to hear.

'...no?'

I'm so tired of this.

'Can you drive me to my lawyer's? I need to give her this.'

'Sure.'

----------------------------------------

'I don't think you should take this job.'

As expected. The executioner is far more level-headed than anyone else around me.

'Why would he offer this to me?'

'Probably because he's hoping you will accept a job over a straight cash settlement. The problem is that it puts you at his mercy.'

A simple settlement would be significantly easier for me. I'd have far less contact with him.

'But, you said there was nothing in this contract that clearly stated this was offered in lieu of a settlement.'

'That's accurate.'

He may be hoping that I'll drop the previous case in exchange for this, but it seems like he wants me to do this badly enough that he's gone out of his way to ensure that this is treated as something entirely separate.

'What about all this stuff about him leaving me alone for the rest of my life?'

I point to a table listing types of contact that may occur - it's so thorough it includes everything all the way down to different types of eye contact we might make at a public event. Each item on the list is accompanied by a cash penalty to be paid by Charles. It specifically states that these penalties don't apply to contact initiated by me.

'That is perplexing.'

We both stare at the contract.

He wasn't wrong about the job being extremely tempting.

'Wouldn't I be able to document the sets I build, so he can't claim they're not up to standard after the fact?'

'You could - but would you ever be able to get him on camera saying he approves of them?'

It's a good question.

'The pay is so good though.'

'It is. Unreasonably good.'

It dwarfs even what Jaq is paying me to be his fake girlfriend.

'He's already publicly announced that I've been hired for it. Won't it look bad for me if I refuse now?'

'That's his problem. If you refuse, he can't legally say anything that would hurt you. I'll be at his throat with a defamation suit before the words leave his lips.'

'Could we add a clause about what constitutes satisfactory work? Maybe something involving a third party?'

She narrows her eyes.

'You're joking.'

I shake my head. She purses her lips, then says;

'If you're seriously considering this job offer... We could. He would have to agree to the change.'

'What about... a condition that makes him explain exactly why he's doing this and what he hopes to gain before I sign?'

'We could try, though I imagine he'd prefer to do that verbally. I can't imagine his intentions will look good on paper.'