Chapter 4
He sat down in my chair and started typing away on the keyboard.
A black command line window popped up, and lines of code started flying across the screen.
I stared at him. "You know how to do this?"
"I studied computer science in college," he said, eyes glued to the screen. "If the data hasn't been completely overwritten, we should be able to recover it."
Fifteen minutes later, he pushed the mouse back to me.
Both folders were sitting on the desktop, whole.
"Check and see if everything's there," he said.
I opened them one by one, and everything was there.
"Thank you." I was so excited I nearly jumped out of my chair. "Michael, you're seriously a genius!"
He stood up and casually straightened his sleeves.
"You should get an external hard drive and make three backups," he said.
"I will," I replied, nodding furiously.
"And one more thing," he said, looking at me. "That senior of yours? She doesn't seem trustworthy."
"I know," I replied.
"Good," he said, picking up the paper bag and heading for the door. "I'm heading out."
"Wait a second," I called out.
He paused.
"You really studied computer science?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said.
"And now you're doing investments?" I asked.
"Yeah," he replied.
"What do you invest in, exactly?" I pressed.
He thought for a second. "Everything."
With that, he pushed the door open and walked out.
Everything.
That was how people with money talked, plain and without a single flourish.
I immediately copied the recovered data onto a brand-new USB drive and sent a backup to my email.
Then I sent Richard a message about the data.
Richard answered right away: [Melissa was on your computer? Understood.]
That was all he said.
But I could hear something under his tone.
The next day, Melissa's workstation got moved to the lab next door.
As she was packing up, she gave me a cold glare.
Her glare was pure ice.
I acted like I didn't see it.
The March conference was right around the corner, and I had zero energy left for her drama.
But what I didn't know was her revenge was coming a lot sooner than I expected.
In mid-March, Richard called me into his office.
"Emily, I need to talk to you about something," he said.
He looked dead serious.
"What's wrong, Professor Foster?" I asked.
He showed me an email on his screen.
It was from the university's research integrity office.
"The office has received a formal complaint alleging that doctoral candidate Emily Carter altered experimental data and fabricated control results in her nanocatalysis project. Her advisor, Richard Foster, is asked to cooperate with the inquiry."
My mind was reeling.
"Who reported me?" I blurted out.
Richard didn't say anything.
But we both knew exactly who it was.
"Professor Foster, all of my data is real and I can repeat the experiments," I said, and my voice shook.
"I believe you," Richard said, cutting me off. "The process still has to run. While the investigation is open, you can't go to the March conference."
I clenched my phone until my knuckles turned white.
I couldn't go.
I'd spent two months preparing that presentation.
It was the biggest chance to show my work during my whole PhD.
And just like that, it was gone.
I stood in the hallway for a long time after I left Richard's office.
At the far end, Melissa came out of the lab next door, chatting and laughing with another girl.
When she saw me, she gave a small smile.
"Emily, I heard you can't go to the conference? That's a shame."
My fingers clenched until they turned white.
"Melissa, do you even know what you're doing?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Academic misconduct is a big deal. If someone reports it, the school has to look into it. What does that have to do with me?"
She walked away.
My phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number popped up.
The message read: [Downstairs. Get in the car.]
I walked over to the window and looked down.
A black car was parked outside the entrance to the lab.
Michael was leaning against the car door, glancing up at me.