The board room at Ironbrook University was not designed for drama — a long conference table, fluorescent lighting, a row of framed photographs of past university presidents watching over proceedings with the particular judgmental blankness of institutional portraiture. It was, Rae thought, standing in the hallway outside with Beckett's hand tight around hers, an almost absurdly mundane setting for what felt like the most important half hour of her college career.
Whitfield had secured them fifteen minutes on the agenda — officially framed as "program update," a courtesy extended reluctantly by a board chair who clearly had no idea what was about to unfold in front of him.
Halloran sat at the head of the table when they entered, composed again, the fury from that morning's confrontation c
