Vicious Royalty

CHAPTER 7: THE ARCHIVE AUDIT

Monday morning arrived with a bitter, freezing drizzle that swept across the courtyards of St. Jude’s. By 8:00 AM, word had leaked through every private group chat on campus: Elena Lin, a scholarship ghost, had been granted official board oversight credentials by Julian Vance. The student body was in a state of quiet, tense paranoia. No one knew who Julian was planning to tear down next, but everyone knew I held the ledger. I walked into the basement archives under the administrative building, my boots echoing against the damp stone floor. The archives were vast and dust-filled, lined with floor-to-ceiling iron shelves packed with physical ledgers, historical tuition logs, and private donor files dating back a century. It was the one place on campus where digital records didn't apply—where real, unedited paper trails lived. "You're late, scholarship." Julian was sitting on the edge of a heavy mahogany reading table at the back of the vault. He had discarded his blazer, wearing a black wool sweater with his shirt collar sticking out, sleeves pushed up to his forearms. On the table before him sat five thick, leather-bound financial binders stamped with the Sinclair family crest. "I had to clear three security clearance desks," I said, dropping my bag onto a chair and pulling out a yellow legal pad. "Your staff doesn't like handing keys to ghosts." "My staff does what they’re told if they want to keep their pensions," Julian said flatly, watching me with that dark, unblinking intensity that always made my pulse jump. "Come here." I walked over to the table, leaning over the dusty ledgers. The scent of old paper, rain, and Julian’s heavy cedarwood cologne filled the narrow aisle between the iron shelves. "What am I looking at?" I asked, keeping my eyes fixed on the columned figures. "Arthur Sinclair has been siphoning maintenance grants from the scholarship fund for three years," Julian murmured, stepping up behind me. He didn't touch me, but his proximity was suffocating, his chest almost brushing against my shoulder blades. "He misallocated over two million dollars into his private logistics shell company in Panama." My hand froze over the page. "He stole from the scholarship fund?" "He didn't just steal from it, Elena," Julian whispered into the shell of my ear, his breath warm and dangerous against my cold skin. "He used those missing funds as an excuse to reject eighty percent of low-income applicants every single admissions cycle. Your mother had to submit three separate hardship waivers because of his deliberate deficit." A cold, lethal wave of anger burned through my veins. It was one thing for rich kids to throw tantrums in the hallway; it was another for their crooked parents to systematically sabotage families like mine just to line their offshore bank accounts. I turned around sharply, my chest inches from his. "Give me the authorization code." Julian’s lips curved into a slow, dark smirk. He liked seeing the fire in my eyes—the cold, unforgiving edge that set me apart from everyone else at St. Jude's. "The digital system requires a two-factor verification," Julian said softly. He reached out, his long fingers gently grasping my wrist and guiding my hand toward the laptop resting on the corner of the desk. "My biometric print, and your signature on the supervisory audit log." "Why give this to me?" I asked, staring straight into his dark eyes, refusing to let him see me hesitate. "You could have exposed Arthur Sinclair months ago. Why wait until now?" "Because revenge is useless if it’s given to you on a silver platter," Julian whispered, leaning down until his dark eyes locked onto mine with terrifying focus. "I wanted you to be the one to press the button. I wanted you to realize that with me behind you, nobody in this city can ever put a leash on you again." "I don't need a protector, Vance," I said, my voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper. "I'm not protecting you, Elena," Julian replied, his grip on my wrist tightening just enough to pull me a fraction of an inch closer. "I'm empowering you. There's a difference." I held his gaze for three long seconds before looking down at the screen. My fingers hovered over the key. "Once I submit this, Arthur Sinclair gets arrested by federal auditors before lunch," I said. "Chloe’s entire life at this school ends today." "Good," Julian murmured, his dark voice laced with absolute indifference for his own tier. "Let it burn." I pressed the key. The screen flashed bright green, confirming the transfer of the unedited ledgers directly to the financial authorities and the board of directors. The silence in the archive vault felt heavy, electric, and irreversible. Julian leaned in close, his lips brushing the side of my neck as he whispered into the dark room, "Phase one complete, scholarship. Now let's go watch them fall."