My Fiancé Stole My Research for His Mistress—Now I Judge Their Daughter

Chapter 2

Early the next morning, Robert pushed open my office door.

"Mrs. Cole is prepared to make an additional donation of $5 million."

"On what condition?"

"That Lily's application be approved."

I looked up. "$5 million for one signature?"

"It isn't a transaction," Robert said quickly. "That money could fund a new database and expand three research teams. Everyone would benefit."

"Everyone?" I repeated. "Including the people whose names were erased?"

Robert's expression tightened. "I don't know what you're talking about. But a member of the Board has already called for a review of your appointment."

"How long have we worked together?"

"6 years."

"In those 6 years, how many of my fellowship decisions has the Board overturned?"

He said nothing.

22 years ago, I had waited outside a department chair's office for 3 hours just to ask for access to lab space. I couldn't afford the statistical software I needed, so I stayed after everyone else had gone and used their computers to process my data.

Back then, I couldn't even get a key to the lab.

Now they were offering $5 million to make me change a single word.

The desk phone rang.

Robert glanced at the number and immediately put the call on speaker.

"Dr. Bennett, this is Vivian Cole."

Her voice had barely changed.

The moment she said my name, three fractured images flashed through my mind: blood spreading across a white dress, locked hospital doors, and two hands gripping my arms as they dragged me down the stairs.

"Dr. Bennett?" Vivian prompted.

I lowered my eyes to the desk. "Go ahead."

"Lily has excelled at everything she's done since childhood. Why are you blocking her at the final stage? What do you want?"

"She doesn't meet the eligibility requirements."

"Don't play games with me." Vivian gave a soft laugh. "You rejected her to force us to come to you, didn't you? Well, here I am, and there's $5 million on the table. If that isn't enough, name your price. Don't put your hand out and then pretend you're above money."

Robert's expression shifted. He reached for the speaker button, but I stopped him with a raised hand.

"Mrs. Cole, are you accusing me of extortion?"

"Isn't that what you're after?"

Contempt sharpened her voice.

"22 years ago, you latched on to Ethan because you wanted an escape from poverty. It's hardly my fault you couldn't hold on to him. Now our daughter's future is in your hands, and of course you're trying to cash in. Marianne, tell me what you want. If $5 million can't buy off 22 years of resentment, I'll make it $10 million."

She spoke as if my child, my name, and my life were nothing more than an old debt waiting to be settled.

"My decision won't change."

"You won't even meet with me?"

"File a formal appeal."

The line went quiet. When Vivian spoke again, she sounded almost amused.

"You're still as ungrateful as ever. If you'd taken the money and left quietly 22 years ago, you wouldn't have made such a spectacle of yourself. That's the pathetic thing about poor people. They have nothing, yet they cling to their pride as if it's worth something."

My fingers tightened around the edge of the folder.

"Is there anything else?"

"We're both women. We're both mothers." Her voice softened without warning. "Surely you understand what a mother is willing to do for her child."

My hand stopped.

"No," I said. "I don't."

I ended the call.

Robert stood there, looking as if he wanted to speak but couldn't find the words.

I opened the innermost compartment of my desk and took out the hospital ID from when I was 25.

The young woman in the photograph wore a white coat. Her eyes were bright, and she smiled without a trace of caution.

She had no idea what she was about to lose.

I returned the ID to the drawer and closed it.

Vivian was wrong.

We weren't both mothers.

At least I wasn't. After that night in the rain.