Chapter 3
976 Words
The next evening, I went back to the lab to grab the flash drive I'd left behind.
As I reached the door, I heard voices inside.
Grace and a young female student. Her name was Sara Jones, the first-year PhD student who had just joined the lab this fall.
"Professor Hall, when is Vivian going to graduate?"
Grace answered casually, as if she were talking about the weather, "Her? She can stay another year."
"But... didn't Vivian already get her papers published? I heard she's met every graduation requirement..."
"Sara." Grace's voice suddenly softened. It was the same gentle tone she reserved for her "favorite students".
"There are still several projects in the lab that aren't finished. If Vivian leaves now, who's going to wrap them up? Besides, you're new here. There are plenty of experimental techniques you still need to learn. Spend this year working closely with Vivian. I'm thinking about what's best for both of you. I trust her to train you, and you'll learn the skills that actually matter."
I stood outside the door with my back pressed against the cold wall.
The motion-activated lights in the hallway had gone out. I didn't move. In the darkness, the only light came through the c***k beneath the office door, along with Grace's voice.
When she said, "She can stay another year," her tone was exactly the same as if she was complaining about bad cafeteria food.
So that was it. Not only was she refusing to let me graduate, but she also expected me to train the person who would replace me before I left.
"Vivian is definitely capable," Grace continued.
"Her biggest problem is her attitude. She's too impatient."
Her voice carried the fake concern of a caring mentor. "I'm keeping her for another year to help her mature. You young people think publishing a few papers means you've made it. That's not how real research works. One day she'll understand why I'm doing this. I only put this much effort into her because I treat her like one of my own students."
I didn't open the door.
I turned around and walked away. My steps were steadier than they'd ever been.
For the first time, I stopped wondering whether I wasn't good enough, whether I hadn't worked hard enough.
I finally saw the truth. There had never been anything wrong with myself. The problem had always been the person who kept saying, "I'm doing this for your own good," while making sure I never moved forward.
Back in my apartment, I opened my laptop and started organizing my files.
I have a habit. I never delete anything.
Every email, every text message, every draft of every document. I'd kept all of it over the past five years.
I opened the first folder. It was a grant proposal from last year, created by: Vivian.
47 revisions, every single one made by: Vivian.
The final edit was made by: Grace. She'd changed exactly one thing—the name listed as the Principal Investigator.
I opened the second folder. It was a paper published under Grace's husband's name.
The Word version history showed 11 drafts. Every single revision had been made by: Vivian.
I scrolled to the bottom, then froze.
There was a comment Grace had forgotten to delete.
Have Vivian rewrite this section. Tell her to finish the data analysis too.
So I'd written the entire paper, from the structure to data.
And my name wasn't even mentioned in the acknowledgments.
I stared at the comment. Surprisingly, I wasn't angry. I felt completely calm.
I dragged one last screenshot into a folder labeled Evidence. Then I stopped.
A thought suddenly crossed my mind.
For the past five years, every time someone in the lab tried to push back against Grace, she somehow found out before they ever acted.
Someone secretly tried to switch advisors. The very next morning, they were summoned to her office.
Someone privately reported concerns to the department. That same afternoon, Grace was already "having a conversation" with them.
There had to be someone in the lab feeding her information.
The moment that realization hit me, I closed my laptop. Then I headed back to the lab.
That evening, only a few junior students were still there.
I deliberately let out a sigh and spoke just loudly enough for the people nearby to hear,
"I guess if this keeps up, I'll have no choice but to organize all those messages and emails, then report everything to the university."
My voice wasn't loud. But it carried.
I didn't explain another word. I picked up my water bottle and walked out.
The next morning, a message from Grace popped up.
Grace: Vivian, I heard you've been organizing some materials lately. I've always treated you like one of my own students. If there's been any misunderstanding, we can sit down and talk them out. Don't do something you'll regret."
I looked at my phone. Then I smiled.
I knew it. The fish had taken the bait.
The last time Grace had said those words was the previous winter.
I'd just helped the lab secure a major federal research grant. I'd stayed awake for three straight nights finishing the proposal. During our lab meeting, I was so exhausted I almost collapsed while giving my presentation.
Grace had caught me before I fell. In front of everyone, she'd smiled proudly. "See? Vivian is the student I trust the most."
I'd been so moved that my eyes filled with tears.
Five years. The exact same script.
Every time I started thinking about fighting back, she'd use those same words like a velvet-covered knife.
"I'm your advisor. How could I ever hurt you? How could you think that about me?"
I took a screenshot of the message. Then dragged it into Evidence.
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