"Let me get this straight," Francis said, pacing near the large window that rested behind his desk, his hands on his hips. "You're telling me that Joseph Harris may be using his position as CFO to help fund his secret drug trafficking ring?" At Beverly's confirming nod, he muttered, "Son of a bitch. And—just to clarify—you're involved in this because your roommate was bringing drugs onto your campus."

Another nod from Beverly and another curse from Francis. "Beverly," he started again, spinning from the window so he could eye her sternly. "You realize that these accusations cannot be made lightly, correct?"

This had been what Beverly was truly afraid of: being called a liar. But this was Francis, and she needed to keep her temper in check. Straightening up in her chair, she threw her shoulders back and set her jaw; she was going to stand up for the truth, even if it cost her the familial relationship she'd formed with the man. "I do, but I am being serious. I wouldn't lie about something so important, and—"

"No, no," he interrupted, holding up a hand and appearing apologetic, "that's not what I meant. Of course I trust you, Beverly; I have no doubt that you're telling the truth. I'm just trying to make sure you understand that it will be hard for others to see it that way, and evidence must be collected. Moreover, you need to get the police involved—you're in over your head here, and I don't want something bad to happen to you."

"Absolutely," she agreed immediately. After all, that was the whole reason they hadn't called the cops yet; they hadn't found any concrete proof, and they weren't even sure who they were looking for. Now, though . . . well, now they knew exactly who was responsible. "I'll be going down to the cops after this, actually. I have no doubt they'll be skeptical, but there's no other option."

Sitting back down in his chair, Francis drummed his fingers against the dark wood thoughtfully. "You know, I think I can be of a bit of assistance in that area. I happen to know the chief of city police. I can give her a call. Also, it just so happens that I have the ability to shut down his computer, leaving him unable to hide anything while the police come over."

Beverly stared at him dumbly for several beats, before asking in awe, "You'd do that?"

His features softened. "Of course I would. I am, after all, your amazing Uncle Franny." He shot her a wink, then pulled out his phone. "I'm going to call Chief Simpson. You'll stay here, right? Out of trouble?"

Smiling sheepishly, Beverly shook her head to the negative. "I promised I'd meet up with Deb. I'll call you if something happens, though?"

Francis didn't seem happy with that compromise, but he agreed after a moment's hesitation. "Fine. Stay watchful, Beverly. Better yet," the teasing glint returned to his eyes, though the rest of his features remained somber, "call Griffin. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to be your shadow."

The thought of Griffin normally brought Beverly sadness, regret, and the strong need to see the man. Now, though, she felt her long-forgotten pride rear its head. She didn't need Griffin. Not right now, anyway. Besides, if he could last without talking to her for weeks, then she could certainly handle the same thing.

"I don't think that's necessary," she retorted stiffly, standing from the chair and shouldering her backpack. "I'll see you later."

"You better."

She rolled her eyes with fond annoyance. "I will. Bye, Franny!" she sent him a playful wave over her shoulder, choosing to ignore the worry that had been creeping up in his gaze when she turned away.

"Bye, Beverly. Please, be careful."

***

When Beverly emerged from Silvertone, she let her eyes do a quick sweep of the bustling city streets. Deb's car was gone, but that was to be expected. They'd agreed that Deb would leave first, regardless of what happened, and then they'd meet back at their dorm.

Trying to maintain a steady walk that wouldn't make her stand out in the throngs of people, Beverly ducked between other pedestrians and went over the map of the city in her head. She wanted to get back to the dorm as quick as possible, but the fastest route would take her straight by Cynthia's Coffeehouse.

Oh, come on, Beverly—that is literally the least of your worries right now.

Her stupid brain was right. Especially with the situation she was in now, Beverly shouldn't be concerned with whether Griffin and Cynthia saw her walking outside the shop.

"Oh, what the Hell," she muttered, turning sharply to the left and continuing down the street that led to the campus. Cynthia's Coffeehouse was swiftly approaching, but she was distracted by her phone once more when it buzzed in her jacket. Slipping it out and eyeing it curiously, her face slackened with shock as she saw a text from an unknown number.

I'm a bit disappointed, it read. I was hoping for you. Attached was a picture of Deb walking the sidewalk on campus, clearly headed towards the dorms.

No. No, no, no, no! Oh, God.

She had no doubt that the text had come from Dennis; Joseph must've told him about seeing Deb, and then demanded that he ensure she was taken care of in some way or the other.

God, why hadn't they thought of that?! Of course Joseph would smell something fishy and tell Dennis!

Picking up her pace, uncaring of those who noticed, Beverly's stomach twisted with panic.

At this point, all bets were off. Once the cops went to interrogate Joseph, she had the distinct feeling that Dennis would try to kill her and Deb; he'd be pissed and uncaring of any consequences.

She had to get to Deb before the other girl was tortured or raped or—

Beverly was snapped painfully out of her thoughts when she slammed into someone, sending them both hurtling into the harsh concrete. "I'm so sorry," she apologized, scrambling up and looking frantically to find where her phone had fallen.

"Beverly?" staring back at her with the same amount of shock she had in her own features was Caleb, the jerk from her programming abstractions class, looking her up and down cautiously as he stood and helped her up once she'd grabbed her phone. "Are you alright?"

She blinked. Once, twice, three times, and then, "I'm so glad I ran into you!"

They were both surprised by her words, but Beverly continued. "I need you to take this," she handed him the unlocked phone, pointing at the text conversation with vigor, "and bring it to the police; it's evidence. Can you do that for me?"

He nodded dumbly. "Y-yes, I can. But, Beverly, what—"

"No time!" she patted his forearm encouragingly and pointed at the phone once more. "If you want to redeem yourself after being such an ass to me, then take this to the police! ASAP!"

"Beverly, wait! What's going on?!"

"Now, Caleb!" And she was gone, dodging the other pedestrians as she went, her backpack bouncing against her shoulders with every step.

She was so focused that she didn't notice where she was, or the pair of concerned eyes that had been watching her interaction with Caleb through the glass of Cynthia's Coffeehouse intently.