Page 102 of You Owe Me

Jin finally turns to look at me, and good gracious, he looks like he’s been through a blender. His hair is somehow even more chaotic than usual, there are dark circles under his eyes that could probably be seen from space, and his hoodie has suspicious stains that could be coffee or evidence of a complete psychological breakdown.

“It’s not bad. It’s worse. Because now I know exactly why Carter Mills wanted you to stay away from Maverick’s business.”

“Enlightening,” I mutter. “Are you going to tell me, or should I guess?”

He reaches for his mouse and clicks through what looks like seventeen different windows before landing on a document that makes my brain hurt just by looking at it. Numbers, dates, names—the kind of bureaucratic nightmare that probably makes accountants weep.

“Academic probation records.” He gestures at the screen. “Specifically, Carter Mills’s academic probation records.”

I blink at him. “Carter’s been on academic probation?”

“Not just probation. Suspension. Twice.” Jin’s fingers dance across the keyboard, pulling up more documents. “First time was sophomore year. Plagiarism. Got caught copying an entire economics paper from some kid.”

“And the second time?”

“Sophomore year. Cheating on his corporate finance final. Had the answers written on the inside of his calculator cover.” Jin snorts like this is the most amateur-hour thing he’s ever heard. “Dumbass didn’t even try to be subtle about it.”

My brain is trying to process this information while simultaneously trying not to have a full-scale panic attack. “But he’s still here. Still the dean’s son with the perfect record and the insufferable confidence.”

“That’s where it gets interesting.” Jin clicks through to another document, this one with the university letterhead. “Both times, the disciplinary actions got… modified. Probation instead of suspension. Academic support instead of expulsion. Very lenient, considering the severity of the infractions.”

“Let me guess—Daddy pulled some strings?”

“More like Daddy pulled a whole damn piano.” Jin’s expression is grim. “Dean Mills personally intervened in both cases. Claimed his son was dealing with ‘personal stress’ and ‘adjustment issues’ that warranted special consideration.”

I stare at the screen, pieces clicking together in my head like the world’s most fucked-up puzzle. “So Carter’s been cheating his way through college while his father covers it up.”

“Gets better.” Jin opens another window, and this time, I recognize the interface—it’s the university’s internal communications system. “I may have also found some emails between Dean Mills and various department heads about ‘academic flexibility’ for students dealing with ‘exceptional family circumstances.’”

“Please tell me you’re about to say what I think you’re about to say.”

“Carter Mills isn’t just a cheater; he’s a serial cheater whose entire academic career has been propped up by his father’s position. And I have documentation going back three years.”

The relief that floods through me is so intense I actually feel dizzy. “Jin, you beautiful, sleep-deprived genius?—”

“I’m not done.” He holds up a hand, and his expression turns serious. “There’s more. And this part… this part you’re really not going to like.”

My stomach drops again. “What kind of more?”

Jin minimizes the academic records and opens what looks like a financial database. “I also found records of Carter’s ‘anonymous’ tip to the IRS about your boyfriend’s family.”

“How is that possible? Anonymous tips are supposed to be?—”

“Anonymous, yeah. Except Carter’s an idiot who submitted it from his personal laptop while connected to the university’s Wi-Fi network.” Jin’s fingers fly across the keyboard, pulling up network logs that look like computer hieroglyphics. “Every connection gets logged. Every IP address gets tracked. And Carter Mills’s laptop has been very busy this week.”

He scrolls through a list of websites and timestamps that tell a story I definitely don’t want to hear.

“Tuesday morning, 9:47 a.m.—IRS tip submission portal. Tuesday afternoon, 2:15 p.m.—background check service for ‘Maverick Lexington.’ Wednesday morning, 6:23 a.m.—another IRS tip submission, this one about ‘potential student loan fraud.’” Jin looks at me with something that might be sympathy. “He’s not just threatening your boyfriend, Ainsley. He’s actively trying to destroy him.”

The room tilts slightly, and I have to grip the edge of the desk to keep from sliding off my chair. “Student loan fraud?”

“Probably bullshit, but the IRS doesn’t know that. They just know someone keeps sending them tips about the same family, and they’re starting to pay attention.”

This is worse than I thought. Carter isn’t just using the IRS investigation as leverage; he’s building a case. Multiple tips, multiple angles of attack, all designed to create the kind of federal scrutiny that could destroy everything Maverick’s family has built.

“But you said there was good news,” I manage to croak out. “The academic stuff—that’s leverage, right? Something I can use against him?”

“Maybe.” Jin doesn’t look convinced. “The problem is, using this information would require admitting how I got it. And admitting how I got it would involve confessing to some veryillegal activities that would probably get both of us expelled and possibly arrested.”

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