Page 61 of You Owe Me

“This is what evil looks like,” Sebastian says solemnly. “Not torture chambers or world domination plans. Just… this.”

“I feel violated just looking at these,” Rowan adds. “And we’re the ones who stole his phone.”

“Look at this one,” I say, stopping on a photo of Carter in a full three-piece suit, sitting in what appears to be the campus library, pretending to read a book titledAdvanced Economic Theorywhile staring intensely at the camera. “He’s literally posing with homework.”

“Wait, scroll back,” Rowan says. “Was that… Did he take a professional headshot in the dining hall?”

I scroll back to find Carter in business attire, standing next to the soft-serve ice cream machine with his arms crossed, looking like he’s about to negotiate the purchase of a small country. The lighting is perfect. He definitely had someone else take this.

“He paid someone to photograph him next to dairy products,” Sebastian wheezes. “I can’t… I literally cannot.”

“Oh, no, there’s more,” I groan, finding an entire folder labeled “Workout Inspiration.” It’s just Carter. Lifting weights. Doing push-ups. Running on a treadmill. All clearly staged, all with that same intense expression like he’s saving the world through bicep curls.

“Is he making a fitness documentary about himself?” Rowan asks in disbelief.

“Worse. I think he’s making a Carter Mills documentary. About Carter Mills. Starring Carter Mills.”

I keep scrolling, hoping to find something—anything—that might actually be useful. But it’s just more of the same narcissistic nonsense. Carter at fancy restaurants, posing with his food before eating it. Carter in different cars that probably belong to his friends, pretending they’re his. Carter wearing sunglasses indoors and calling it “executive energy.”

“This is useless.” I sigh, slumping back against the concrete wall. “It’s just a shrine to his own face. There’s nothing here we can use.”

“What about his apps?” Sebastian suggests. “Maybe he’s got some secret villain software hidden behind the calculator or something.”

I check his apps, but it’s all standard stuff. Banking, social media, fitness tracking, food delivery. Nothing suspicious. Nothing helpful.

“His social media?” Rowan offers hopefully.

I tap through to his Instagram, which is exactly as horrifying as expected. Every single post is a carefully curated image of Carter looking important, successful, or deep. The captions are even worse—pseudo-philosophical rambling about “excellence” and “vision” and “optimizing life potential.”

“Listen to this caption,” I say, reading aloud. “Success isn’t just a destination, it’s a mindset. Today, I chose to elevate my personal brand through intentional networking and strategicrelationship building. The grind never stops. #Blessed #CEO #Mindset #Excellence #Carter”

“He hashtagged his own name,” Sebastian points out.

“Multiple times,” I confirm, scrolling through more posts. “Oh, look, here’s one where he hashtagged #CarterMills #FutureLeader #AlphaMale #Successful.”

“Alpha male?” Rowan snorts. “The guy probably asks permission to use the bathroom.”

I spend another twenty minutes scrolling through every app, every folder, every possible hiding place for incriminating evidence. But there’s nothing. Just Carter’s obsessive documentation of his own perceived greatness and a workout playlist that’s 90 percent motivational speeches.

“This is pointless.” I slump forward in defeat. “He’s either way smarter than we thought, or way more boring than we thought.”

“Maybe both,” Sebastian says. “Smart enough to keep the real stuff somewhere else, boring enough to fill his phone with this garbage.”

“So, what now?” Rowan asks. “We broke into his phone for nothing?”

I stare at the device in my hands, frustration bubbling up in my chest. We went through all this trouble—the gala, the fire alarm, the theft—and for what? To discover that Carter Mills is exactly as shallow and self-obsessed as he appears to be?

“At least we know he’s not some criminal mastermind,” I say weakly. “Just a really, really vain business student with delusions of grandeur.”

“And terrible taste in hashtags,” Sebastian adds.

“And an unhealthy relationship with mirrors,” Rowan chimes in.

I lock the phone and shove it into my bag. “Well, this was a spectacular waste of time. I committed multiple felonies to steal the most boring phone in existence.”

“Hey.” Sebastian drops down to sit beside me on the concrete. “At least we tried. And now we know Carter’s not some master manipulator. He’s just an entitled rich kid who thinks the world revolves around him.”

“Which makes him predictable,” Rowan points out. “Predictable is manageable.”

---