Stacey’s POV
The small café on the edge of campus was cozy but dimly lit, the warm glow of hanging lamps casting soft pools of light over the scattered tables. The low hum of conversation mixed with the occasional clatter of dishes from the kitchen, creating a sense of intimacy that made the place feel smaller than it was. Betty sat across from me, her sketchpad tucked under her arm, her head tilted slightly as she studied me with curious eyes.
“So,” she said, leaning forward, her voice light but probing. “What’s the news?”
I hesitated, glancing around the café. Most of the tables were occupied, but no one was close enough to overhear. Still, I lowered my voice as I spoke. “I have proof,” I said, the words feeling heavier as they left my mouth. “Monica’s been stealing from the family business, funneling money through offshore accounts. And Dad…” I swallowed hard. “Dad’s letting her do it.”
Betty’s eyes widened slightly, her usual calm replaced by genuine surprise. But she didn’t interrupt, letting me continue.
“I’m going public with it,” I said, my voice steady despite the knot twisting tighter in my stomach. “Marcus and I have been digging into this for weeks. We’ve got enough to blow it wide open. Once it’s out there, they won’t be able to cover it up.”
Betty leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful but unreadable. Her fingers drummed lightly against the edge of the table before she spoke. “That’s… huge, Stacey. Are you ready for that?”
I nodded, though my pulse quickened at the question. Was I ready? The answer felt more complicated than I wanted to admit. “I have to be,” I said firmly, more to convince myself than her. “They’ve been using me as a scapegoat, Betty. If I don’t do this, they’ll ruin everything Mom built. This isn’t just about me—it’s about setting things right.”
For a moment, Betty said nothing, her gaze steady and searching, like she was trying to see past the words to the part of me I wasn’t showing. Then, with quiet certainty, she reached across the table, her hand resting lightly on mine. Her touch was warm, grounding.
“You’re stronger than you think,” she said softly. Her voice carried no doubt, just the kind of confidence I wished I had in myself. “And I’m here if you need me.”
Her words broke through the wall I hadn’t realized I’d been holding up, and I felt the tension in my chest ease just slightly. A faint smile tugged at my lips as I nodded. “Thanks, Betty,” I said, meaning it more than I could express.
The café around us seemed to fade, the weight of the conversation settling between us but somehow feeling lighter now. For the first time in weeks, I felt like I wasn’t alone in this.