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“What do you all have to say for yourselves? This is more than grounds for expulsion.”
Augustine Marymount Devlin III, the dean of Leverage University, had a reputation for being tough, yet fair, and, yep, expelling them would have been fair.
Parker, Alec, and Spencer exchanged telling glances. It'd been a set-up all along, they knew now, but they didn't dare say a word.
“Look, you can't put this on these kids,” countered Nate Ford, sitting beside the three students in the dean’s office. “I was the mastermind behind this little operation. I pushed them. If there's anyone to blame, it's me.”
They were relieved Ford had their backs, even if he had little pull, being fired from his role as a professor of ethics just a year earlier.
“I should have you arrested, Ford,” the dean threatened.
“Be my guest,” he countered, pressing his wrists together and holding them out in front of him, as if begging to be cuffed.
“Stop it,” Devlin said, waving the idea away with a hand gesture. “Just—I just don't understand how three freshmen with impeccable records could get themselves in this deep.”
Alec did his best to conceal a smile. As much trouble as they were in, at least his pass over their digital records, cleansing away anything else that might have implicated them, had been a success.
“People will do extraordinary things to protect the ones they love,” Ford answered, simply.
The dean furrowed his brow, his mouth slightly agape. There was clearly more to the story.
But from there, the room only fell silent.
Parker Leach wasn't actually her name, but attempting to apply to college under a mononym seemed a hassle—and would draw too much attention—when Parker hardly wanted to be here in the first place. Archie Leach was the closest thing to family Parker had ever had, and the reason she was here, so “Leach” stuck.
Back in his heyday, Archie had been known as the world's greatest thief. Parker, too, was a thief by nature, as well as by calling, so she could never understand why he didn't quite appreciate her like he did his “real” children.
His biological kids had been upstanding citizens—bankers and lawyers and teachers—who'd lived normal lives and gone to college and started careers and families and never looked back. They didn't have a clue in the world that their father was a master thief.
It had only been a few years since Archie had recognized Parker's unique talents in New York City, taking her in in secret and training her to fully hone her skills, so that now, her ability to pickpocket, and crack “unbreakable” safes, and elegantly dance around laser grids and motion sensor plates, easily surpassed his own. And now, she was trying to leave that all behind.
She’d already tried everything else, but maybe if she actually went to school and got a degree and learned how to fit in with people—to be more like everyone else, be a person—Archie would finally be proud of her. Finally, she could have a family.
Alec Hardison could be anyplace else in the world, hacking into absolutely anywhere and anything he pleased. Instead, he was at college, because that's what his nana wanted for him.
She knew he was talented (and had hundreds of thousands in suddenly forgiven medical debt to prove it) but she believed he could create even more good for the world if he simply went legit. He wanted to make a name for himself—for the family—and the path to that kind of reputation was through boardrooms, not back alleys.
So here he was, working toward his degree, and constantly and consistently bored out of his mind. His computer science professors had nothing to teach him that he hadn't figured out himself in the 18 months after he got his first P.C. He could've schooled any of these guys when he was 14. And the most frustrating thing was that he was truly here to learn.
At least the school was local, in Chicago, so Alec could commute in and go home in the evenings to help nana out with the rest of the ever-expanding family. Every night he lied to her, saying that, with the help of some of the world’s leading experts in the field, he was expanding his knowledge every day in class. He felt guilty about it, but the soft approval in her eyes made it worth it every time.
Instead, anything new he did discover came practically as he spun up a dozen or so backup projects he could flip on in an instant in case being a civilian didn't pan out. It was all Robin Hood stuff—stealing from the rich and powerful to return to the needy—and even in the hypothetical, it felt good.
He believed that was the kind of work he was born for. But, for nana, he would at least try to keep things legal, because, as she'd reminded him time and time again, for folks like them, getting on the wrong side of the law was a slippery slope to prison—or worse, an early grave. She'd lost more than one child to the system. He had no plans to add to the tally—and he never did anything his nana said, “don't do.”
All his life, Eliot Spencer had idolized his father. Billy was a good man—hardworking and loyal, tough, yet kind—who always did more than his fair share to make things better for people.
He’d also been a brave soldier who served his country. He didn't like talking about it, but everyone in Carson knew the story of the fateful day he risked everything to save 17 men from a prison camp.
But Billy never sugarcoated his time in the military. War was hell, and he'd been left disabled and traumatized, without a word of praise or recognition for his service. He had to fight to even get his VA benefits every month. To Eliot, all of that simply made him an even bigger hero.
He'd decided when he was just a little boy that the moment he turned 18, he'd enlist in the army and follow in his daddy's footsteps.
When he finally shared his plans with his parents, he thought they'd be proud. Instead, they begged, and pleaded, and shouted, and cried, until he finally relented. He couldn't stand to see them like that, and he hated himself for it, but sometimes, he'd wished they loved him a little less. That he loved them a little less. For now, crushing his own dreams was less of a sacrifice than crushing theirs.
That's how he wound up at Leverage University on a football scholarship. He could give his parents precisely what they wanted without spending a penny of their hard-earned money. At least that part felt good.
He also had a girl back home—Aimee—who wept with relief when he replaced his plans to join the service with attending college a couple of states away. The long distance thing was tough, but they were managing it fine. When all of this was said and done, he intended to marry her.
And it was fulfilling, too, being part of a team, and constantly working to be better together. His role as quarterback gave him the opportunity to hone his mind as well as his body. Still, something was nagging at him. He knew he could be doing more—making an actual change in the world, and using his unique talents for more than just entertaining people. He knew his potential was unfulfilled.
While he didn't dare enroll in an ROTC class—that would get back to his parents somehow, he was sure of it—he had made some buddies who were ready and willing to teach him everything they knew. He was a quick study—smaller, but physically stronger than them, and more adaptable—and nothing bugged him more than the fact he couldn't just do what they did.
He wasn't sure how, but one of these days, he was going to make his parents understand that this wasn't his true calling. One day, he'd be just like his father, and they'd accept that for him. They'd believe in him like he believed in Billy Spencer.
Parker never got mail, so she had to be suspicious of the envelope she received courtesy of one Professor Victor Dubenich. Still, the offer inside was tantalizing—an extracurricular job that promised to utilize her particular talents in exchange for a very generous university stipend.
Living on campus had meant going virtually cashless, all meal credits and payments with ID card swipes, and she'd found that deeply unsatisfying. Since she'd mostly sworn off stealing (or at least keeping the items she lifted), she'd yearned for that slightly dusty aroma of cold, hard cash, and the texture of its cotton-linen blend against the pads of the fingers and the apples of her cheeks. A fat check could remedy that, for a time. She daydreamed about cashing it in and letting the bills fly.
She'd also been quite bored lately, and a more focused use of her “talents,” whatever that meant to Dubenich, sounded like it could be fun. She needed that right now.
So, she followed the enclosed directions, taking the bus to arrive about 10 minutes before the time specified at a coffee shop several blocks from campus.
The place was called We Provide Hot Beverage, a name that seemed odd the first time she heard it, but that somehow slowly felt more and more in line with the odd college town’s culture as she’d observed it over her months in school.
She wasn't too fond of coffee, so instead, she ordered a hot chocolate, with caramel sauce, and marshmallows, and plenty of sprinkles. Not that she cared, but with the lid on, it was indistinguishable from a coffee, anyway.
She noticed a familiar face as she walked through the shop toward the nearest empty seat. She and Alec Hardison shared an integrated mathematics course, one of their general education requirements, and he'd tried to chat her up a couple of times. Both times had been awkward, and both times, they had each blamed themself for how badly it had gone.
But she didn't hold anything against him. In fact, she found Alec impressive. She couldn't say for certain, but she was convinced that she'd once watched him execute some kind of script on his laptop that made the university server glitch precisely as the professor was trying to access it to dole out a huge, tedious assignment ahead of a long weekend. The whole thing got dropped. Not that Parker had planned to do the homework, but she deeply appreciated the gesture.
Alec had always been a man of habit, and he'd opted to swing by the café fridge to buy himself a bottle of his favorite drink, Orange Squeeze. Coffee was inconsistent, and bitter, and expensive, but the crisp tang of Orange Squeeze never let him down.
As he sipped his soda, he couldn't believe his luck. What were the chances his campus crush, Parker, would show up at this very moment?
Not only did Alec find Parker stunning—a distraction to have in class, truly—but he’d seen she was impossibly smart in all the ways he wasn't. There were complex calculations he could look up formulas for, and design a program in five minutes that could spit out responses in an instant, but Parker’s brain could do them on its own in seconds. She was a master of those stupid train velocity problems, and knew precisely how many of a certain item could fill up any space so long as she knew the dimensions.
And Parker's cleverness wasn't just with math. He'd learned in their brief but fascinating conversations that she also had a knack for chemical formulas—explosive ones, at least—and that if you named a classic (or valuable) piece of art, she could tell you exactly where it was in the world, as well as how much trouble it'd be to get your hands on it.
She was an odd one, that was for sure, but he only grew more smitten the more he learned about her. This was another opportunity to shoot his shot.
“Hey, Parker!” he called across to her with a palm in the air, rising with his drink to take a seat next to her.
“Oh hi, Alec,” she answered. He tried to ignore the fact she seemed to be staring.
“What brings you all the way out here today?” he asked, and before he could see her even reach for it, she’d slammed her invitation on the table.
“Job offer,” she said.
Alec’s eyes widened at the sight of it. He dug around in his messenger bag to procure an identical envelope before placing it next to hers.
“Professor Dubenich?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
Neither of them were sure what an engineering professor wanted with them, but for a substantial amount of money, they were more than eager to find out. Alec’s nana could use the cash—and she'd actually accept it if it came in the form of an official, university-issued check. Plus, a school job like this would look very good on his resume.
And they both noticed when a third familiar student stepped into the shop, surveying his surroundings—observing them both and then moving on—before getting in line to order his own drink.
It was safe to assume that most students at Leverage University recognized star quarterback Eliot Spencer, and Parker and Alec were among them.
Alec really didn't know much about football, except that getting a free ride scholarship for the sport was a big deal. He'd been dragged to a game once, and had his ear talked off about why quarterbacks are usually 6’3” and 225 pounds—big guys could stand their ground, take heavy hits, and see over the chaos to make their throws.
Spencer had to be at least half a foot shorter than that, lean yet muscular, but it didn't seem to put him at a disadvantage in the slightest. He’d dodged and weaved away from the rush when it suited him, plowed right through the opposition when it didn't, and his throws always landed precisely where he’d intended. Alec could see why Spencer's prowess caught people's attention—including, he had noticed, admiration from the ladies, particularly in the economics class they shared. He considered that a superpower, and wished he had more of that himself.
Parker and Spencer had a course together, too. English was one of the classes she struggled with most, because she couldn't think of anything in this world that could make her care.The only reason she even showed up was that attendance was such a huge part of her grade. Instead of paying attention, she scribbled down elements of her most desired artworks and daydreamed the process of cracking a practice vault. She never did the reading assignments, either, and thus failed the first big exam miserably.
But things changed for her when she started sitting behind Spencer. He'd do this thing with a pencil—this rhythmic, seamless twirling around his fingers in a delicate figure eight—that simultaneously captivated her gaze and quieted the usual din in her mind. So long as the pencil spun, she found she could actually listen to what was being taught in the class. The effects also lingered, long enough for him to stop and take notes as needed, before resuming his mesmerizing spins. She was even learning something, maybe.
From there on out, the tests and in-class essays became a cakewalk for her. Intuitive. Even though she never did the readings, it wasn't hard to use some fancy words, mirroring the instructor's language back at her, to convince her that she had.
That's why Parker didn't look away from him as he stepped up to the counter, ordering a medium roast coffee, made with beans from Aricha Adorsi in Ethiopia. He was picky about coffee, and loved the almost peachy, sweet tea-like aroma to this particular brew. We always drank it with no sugar and plenty of cream, plus a dash of coarse salt to mellow out the bitterness. A very lovely home ec teacher had taught him that little trick in high school, and he'd taken his coffee that way ever since.
Alec took notice—would Parker be another one of Spencer's loyal fangirls?—but something in his gut told him that wasn't quite it. It surprised them both when, once Spencer had his coffee cup in hand, he made a beeline toward their table to join them.
Of course, Spencer had recognized them, too. He was more vigilant than most, as well as perceptive, and both Parker and Alec were people you'd notice if you were paying attention.
For Parker, it was the way she moved with a distinctive, almost suspect lightness. He thought maybe she was a dancer, but he'd dated dancers, and she seemed to be something else entirely.
And once, just as Parker had slipped by him during a lecture, he noticed his wallet had gone missing. He didn't even feel the weight change in his pocket—it was pure coincidence he'd even checked. For the next hour, he planned to find her after class to confront her, and get it back, but once the instructor had wrapped up, the wallet was waiting for him at the back of the lecture hall, tucked away inside of a colorful Easter basket full of cell phones and keys and water bottles, and labeled with a “Lost & Found” sign. Everything in the wallet was intact—not even his debit card had been used. Later, he confirmed his suspicions. The sign had been scrawled in Parker’s handwriting.
And Alec was clever in a way Spencer hadn't seen before, especially when he had a computer in front of him. He made those 1s and 0s do his bidding, like a skilled musician with their instrument of choice, and could generate professional histograms and Gantt charts and dot plots in the time it took Spencer to even comprehend what they depicted.
But there was something else about him—a sense of well-earned cockiness belied by a concealed hint of social anxiety, and a warmth in the sharpness of his smile—that reminded him of his mama back home in Carson. That made him like Alec instantly, even if he was slightly jealous of him, too.
Spencer didn't even have the chance to introduce himself before he was interrupted by a fourth figure at the table.
“I see you've all found each other. That's convenient,” Dubenich said pointedly as he sat, dropping a heavy leather briefcase on the table. “I'm thrilled the three of you were all amenable to my offer.”
“If the price is right,” Parker said.
She didn't beat around the bush. Dubenich had to respect that.
“I think you'll be satisfied,” Dubenich replied, clicking open the latches of his case to remove three identical manila folders before handing them out to the students. “You've each earned a bit of a reputation at the university, not to mention your nearly perfect SAT scores.”
Little did he know, Parker had swiped the test keys, memorizing the four different versions that were being administered at her examination center in order to get a perfect score. Alec had simply hacked into their server to bump his grade a few points after the fact, and Spencer—well, Spencer had simply studied his ass off.
As they each studied the job contracts in their folders, they saw that Dubenich was correct—the amount they were signing up for was very enticing—but none of it made sense.
“All of this for a simple lab study?” Alec wondered. “What's the catch?”
“The catch,” Dubenich answered, leaning in closer to whisper, “is that the lab study is a lie. Just something to have on the books, so you can all get your payout on the up-and-up. No—what I have planned will be a tad more stimulating for bright young minds such as yours. I plan to make good use of your… focused areas of study.”
“Art history?” Parker asked. She was specializing in antiquities after all.
“Not quite,” Dubenich answered. “Though Mr. Hardison, I believe you're studying computer programming, with an emphasis in cyber security? That will certainly be relevant for the job. And Spencer… I'm sorry, I don't believe I know your major.”
“Undeclared. Still trying to find my way.”
“Right,” Dubenich said, smiling. “Perhaps we can steer you in the right direction. Now, in your folders you'll find a sheet following the contracts that outline the real job. That's where your true talents will come into play.”
Details were sparse—probably intentionally so—but it quickly became clear this wouldn't be legal. It would be a theft, essentially, of a lot of stolen engineering data, from a somewhat secure campus building, in order to restore it to its rightful owners. The what, but not the how. Maybe that should have been a deal breaker, but for these three students, it wasn't. And it wasn't just thrilling—something about it felt right.
“Are you sure we should be discussing this here?” Spencer asked, peering around, instantly wary.
“No one’s listening. We're fine, so long as we don't draw attention,” Dubenich insisted. “Besides, there's a reason we couldn't meet at my office on campus…”
That hardly quelled Spencer's trepidations. He’d always had a knack for attracting the spotlight, and now that he was a notable figure around campus, he couldn't go anywhere without being recognized. That should have been enough to immediately make this job a no-go. And yet…
“So, you need our particular skills,” Spencer reiterated, gesturing toward the other students. “Thief. Hacker. And…?”
He wasn't quite sure how to distill his own talents into one catchy noun.
“Hitter, maybe,” Dubenich suggested. “Every crew can use some muscle.”
And though Spencer knew there was much more to himself than his ability to run down men twice his size, that was a fair appraisal. He didn't mind being underestimated. It was much safer for everyone that way.
“And what about you?” Parker wondered aloud. “The brains behind it all?”
“No,” announced a new voice, belonging to another man who joined them at the final seat at the table. “That would be me.”
Even though it was fairly dim inside the shop, the stranger didn't remove his sunglasses.
“I'd like to introduce you all to Nathan Ford,” Dubenich said. “He’ll be the one leading you through this plan.”
Even though he hadn't been around, Ford had a reputation. The chatter around campus all disagreed on precisely why he'd been fired from the university the previous year, but the stories all ended the same way—with Ford causing a scene, and getting escorted off the school grounds by police. His campus ban also explained the meeting location.
“Why not you, sir?” Spencer asked. It was his polite way of asking why the hell they should trust Ford.
“To keep things ethical, of course,” Dubenich joked. “Really, the less I know, the better. Not that I anticipate that you'll run into any problems.”
His avoidance, and the way he squinted at the team he'd assembled, was a red flag. They all saw it. But they'd already all but made up their minds.
“I hear the three of you are very bright,” Ford chimed in before wincing slightly, as if the mere thought of a harsh light made his head throb. “Let's make this one easy. Quick in and out, make the transfer, and get paid. Then we never have to see each other again.”
Whatever they knew of Ford’s reputation, they couldn't deny he appeared to be the right man for the job—certainly over Dubenich. But what was in it for Ford? Maybe they couldn't trust him, exactly, but he seemed honest. He didn't waste time, either. They could get this urge out of their systems, get their money, and put all of this behind them in the course of a week.
“Now, if the three of you are on board, I'll need you to sign your contracts and return them to me, to file with the school.”
“Do we get copies?” Spencer asked.
“Sure,” Dubenich answered, like the idea hadn't even occurred to him. “I can email yours to you tonight.”
“I don't need a copy,” Parker said, shoving her signed contract across the table back at Dubenich. She'd managed to take every page out of the folder and gotten the pages scattered in a messy pile.
Her speed made Alec feel rushed. He was skimming the pages, making sure everything looked legitimate, but he didn't know enough about contracts to know where the fine print and loopholes were usually buried. He made a mental note to dig into that whole business later. In the meantime, he could only handle the panic a few more minutes before he signed, too.
Spencer, however, felt no such pressure. It didn't matter if some of the legalese went right over his head—he didn't plan to sign a thing until he read every last word.
It wasn't long before Ford had waited long enough. He shared his address, and the time they'd be gathering the following night for him to lay out a full plan for the grab, before taking off. Parker and Alec made their exits not long after that. But Dubenich simply waited patiently for Spencer, hands folded, while he read.
For Spencer, it was a test. Dubenich’s willingness to wait told him he was desperate to have him on the team, and he couldn't be sure if that was a very good sign or a very bad one. What worried him about the contract were the stipulations outlined in the very first pages. He was promising to do a certain type of work in exchange for the pay, knowing full well that the specified work wouldn't get done. That would make things complicated if anything didn't pan out. Even so, he signed the papers, and handed everything over to Dubenich. After all, he had the big day of the job to look forward to.
Under Ford’s guidance, the whole thing had gone—mostly—without a hitch. A staffing change and some security upgrades had forced them to adapt, deviating from Ford’s meticulous planning, but by the end of the night, the Pierson Building had been infiltrated and the data had been properly transferred to the specified server online before being completely scrubbed locally, as well as from the cloud backup. No three students could have been better suited to the task.
Now, there was just the matter of picking up their checks. They'd been told to meet at 10 a.m. at a certain room in the basement of the administration and admission building at the center of campus, and they all arrived right on the dot. They weren't expecting Nathan Ford, still wearing his dark sunglasses, and now donning a conspicuous fedora, to also appear.
“What are you doing here, man?” Alec asked, though they all wondered it. He wasn't allowed anywhere near campus, let alone within its center.
“Just collecting what's mine,” Ford said, marching to the front of the room, where a familiar-looking manila envelope lay. Upon opening it, he stopped in his tracks.
“What is it?” Parker asked as the group rushed forward to see the folder’s contents.
Written on the inside in bold, black, threatening letters were the words, “Say nothing, or they find out,” and they all barely caught a glimpse of some kind of insurance statement with a big red “denied” stamp on it before Ford crumpled it up and shoved it inside the pocket of his blazer.
It wasn't hard to recognize as blackmail, particularly as they spread the other documents inside—time-stamped captures of security footage of Parker sneaking into a bank after hours, and screenshots of Alec’s extralegal code siphoning fractions of cents off every university transaction, and long lens photos of Spencer undergoing intensive ROTC training that looked like they could have been shot on an actual military base. Each scrambled to collect each piece of evidence against them, knowing full well these weren't the only copies. They had to keep quiet, or their secrets would be spilled. They had to get out of here.
But as they strode back to the front door, they were all met by a familiar face.
“So it's true,” said the dean of the university, flanked on either side by guards, armed with batons. “I was told the thieves from last night’s fiasco would surrender themselves easily, but this is ridiculous. Now, why don't you all come with me?”
Spencer could've easily taken down both the dean and his guards—he knew it—but they were in enough trouble as it was. So, defeated, the four followed the dean, escorted by the guards, up two floors and directly to the dean’s office. One guard stepped inside with them, locking the office door, while the other stood to watch from the outside.
It was the dean who finally broke the deafening silence in the room.
“Tell me right now why I don't have all four of you permanently escorted off campus…” he was threatening them, before being interrupted by the jiggling of a doorknob, and the flying open of the front door.
“There you all are,” said a woman as she stepped inside, in a very English voice that was comforting and sophisticated all at once.
“I could have sworn that door was locked…” Devlin murmured. “Professor Devereaux, what in the world are you doing here?”
“I'm here to collect my team,” she said, matter-of-factly. “I understand the exercise was a success?”
“The exercise?” the dean balked. “That engineering data was wiped clean from the system. Years of research, funded by millions of tax dollars, down the drain.”
“All part of the plan. See?”
Professor Devereaux handed him a hard drive. Eagerly, he plugged it into his computer and investigated.
“This seems… I'll have to have this verified,” Dean Devlin said, “but it looks legitimate. Why?”
“Acting means nothing unless there are stakes,” she explained. “And improvisation is a crucial element of drama. You plan, yes, but putting on an identity and seeing it through is the core tenant of what it means to be an actor. For example, Parker here was assigned to seductively distract the lobby attendant, but when the originally scheduled student was absent, well, Eliot stepped in to brilliantly sweep the girl who replaced him off her feet.”
She was so convincing even the students started to half-believe her. Didn't she teach theater? They didn't even know her, and they certainly didn't understand how she knew the specifics of the job in such intricate detail.
“They… they still broke into the secured lab area…”the dean stammered.
“But is it really breaking in if all of the doors are unlocked?”
“They should have been locked!”
All computer-controlled. Alec had just had to toggle one option in the system and it all came down. But the dean didn't need to know that.
“And with all of that data back in your hand, the effect is a net zero, really,” Professor Devereaux went on. “No harm done.”
Everyone in the room could see the wheels spinning for the dean. They'd absolutely done something wrong—and been caught red-handed—but this Devereaux woman had him stumped, and blushing. Perhaps he had a bit of a crush.
“Fine,” Devlin finally relented. “But I'll be watching you all very closely until I can confirm this is everything that was removed from the server. The three of you get a warning. Any repeat offenses, and you're out. And Ford, you're working with me on a better cover story for this… incident. Then you're never stepping foot on this campus again.”
“Understood,” Ford said simply.
“Now get out before I change my mind.”
No one had to be told that twice.
“Thanks, Sophie,” Ford told Professor Devereaux once they'd cleared the building. “I knew I could count on you.”
“For you, Nate, always,” she said. “You just owe me a new hard drive. Now, I'd like to get to know the three of you better. Teach you a thing or two about the grift. Because next time, I don't intend on letting you get caught.”
“Next time?” the three students repeated in unison.
“Next time. This Dubenich fellow is trying to get between you and the people you love? Blackmail—and he didn't even pay you? I don't know about you all, but I wouldn't let anyone get away with that. How about this time, we give Dubenich a taste of his own medicine?”