Chapter 10: Merit Cannot Be Purchased

Lunch was simple: steamed fish, tender greens, egg custard, and a light soup Clara remembered Miriam tolerating whenever stress upset her stomach.

Miriam took one bite and set down her spoon.

"You remembered."

"Some things stay with you."

Clara meant the diet restrictions. Miriam heard the years beneath the answer and looked away before emotion could show.

After the meal, Clara carried the dishes to the kitchen. Elias followed without being asked.

"You can sit with Miriam," Clara said.

"She will question me about my publication schedule. Washing dishes is safer."

"Coward."

"Strategist."

Warm light filled the kitchen. Elias dried each plate and returned it to the cabinet Clara indicated. There was no performance in the help, no expectation that she praise him for noticing work that needed to be done.

Miriam appeared in the doorway. "How did the two of you meet?"

Clara handed Elias another plate. "We became neighbors by accident. Sloane introduced us before we realized."

Miriam's brows rose. "Neighbors."

"Do not start," Elias said.

"I said one word."

Before Miriam could turn it into several more, the house manager entered from the hall.

"Professor Caldwell, you have a visitor."

Victoria Holloway stood in the living room beside a tower of gift boxes.

"Professor, I'm glad you're recovering." Victoria offered a polished smile. "My family wanted you to have a few things that might help."

Miriam glanced over the imported supplements, rare tea, and expensive pen.

"That was unnecessary."

"Not at all. I also hoped we might continue our discussion about the doctoral opening."

"There was no discussion." Miriam's tone remained civil. "I told you applications would be reviewed."

Victoria's smile tightened. "You said I had a chance."

"You do. The same chance as every qualified applicant."

"My undergraduate record is excellent, and the Holloway Foundation has supported university research for years."

"Then your record can speak for you." Miriam motioned toward the gifts. "Please take these home. Admission is based on merit, not gratitude."

Victoria glanced toward Elias as though expecting him to soften the refusal. He continued drying a plate.

"The foundation's support has never purchased a student's place," Miriam continued. "Do not insult your own record by suggesting it should."

Color rose beneath Victoria's makeup. The correction was impossible to challenge without admitting exactly what she had attempted.

The dismissal was quiet enough to leave Victoria no dignified argument.

She turned toward the door and nearly collided with Clara, who was carrying a bag of kitchen trash.

Victoria looked at the old apron over Clara's white T-shirt, then at the trash in her hand.

"What are you doing here?"

"Helping with lunch."

Victoria's gaze swept over the modest clothes. Understanding arrived in the wrong shape.

"You're working as a housekeeper?"

Clara stared at her. "No."

"Did Grant leave you with nothing?"

"That is also no."

But Victoria was already offended on behalf of the Holloway name. She marched outside and called her brother.

Grant answered over the noise of a private card game. "What?"

"You let Clara work as a maid?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I just saw her carrying trash in Professor Caldwell's house. Her clothes looked cheap. If you discarded her without enough money, people will think our family exploits women."

Grant stopped hearing the room around him.

Clara had deposited fifty million dollars. She owned Harbor Point Parcel 72. Why would she be cleaning someone else's house?

Unless she refused to spend the money because using it would make the breakup real.

The answer suited his pride, so he accepted it without examination.

"Where is she now?"

"At Professor Caldwell's."

Grant ended the call.

Connor looked up from the cards. "Your turn."

"I'm leaving."

"You organized the game."

"Something came up."

* * *

Grant waited in his car for Clara to call.

An hour passed. Work messages arrived. Paige sent a photograph from campus. Clara did nothing.

Grant refreshed the conversation he could no longer use. The last message Clara had sent before the party asked whether he would be home for dinner. He had read it and left it unanswered because Paige wanted to meet.

At the time, silence had felt like control. Now the same silence came back from a locked account, and he found it intolerable.

At last he drove to Sloane's building. Every previous fight had led Clara there. He knew the route without navigation.

Sloane appeared at the entrance with a younger man beside her.

Her expression hardened. "Why are you here?"

"Where's Clara?"

"Not your concern."

"Tell her to stop this performance."

Sloane laughed. "You broke up with her in front of a room full of people, and you still think her life is a performance for you?"

"How many times have we broken up?"

"Enough for her to finally learn."

Grant stepped toward the entrance. The man beside Sloane moved into his path.

"Residents only," he said.

Grant ignored him and held Sloane's gaze. "You enjoy turning Clara against me. But it won't last. She has no family in Bellwether, no career, and nowhere she belongs more than with me."

Sloane's face changed from anger to disgust.

She could have told him Clara had seventy million dollars, a new lease, and an academic future that predated him. Instead she understood that facts would become more material for Grant to explain away. He would learn only when Clara's life continued without his permission.

Grant opened his car door.

"Remember what I said," he told her. "Clara will come back. She always does."

He drove away before Sloane could tell him Clara no longer lived there.