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to give him the details of last night, the break in.
    “Why on Earth would you think Dylan Rogers is behind this, Jennifer?” Dad’s condescending tone couldn’t be missed.
    “It’s just a feeling, Dad. Same one I’ve had since the first day I met him.” I rolled my eyes and signed under my breath. Why don’t you ever believe me?
    “Well, just keep that feeling to yourself. You have no proof that Dylan had anything to do with this…or anything else going on  at Vawter. Innocent until proven guilty.”
    Without saying another word I spun around and went back to my office. A barrage of emails greeted me in my inbox, all from Reese. The subject line of the first email read, “OPEN ME FIRST—Files on DR!”
    I clicked the email and opened the first attachment. My fingers were shaking, curious and nervous about what Reese may have turned up. A photo popped up of scraggly haired kid who looked to be in his late teens or early twenties. Long brown hair and glasses hid the pale complexion of an otherwise possibly cute kid. He looks familiar. Dylan!
    I looked more closely at the photo and saw it was an ID card from college. Dylan Rogers, his sneaky smile leering back at me. I opened the next picture: Dylan and the robotics team at some competitive event; next, Dylan on the track team. This guy gets around. Ok, Reese, why are you sending this to me?
    The next file was his college transcript, followed by a report from the campus police office. Reese had been kind enough to highlight one particularly interesting passage: “Female student complains that D. Rogers followed her around campus and left inappropriate notes for her. No witnesses.”
    I clicked on the next file, realizing this was getting good. It was another letter from campus police. “ Student says that Rogers watched her through a window on multiple occasions. Asked to be moved to another dorm inside Sanderson Hall.
    Then next file had “Dylan Rogers” in the subject line. “ Spoke to D. Rogers regarding student accusations of stalking and harassment. Rogers claims the student, A. Wilson, is calling him and emailing him.”
    What was it Dad said about needing proof? I laughed to myself at the timing; it was as if Reese had been in the room, listening to the conversation between Dad and I.
    Reese walked in and caught me staring at the pictures and reports he had sent over. The amount of information was overwhelming. “What about these complaints you sent me? Are these three different women, or the same woman? It’s not really clear from the letters. Is there any way we can talk to the campus police officer, or at least read the full files on these complaints? I’d like to know if what we are talking about is harmless kids’ stuff, or signs that this man has real problems.” I tapped my chin with finger.
    “Yeah, I already have an appointment with the chief of campus police over there, Bill Watson. He’s actually an old friend, so I don’t think it’s going to be a problem as long as we can promise him to keep what we find off the news. Been enough on-campus problems lately, without dredging up stuff from five or six years ago. I’ll let you know what I find.”
    “You don’t need me to go with you?” I’d hoped to see the files for myself.
    “I don’t think Chief Watson would like that, nothing personal. He’s kind of protective over Brown, been there for years. He says he remembers this kid, so he should be able to tell us more.”
    I tried not to sulk. “What was the final analysis on the other companies under Vawter?”
    Reese tilted back in his chair, his hands interlaced behind his head, oblivious to the sweat stains on his shirt. He was an old curmudgeon, but I liked his honesty and his loyalty to my dad—and to me. “I can’t say so officially yet, but to me, it’s looking more and more like the real problem is with The Arena.” Leaning forward, he whispered, “The Arena is a problem because bigwigs—or rather the wives of