He glances at me, startled. "I hate people like her."
"People like her?"
"People who manipulate everyone around them and then play victim when they get caught." His voice is low, bitter. "People who think money and status mean they can do whatever they want."
Interesting. That's not what I expected from Caleb Huntington the Third.
Before responding, Gavin is moving toward Caleb with that golden retriever enthusiasm. "Come with me. We're going to need you to identify her."
Caleb's eyes widen. "What? No, I just need to give you the files?—"
"Nope!" Gavin is already steering him toward the front door. "You're our star witness!"
Poor bastard looks like he's being led to his execution.
But then they step onto the porch, and everything changes.
Gavin, in his cheerfully brutal way, asks if Cher is one of the people who hired Caleb. The woman's face drains of colour.
"I've never seen this person before in my life," she says, voice shrill.
And the quiet, angry but reluctant, I-just-want-to-give-you-the-files-and-leave, Caleb, straightens his spine and looks her dead in the eye.
"Yes," he says, voice carrying across the porch with unexpected strength. "That's the woman who paid me to set you up. She came to the design lab with that guy."
Well. Didn't see that coming. He actually identified her.
Cher tries to deny it, but she's already lost. Drew bans her from the house, from all frat events. She threatens them with her father, which is predictable. Tyler delivers a quiet, devastating line about regretting ever thinking she cared about him.
She storms off, and the porch empties back into the living room. Everyone's talking at once, but I'm still watching Caleb.
He's shaking slightly, adrenaline or nerves or both. That defiance from the porch is already fading, replaced by something more uncertain. Tyler thanks him, and Caleb shrugs it off, but there's pride there, too. Good. He should be proud. That took guts.
Then Gavin asks about Caleb's comment, "someone like her," and Caleb's response stops me cold.
"Rich, entitled people who think they can buy whatever they want. Including people."
The bitterness in his voice is real. Raw. And coming from someone whose full name includes "the Third," it's... unexpected.
Maybe I've been making assumptions. Maybe Posh Boy isn't quite what he seems.
Drew's already suggesting they work on building the case, and suddenly everyone's moving toward the living room, pulling out laptops and phones. Caleb hesitates in the doorway, looking like he's still deciding whether to bolt.
"You coming?" The question comes out before thinking about it.
He looks at me, eyes searching for... something. Mockery, maybe. Or another cutting remark.
"Yeah," he says finally. "I'm coming."
And just like that, he's part of the team.
Working with him flows more easily than it should. He's familiar with his design tools and knows how to present digital evidence effectively. Despite the friction, our workflow is almost seamless.
Two hours in, and we've assembled a compelling case that will be impossible to deny. It has more than just what Caleb was a part of because Cher and Ryan were damn idiots who made comments online, as well as talking in front of people who then commented. They left a whole trail.
And also, bloody hell, the way Caleb's fingers fly across his keyboard, that focused furrow between his eyebrows when he's concentrating...
No. Absolutely not going there.
