Secondly, I wasn’t sure if I could trust anyone in the BHU administration, given their close ties with the Club, so I didn’t want to let any of them know I was actively looking into my sister’s death.
But now that I was thinking about it again, I realized that Dean Weiss was eventually going to find out exactly who I was, and from there she might guess why I was here. So maybe a partial truth was safer than a full lie.
“My sister used to go here,” I said softly. “But she died last year. I’ve been asking around about her. Like, asking if people knew her, or if they can share stories about her. Stuff like that. So… maybe it’s an angry ex who doesn’t want anyone talking about her, or something like that.”
“I suppose that could be it.” Sympathy flickered in Weiss’s eyes. “And I’m so sorry to hear about your sister’s passing. That must’ve been devastating for you.”
“Yes, it was.”
“You said she was a student here at BHU?”
“Yes.” I lifted my gaze to meet hers dead-on, wanting to gauge her reaction. “She was the one who fell from the clock tower last October.”
Weiss went very still. Then she flipped open my file again, scanning the page. “Your sister was Calista Hoffman?”
“Yes.” I kept staring at her, searching for even the slightest hint in her expression that she’d been involved in the coverup. “It must’ve been a difficult situation for you and the university, so I’m sure you remember it all too well.”
“I wasn't here when it happened,” she said. “I started this position in December, so my predecessor handled it. But I was briefed, and I remember thinking how tragic it was. I'm truly sorry.”
I blinked. A new dean, hired just a few weeks after Cal's death? That seemed... convenient.
“Oh, I forgot there was a different dean here last fall. Now I’ve gone completely blank on his name,” I said, subtly fishing for more details.
“Michael Harrier.”
“Oh, that’s right. Why did he leave?”
Weiss's expression didn't change, but something shuttered behind her eyes. “Early retirement. That's all I was told.”
My mind was spinning now. What were the odds of a dean just happening to take an early retirement not long after Calista’s death?
It reeked of a payoff from the Dionysus Club in return for a coverup.
“Is that normal?” I asked, brows rising. “For a dean to retire early?”
“It's not common,” Weiss admitted. “But it's not unheard of either. The position comes with significant stress. Burnout is real.”
She was either lying or genuinely didn't know anything. I couldn't tell which.
“I see,” I murmured, making a mental note to look into it later.
Weiss leaned forward, her voice dropping. “Listen, Violet. I can't imagine what you've been through. First losing your sister here, and now this break-in at your dorm. It reflects terribly on this institution, and I'm ashamed of that.” She paused. “If there's anything I can do to help you—anythingat all—please tell me.”
This was an opportunity for me.
I could hear it in her voice, see it in the tension around her eyes. She was worried. About liability, about bad press, about a grieving student going public with how unsafe she felt at BHU.
I could use that.
“One of my friends already knows what happened,” I said slowly. “He's really into activism. Social justice, that kind of thing. He wanted to post about it on TikTok. You know, to warn other students. But… I told him I'd think about it first.”
Weiss didn't blink, but her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on the edge of my file. “What would it take for you to ask him not to do that?”
“I’d like a meeting with Professor Piermont.”
Her brows rose. Clearly, she’d expected me to request special consideration on my grades, or perhaps even brazenly ask for a discount on my tuition. Not a meeting with the dean of the history department, of all things.
“Professor Piermont?” she repeated.
