"Come on, Frank," Ryan Carter said with a small grin, "let's just keep it simple. Call me Ryan, or if you must, call me Carter. No need for all this formal title business."
He could see that Frank Turner's son and daughter-in-law were both people with serious clout in town. Having the mayor of the city address him with some old-fashioned, almost ceremonial mentor title just didn't sit right with him.
In his old life, people like Daniel Turner had been far beyond Ryan's reach. Now, somehow, this man was technically a "mentee" by association. The whole thing felt surreal.
Frank shook his head firmly. "Nonsense. Claire can call you by name if she wants, but my son and his wife? Not a chance."
He turned a hard look on Daniel. "What's this, son? You get elected mayor and suddenly you've forgotten the people who trained me, who made me who I am? Or do you just not care about respecting your father's mentors anymore?"
Daniel Turner glanced toward George Holland, hoping for backup, but George's expression was equally firm—if not a little disappointed. With no escape, Daniel swallowed his pride. "Alright," he said at last, "thank you… Mr. Carter."
Claire Turner followed suit, though with a polite but awkward smile. They both took their seats, the atmosphere easing slightly.
Ryan let the moment pass without dwelling on it. If people wanted to address him with exaggerated respect, fine. If not, also fine. But deep down, he had to admit—it felt good to have the room turn toward him with that much weight in their voices.
He looked over the couple with a keen, almost clinical eye. Daniel carried himself with quiet authority, his posture straight and deliberate. Claire radiated a sharp, professional energy. And then—Ryan noticed something in Claire's face, a subtle change in her color and posture that made him smirk.
"Frank," Ryan said casually, "you've got nothing to worry about when it comes to family legacy. George, I don't think you'll be making a wasted trip here tonight."
Frank blinked. "What do you mean?"
George frowned slightly, then turned to Claire. "May I?"
Claire nodded, and George took her wrist lightly, his brow furrowing in concentration. After a moment, a slow smile spread across his face. "Well, well… looks like Ryan's right. Congratulations—you're pregnant."
Claire's eyes widened. "What? That's not possible. Daniel and I have been married twelve years without a single positive test. And now suddenly—" She turned to George. "Are you sure you're not mistaken?"
Her mother-in-law, Catherine Pike, leaned forward eagerly. "Claire, if this is true…" Her voice shook slightly. This was the news she had been longing to hear for years.
Claire hesitated, then pulled an envelope from her bag. "I was actually planning to surprise you all tonight. I had my OB appointment this morning. It's official—six weeks along."
The room erupted with joy. Daniel let out a disbelieving laugh, throwing his arms around Claire. "I'm going to be a dad," he said, grinning so wide it almost hurt.
Catherine's eyes were glassy. "Mr. Carter, your eye for these things is… remarkable."
Frank joined in the praise. "Yes, you spotted it without so much as touching her. Incredible."
George chuckled and shook his head. "My little brother here makes me look like an amateur sometimes. I still need instruments or tests to confirm something like this—he just looks and knows."
Daniel and Claire exchanged a glance. To them, spotting a pregnancy didn't seem like the most impossible feat in the world—experienced doctors could sometimes guess—but after hearing that Ryan had also detected Leonard Brooks's brain tumor earlier that evening, their skepticism was melting fast.
Leonard himself was practically glowing with renewed hope. If Ryan could spot something that even an MRI had only just confirmed, then maybe—just maybe—his own odds of survival were better than he thought.
The banquet carried on in a much lighter mood after that. Even Daniel, usually restrained with alcohol, allowed himself a couple of toasts.
Midway through the evening, Ryan excused himself to the restroom. On his way back, he passed through the main dining hall and spotted a familiar face in a corner booth—Emily Ross, one of his former professors, seated with a man and another woman.
Ryan's sharp eyes and ears caught the tension immediately. Emily's brow was furrowed, her smile tight. Ryan slowed his step. Over the past two years, Emily had been one of the most dedicated faculty members at Westlake—fair, diligent, and invested in her students. If she was troubled, it was worth knowing why.
Emily Ross had been under heavy stress lately.
After earning her master's degree, she'd gotten her current academic advising position by sheer chance—stepping in when a senior counselor was injured in an accident. She'd poured herself into the role, determined to earn a permanent contract.
This year, Westlake University had just one full-time slot available for advisors. There were four candidates, including her. She'd placed first in the written exam.
But whispers had reached her—ugly rumors that the decision had already been made behind closed doors, that the slot was earmarked for someone with the right connections.
Just as she was wondering whether to fight it or give up, her cousin Rachel Myers contacted her, saying her boyfriend Paul Whitaker was the nephew of the university's Director of Human Resources. If Paul put in a word, maybe the "done deal" could be undone.
That was why Emily was here tonight, waiting on them.
Paul and Rachel arrived late, and the first thirty minutes were all about Paul talking himself up—family influence here, friends in that department, connections everywhere. Emily forced herself to smile, though she could feel her patience fraying.
Finally, she brought the conversation back to the point. "Paul, you know what I'm asking. You've seen my record. Can you speak to your uncle?"
Paul shrugged. "If you'd come to me earlier, maybe. But the decision's practically finalized now. Pushing it would mean stepping on someone else's toes—and even my uncle has to tread carefully."
Rachel chimed in, "Paul, she's my cousin. You know most schools now favor PhDs for advisor roles. If she misses this chance, she may never get another."
Paul sighed. "Alright, for you, I'll talk to him. But I'm not promising anything. I don't even know who the chosen candidate is—so I might be walking into a hornet's nest here."
Before Emily could answer, a voice came from behind her.
"Professor Ross doesn't need special favors," Ryan said, stepping up to the table. "She's first in the written exam, she's been outstanding in her work for the past two years—there's no reason she shouldn't get the position on merit alone."
Paul turned, frowning. "And you are?"
Emily sighed, half-exasperated, half-embarrassed. "Paul, Rachel—this is Ryan Carter. He just graduated from the computer science program. One of my students."
Paul's frown softened slightly. "Ah. So you're fresh out of school. That explains it—you're still young enough to believe the world's fair."
Ryan's gaze didn't waver. "If the school itself isn't fair, how can it claim to teach students integrity?"
Paul chuckled. "Kid, let me give you a reality check. Merit matters far less than connections. You can ace every test and still lose in the interview if the decision's already made."
Ryan's expression sharpened. "Funny thing. I know the president of Westlake personally. And if Professor Ross can't stay, it'll be the university's loss."
Emily gave him a quick, warning look. "Ryan—thank you, but this isn't your fight. I'll handle it."
Rachel smirked. "The president of Westlake? Sure you do. And I'm guessing he's your long-lost uncle, right?"
Ryan shook his head. "Not my uncle. Just someone I happen to know well."
Paul laughed—but stopped when he noticed President Leonard Brooks emerging from the private room, walking straight toward their table. Paul shot to his feet. "President Brooks! Good evening, sir."