Ethan sat at his desk, pen spinning lazily between his fingers. The test paper in front of him looked almost insultingly simple—algebraic functions, geometry proofs, a smattering of word problems. He had already mapped the solutions out in his head within sixty seconds of the sheet hitting his desk.
But finishing instantly wasn't the goal. That would raise questions, and Ethan had no interest in attracting attention from teachers who might see him as a genius and start checking in with his parents. He had the role of a normal student to play.
He decided on 82 percent. Respectable, above average, but not excellent. A score that said, "I studied a little, but I'm not a prodigy." The kind of result that let teachers nod approvingly without singling him out, and kept classmates from thinking of him as a competitor.
He filled in his answers at a leisurely pace, deliberately skipping a problem here, adding an error there. His pen scratched lines of fake work across the paper so it would look as though he'd sweated through the process. For the next twenty minutes he stared, erased, and doodled in the margins, acting the part of a student caught in the grind.
Finally, he rose, paper in hand.
"Done already? Are you sure you don't want to double-check your answers?" his teacher asked with a faint note of surprise.
"Yeah," Ethan shrugged, keeping his tone casual. "Wasn't too bad."
The teacher smiled, took the sheet, and moved on to the next student without another thought. Perfect. Ethan had manufactured the illusion of mediocrity yet again.
As he stepped away, Ethan added, "Can I use the restroom?"
The teacher waved him out.
Ethan walked calmly through the halls until he reached a corner without cameras. He pushed open the side door leading to a quiet service alley and checked the angles. Empty.
From his bag, he pulled the burner phone and the compact voice changer—tools he was used to always carrying nowadays, because he had been low on time and needed to do many things in school.
He fitted the device to his throat, dialed, and when the line clicked alive, his voice was no longer Ethan's.
"Robert."
The agent's voice came quickly and nervously. "M-Mister Moreau, I was just about to contact you! I'm, uh, still working on the warehouse deal. Should only be a day or two more, I swear."
Ethan leaned against the brick wall, expression calm, though Robert couldn't see it. "Good. A day or two is acceptable."
Robert exhaled like a drowning man breaking the surface.
"But," Ethan continued smoothly, "while you are working on that, I find myself in need of a small favor."
There was a beat of silence on the line, then Robert stammered, "W-what kind of favor?"
"I require a house. Immediately."
Robert blinked audibly. "I—that's impossible! Houses don't sell in hours, not legally, I—"
Ethan chuckled low through the voice changer. It came out rich, dangerous. "Robert, you worry too much. Relax. We will do business often, you and I. You should learn to adapt."
The agent swallowed hard. Ethan could practically hear the sweat dripping onto his desk.
"Sell me your mistress's home," Ethan said lightly, "or find me one I can purchase today."
There was a long, choking silence.
Robert sputtered, "H-how… how will I be able to—"
"Robert," Ethan interrupted, voice dropping into that icy softness that cut sharper than shouting, "I know your wife and mistress's name. I know your daughter's name. I know the subscription you keep at her address, the one you do not share with your family. Do not insult me by pretending surprise or being unable to do what I asked."
Robert's chair squeaked as he shifted frantically.
"Now," Ethan continued, "I am not unreasonable. The house should be worth one hundred fifty thousand. I will pay you one seventy."
"One seventy?" Robert repeated, voice high, panicked.
"Yes. Twenty thousand extra. Consider it a gift for the inconvenience. I'm sure she'll be quite upset about the sudden news, so take her on vacation. Tell her you are moving into something bigger. Make her feel special Robert. It's the least you could do since you have no plans on marrying her, not that she knows from her phone messages."
Ethan let the words hang in the air, like a razor floating above Robert's neck.
On the other end, Robert breathed shakily. He was trapped, and he knew it.
"I…" he began weakly. "I don't think I can—"
"You can," Ethan cut in. "You will. If you do not, your wife and your mistress will meet. And then you will discover just how expensive life can be when one has to pay both child support and alimony. Plus, I'll add in another ten thousand for the furnishings you'll leave behind. You can keep that one if you want."
The agent whimpered, his facade shattering.
Finally, Robert whispered, "I'll do it. I'll talk to her. I'll—make it work."
"Excellent." Ethan's voice smoothed again, now gentle, as though he were rewarding a child. "And because I am generous, I will give you another opportunity to prove your value."
"Yes—yes, anything."
"In two days," Ethan said, "you will present me with three potential houses in Newark. I wish to make a purchase. Budget: three hundred fifty thousand. Surprise me."
Robert hesitated. "Th-three houses, in two days? That's—"
"You managed to hide a mistress from your wife for three years," Ethan said coldly. "Do not tell me what is or isn't possible. Two days, Robert."
"Yes," Robert said quickly, desperation in every syllable. "Two days. I'll have them ready."
"Good, I knew I could count on you."
And with that, Ethan hung up. No farewell, no politeness. Just silence.
He slipped the phone and the voice changer back into his bag, adjusted his expression in the reflection of a dusty window, and walked calmly back into school.
When he entered the classroom, nobody looked up. The teacher was hunched over grading. Half of the students were still hunched over tests, some groaning softly in frustration.
Ethan slid into his seat as though he'd never left.
One classmate leaned over and whispered, "Man, this test's killing me. You finish already?"
Ethan smirked faintly, playing the role. "Yeah. Managed to scrape through."
The other kid groaned and bent back over his paper.
Ethan leaned back in his chair, eyes on the board but mind already miles away.
Luc Moreau had secured a temporary safehouse for Delilah. Soon, he would have a shortlist of properties in Newark that he would use to attach to the new identity he planned to start creating for her. Afterall, he had to keep his new Queenpin close.