Firstly Hannah Eastman needs to be really applauded here. As you say within the story, she's putting a LOT on the line here, at the very least her job if this doesn't go well. It would have been SO easy to have said nothing, and NOBODY would have been any the wiser. So, TOTAL respect.
As for Valena Childers not bothering to dispose of the evidence personally and properly, this laziness could now really come back to bite her. Especially as Erica is now on the case!
Website Migration Update
I moved the website to a new host, which I think will be more tolerant of the content this website hosts. Nevertheless, I do want to take a moment to remind everyone that the stories and content posted here MUST follow website rules, as it it not only my policy, but it is the policy of the hosts that permit our website to run on their servers. We WILL continue to enforce the rules, especially critical rules that, if broken, put this sites livelihood in jeapordy.
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Erica Sinclair - Code of Silence (M/F)
Dear @LunaDog maybe Dean Cilders was too sure of herself, so let's see if Erica can flip the script on this case.
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
The room is silent, thick with unspoken weight.
Erica lets the moment settle before speaking, her voice measured but urgent. She needs to steer this into the right direction before Sasha might unload her frustration on Hannah Eastman.
“Ladies, this is what’s going to happen,” she says, glancing between Sasha and Hannah. “At 4 PM, we will meet with Assistant District Attorney Calloway. I will present this evidence, and Sasha and Mrs. Eastman will give their statements. This – I need you to understand – is crucial if we want to succeed.”
She shifts slightly in her chair, turning to Sasha. Her gaze sharp, steady.
“At that point, the DA will likely want to move forward with charges against Valena Childers, at least for obstruction of justice.” A beat. Then, softer but firm “But, Sasha, before we go any further, you need to understand something.”
Sasha blinks, snapping out of her daze.
Erica leans forward, folding her hands on the table. Her voice drops, deliberate and serious.
“If they send this for DNA testing,” she says, nodding toward the plastic bag between them, “it may prove that Steve Lonnegan had sexual contact with you that night.” She pauses, letting the weight of those words settle.
“But it cannot prove whether you consented or not. And if this goes to court, there’s a real possibility that Lonnegan still walks.”
Sasha’s jaw tightens. A shadow crosses her face.
Erica softens her tone. “As your counselor, I need to be honest with you.”
Sasha nods, her movements slow.
She already knew.
She had always known.
No matter how much evidence she had, there would always be some legal technicality, some reason to doubt her.
“However,” Erica continues, her voice gaining weight, “what we will be able to prove - beyond a doubt - is that Valena Childers knowingly covered up potential evidence of a sexual assault.”
A long pause stretches through the room.
“And that, Sasha… is something that can - and will - bring the truth into the open.”
The silence that follows is thick, charged.
Sasha inhales slowly, controlled, but the rise and fall of her chest betrays the storm brewing inside her.
Then, she lifts her head.
Her eyes shine with unshed tears, but her voice is steady. Strong.
“Okay,” she says finally.
Erica doesn’t look away. She has a good idea of what is going on in the girl’s mind.
“I just want people to know what happened.”
Sasha swallows, then continues, her voice low but firm. “I want people to know that they didn’t believe me. That they tried to bury this… for whatever reason.”
A flicker of something - regret, resolve - crosses Hannah Eastman’s face. Her lips press into a thin line, and slowly, she nods.
Beside Sasha, Claire reaches for her hand, giving it a small but meaningful squeeze. A silent promise that she isn’t alone.
Across the table, Erica studies Sasha, as if searching for any lingering doubt.
She finds none.
Finally, she inclines her head.
“So we will do this your way.”
The weight of the moment settles over them, thick as a storm cloud.
Erica lets it sit, lets the significance of Sasha’s decision resonate in the silence. Then, she stands, gathering her notepad and the plastic bag containing the evidence.
“You are an incredibly strong and brave girl, Sasha.” Her voice is steady, filled with quiet admiration. “Let’s get this started.”
Sasha nods, but she doesn’t speak.
Erica can only imagine what this choice has cost her. Three months of whispers, judgment, isolation. And yet, she isn’t here for revenge. She doesn’t care about winning or losing in a courtroom.
She just wants the truth in the open.
In doing so - whether she fully realizes it or not - she takes back power.
She chooses a personal victory over a legal one.
~~~
The metal detector beeps sharply as they pass through, the cold fluorescent lights overhead casting stark shadows across their faces.
At the security desk, Erica signs them in, the ballpoint pen scratching against paper.
The security guard, stoic and indifferent, waves them forward. “Interview Room 3. Down the hall.”
Sasha walks slightly behind Claire, her arms wrapped around herself in her oversized hoodie. She hasn’t said much since they left.
Neither has Hannah.
As they step inside, Erica immediately notices the change - the walls are freshly painted, the acrid scent still clinging to the air. A small detail, but one she files away.
She checks her Rolex. 3:59 PM.
Taking her seat, she crosses her ankles gracefully. Calloway is never late.
Right on cue, the door swings open and ADA Lauren Calloway strides in.
Short in stature but commanding the room instantly, she carries herself with a crisp efficiency. Green eyes sharp. Expression unreadable. She sets her writing pad down, scans the room.
No greetings. No small talk.
“Introductions, please.” Her voice is clipped, businesslike.
At the end of the table, Sasha shrinks further into her hoodie. Claire subtly squeezes her hand. A quiet anchor.
Erica offers a polite, knowing smile.
“ADA Calloway, this is my assistant, Claire Messner, her niece, Sasha Lambert, and Mrs. Hannah Eastman.”
As Erica speaks, Calloway jots everything down in a quick shorthand, not missing a beat.
Then, Erica gets to work.
“As I mentioned in my call this morning, three months ago, during a party at Liberty College, after consuming alcohol, Mrs. Lambert was sexually assaulted by Mr. Steve Lonnegan.”
Calloway doesn’t blink, but she taps her pencil against her notepad.
“Your client never reported the incident to the police? Didn’t see a doctor?”
“No, Mrs. Calloway,” Erica replies. “Sasha was traumatized, intimidated, and under the impression that nobody would believe a freshman over the star quarterback of the football team.”
Calloway nods slowly. Not judging. Just absorbing.
“Go on.”
Erica slides a stapled document across the table.
“The matter was internally reviewed by Liberty College’s board, with Dean Valena Childers overseeing it. These are the meeting minutes from that evaluation.”
Calloway looks them over, eyes narrowing.
“As you can see,” Erica continues, “nowhere does it mention the evidence Sasha provided - her torn and bloodied clothing.”
Calloway stops flipping the pages of the meeting minutes as Erica presses on.
“The board ruled that the encounter was consensual - based solely on Lonnegan’s word and the absence of “physical proof”. They advised Sasha to stop making accusations and reminded her of the legal drinking age.”
For the first time, Calloway sets her pen down.
She steeples her fingers, turning her gaze toward Sasha.
“Mrs. Lambert - may I call you Sasha?” Her voice softens, but it doesn’t lose its weight.
Sasha nods hesitantly.
Calloway studies her, reading every flicker of emotion.
“Mrs. Childers dismissed you just like that?”
Sasha swallows hard. Then - barely above a whisper - “Yes, ma’am.”
A beat.
Calloway nods once, her expression unreadable. Then, she picks up her pen again.
“Continue, please.”
Erica folds her hands neatly in front of her.
“After Sasha confided in her aunt, my assistant, they came to me for counsel. I personally confronted both Lonnegan and Childers.”
“And?”
“Lonnegan’s response, verbatim: No cops. No witnesses. No crime.”
Calloway’s jaw tightens.
“Mrs. Childers,” Erica adds, “denied ever receiving evidence.”
And with that, Erica reaches under the table, pulling out the plastic bag.
She places it on the table.
Even through the thin plastic, the yellow shorts and pink slip are visible. The dark stains speak for themselves.
Calloway’s expression doesn’t change. But the air in the room shifts.
Sasha’s breathing turns shallow.
“Yesterday evening,” Erica continues, “I received a text from Mrs. Eastman. She is Dean Childers’ secretary and was concerned that Sasha would never get the justice she deserves.”
She nods toward Hannah, who looks as though she’d rather disappear.
But then, she straightens her spine.
She’s past the point of no return.
They are in this together.
“She provided these meeting minutes… and these shorts and underwear, the physical evidence Sasha had handed Mrs. Childers.” Erica pauses. “She retrieved them from the trashcan in Childers’ office - the same day Sasha reported the assault.”
Silence.
Calloway doesn’t ask.
Because she doesn’t have to.
Hannah takes a deep breath.
“That’s what happened.” Her voice is tight, raw with regret. “I’m sorry… I didn’t come forward earlier.”
Sasha looks at her, searching for something - resentment? Forgiveness?
But they all know that the past can’t be undone.
Yet, right here, in this room, they are finally bringing the truth into the open.
~~~
Erica lets the moment settle before speaking, her voice measured but urgent. She needs to steer this into the right direction before Sasha might unload her frustration on Hannah Eastman.
“Ladies, this is what’s going to happen,” she says, glancing between Sasha and Hannah. “At 4 PM, we will meet with Assistant District Attorney Calloway. I will present this evidence, and Sasha and Mrs. Eastman will give their statements. This – I need you to understand – is crucial if we want to succeed.”
She shifts slightly in her chair, turning to Sasha. Her gaze sharp, steady.
“At that point, the DA will likely want to move forward with charges against Valena Childers, at least for obstruction of justice.” A beat. Then, softer but firm “But, Sasha, before we go any further, you need to understand something.”
Sasha blinks, snapping out of her daze.
Erica leans forward, folding her hands on the table. Her voice drops, deliberate and serious.
“If they send this for DNA testing,” she says, nodding toward the plastic bag between them, “it may prove that Steve Lonnegan had sexual contact with you that night.” She pauses, letting the weight of those words settle.
“But it cannot prove whether you consented or not. And if this goes to court, there’s a real possibility that Lonnegan still walks.”
Sasha’s jaw tightens. A shadow crosses her face.
Erica softens her tone. “As your counselor, I need to be honest with you.”
Sasha nods, her movements slow.
She already knew.
She had always known.
No matter how much evidence she had, there would always be some legal technicality, some reason to doubt her.
“However,” Erica continues, her voice gaining weight, “what we will be able to prove - beyond a doubt - is that Valena Childers knowingly covered up potential evidence of a sexual assault.”
A long pause stretches through the room.
“And that, Sasha… is something that can - and will - bring the truth into the open.”
The silence that follows is thick, charged.
Sasha inhales slowly, controlled, but the rise and fall of her chest betrays the storm brewing inside her.
Then, she lifts her head.
Her eyes shine with unshed tears, but her voice is steady. Strong.
“Okay,” she says finally.
Erica doesn’t look away. She has a good idea of what is going on in the girl’s mind.
“I just want people to know what happened.”
Sasha swallows, then continues, her voice low but firm. “I want people to know that they didn’t believe me. That they tried to bury this… for whatever reason.”
A flicker of something - regret, resolve - crosses Hannah Eastman’s face. Her lips press into a thin line, and slowly, she nods.
Beside Sasha, Claire reaches for her hand, giving it a small but meaningful squeeze. A silent promise that she isn’t alone.
Across the table, Erica studies Sasha, as if searching for any lingering doubt.
She finds none.
Finally, she inclines her head.
“So we will do this your way.”
The weight of the moment settles over them, thick as a storm cloud.
Erica lets it sit, lets the significance of Sasha’s decision resonate in the silence. Then, she stands, gathering her notepad and the plastic bag containing the evidence.
“You are an incredibly strong and brave girl, Sasha.” Her voice is steady, filled with quiet admiration. “Let’s get this started.”
Sasha nods, but she doesn’t speak.
Erica can only imagine what this choice has cost her. Three months of whispers, judgment, isolation. And yet, she isn’t here for revenge. She doesn’t care about winning or losing in a courtroom.
She just wants the truth in the open.
In doing so - whether she fully realizes it or not - she takes back power.
She chooses a personal victory over a legal one.
~~~
The metal detector beeps sharply as they pass through, the cold fluorescent lights overhead casting stark shadows across their faces.
At the security desk, Erica signs them in, the ballpoint pen scratching against paper.
The security guard, stoic and indifferent, waves them forward. “Interview Room 3. Down the hall.”
Sasha walks slightly behind Claire, her arms wrapped around herself in her oversized hoodie. She hasn’t said much since they left.
Neither has Hannah.
As they step inside, Erica immediately notices the change - the walls are freshly painted, the acrid scent still clinging to the air. A small detail, but one she files away.
She checks her Rolex. 3:59 PM.
Taking her seat, she crosses her ankles gracefully. Calloway is never late.
Right on cue, the door swings open and ADA Lauren Calloway strides in.
Short in stature but commanding the room instantly, she carries herself with a crisp efficiency. Green eyes sharp. Expression unreadable. She sets her writing pad down, scans the room.
No greetings. No small talk.
“Introductions, please.” Her voice is clipped, businesslike.
At the end of the table, Sasha shrinks further into her hoodie. Claire subtly squeezes her hand. A quiet anchor.
Erica offers a polite, knowing smile.
“ADA Calloway, this is my assistant, Claire Messner, her niece, Sasha Lambert, and Mrs. Hannah Eastman.”
As Erica speaks, Calloway jots everything down in a quick shorthand, not missing a beat.
Then, Erica gets to work.
“As I mentioned in my call this morning, three months ago, during a party at Liberty College, after consuming alcohol, Mrs. Lambert was sexually assaulted by Mr. Steve Lonnegan.”
Calloway doesn’t blink, but she taps her pencil against her notepad.
“Your client never reported the incident to the police? Didn’t see a doctor?”
“No, Mrs. Calloway,” Erica replies. “Sasha was traumatized, intimidated, and under the impression that nobody would believe a freshman over the star quarterback of the football team.”
Calloway nods slowly. Not judging. Just absorbing.
“Go on.”
Erica slides a stapled document across the table.
“The matter was internally reviewed by Liberty College’s board, with Dean Valena Childers overseeing it. These are the meeting minutes from that evaluation.”
Calloway looks them over, eyes narrowing.
“As you can see,” Erica continues, “nowhere does it mention the evidence Sasha provided - her torn and bloodied clothing.”
Calloway stops flipping the pages of the meeting minutes as Erica presses on.
“The board ruled that the encounter was consensual - based solely on Lonnegan’s word and the absence of “physical proof”. They advised Sasha to stop making accusations and reminded her of the legal drinking age.”
For the first time, Calloway sets her pen down.
She steeples her fingers, turning her gaze toward Sasha.
“Mrs. Lambert - may I call you Sasha?” Her voice softens, but it doesn’t lose its weight.
Sasha nods hesitantly.
Calloway studies her, reading every flicker of emotion.
“Mrs. Childers dismissed you just like that?”
Sasha swallows hard. Then - barely above a whisper - “Yes, ma’am.”
A beat.
Calloway nods once, her expression unreadable. Then, she picks up her pen again.
“Continue, please.”
Erica folds her hands neatly in front of her.
“After Sasha confided in her aunt, my assistant, they came to me for counsel. I personally confronted both Lonnegan and Childers.”
“And?”
“Lonnegan’s response, verbatim: No cops. No witnesses. No crime.”
Calloway’s jaw tightens.
“Mrs. Childers,” Erica adds, “denied ever receiving evidence.”
And with that, Erica reaches under the table, pulling out the plastic bag.
She places it on the table.
Even through the thin plastic, the yellow shorts and pink slip are visible. The dark stains speak for themselves.
Calloway’s expression doesn’t change. But the air in the room shifts.
Sasha’s breathing turns shallow.
“Yesterday evening,” Erica continues, “I received a text from Mrs. Eastman. She is Dean Childers’ secretary and was concerned that Sasha would never get the justice she deserves.”
She nods toward Hannah, who looks as though she’d rather disappear.
But then, she straightens her spine.
She’s past the point of no return.
They are in this together.
“She provided these meeting minutes… and these shorts and underwear, the physical evidence Sasha had handed Mrs. Childers.” Erica pauses. “She retrieved them from the trashcan in Childers’ office - the same day Sasha reported the assault.”
Silence.
Calloway doesn’t ask.
Because she doesn’t have to.
Hannah takes a deep breath.
“That’s what happened.” Her voice is tight, raw with regret. “I’m sorry… I didn’t come forward earlier.”
Sasha looks at her, searching for something - resentment? Forgiveness?
But they all know that the past can’t be undone.
Yet, right here, in this room, they are finally bringing the truth into the open.
~~~
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
A opening gambit? Have they set the 'ball' in motion?
Dear @LunaDog, let's hope that ADA Lauren "Ice Queen" Calloway will want to prosecute this.
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
If she does then i'm sure as hell looking forward to the reactions of both Steve Lonnegan and especially his father to her decision. These are people who believe that their wealth and power makes them immune from needing to act within common decency. They need bringing down 'a peg or two.' And i can't think of anybody who will perform that task better than Erica Sinclair!
Dear @LunaDog, let's see what the Ice Queen has to say...
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
Calloway taps her pen against the legal pad, a slow, deliberate rhythm.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The tension in the room thickens as Assistant District Attorney Lauren Calloway finally speaks.
“Obstruction of Justice, Tampering with Evidence, possibly Conspiracy,” she states, her voice razor-sharp, slicing through the silence like a scalpel. “All felonies. Punishable by up to twenty years in prison.”
Her green eyes flick to Erica, then settle on Sasha.
“That’s what Mrs. Childers is looking at.”
Sasha doesn’t flinch.
Things are getting real now.
Calloway leans forward slightly, resting her forearms on the table. “The Penal Code doesn’t take this lightly.”
Then, turning back to Erica, she delivers the verdict.
“Getting an arrest warrant for her should be no problem.”
Erica nods. She expected as much.
But knowing it and hearing it are two different things.
Across the table, Hannah Eastman lets out a shaky breath, hands twisting in her lap. Claire’s grip on Sasha’s hand tightens.
This is really happening. Finally.
Calloway’s tone softens - not much, but enough - as she addresses Sasha directly.
“With everything you’ve been through, I have no doubt that Mrs. Sinclair has already prepared you for the legal reality of our chances.”
Erica suppresses a small, knowing smile. Calloway says “our chances” now.
She’s not just an ADA in this moment.
She’s an ally.
Calloway gestures toward the sealed evidence bag containing Sasha’s torn clothing.
“We’ll send these for DNA analysis. Despite the time that’s passed, we’ll find your DNA on them. And most likely, Steve Lonnegan’s, too.”
She pauses.
“But.”
The word hangs in the air, heavy and cruel.
“I’m afraid we still might not be able to prove - beyond reasonable doubt - that he forced himself on you.”
Silence.
Sasha nods slowly, but when she speaks, her voice is hoarse, raw.
“I know.”
She straightens her spine as if outgrowing the oversized hoodie she tried to hide in, lifting her chin. No more shrinking. No more silence.
“I just want this to stop,” she says, her voice rough but unwavering. “The whispering. The laughs. The giggles.” Her hands clench into fists in her lap.
“All I want is for people to see what the school tried to bury. How they tried to tell me it was my fault.”
Claire doesn’t hesitate.
She wraps an arm around Sasha’s shoulders, pulling her close.
“We will make it stop.” Her voice is steady, fierce. Unshakable. “Right?”
She looks at Erica.
Erica looks at Calloway.
And Calloway looks back at Sasha.
Hannah Eastman clears her throat. “Mrs. Childers has another board of review scheduled for tomorrow.” she says, voice low but certain. “1 PM.”
Calloway’s brows lift.
“I happen to know her timetable very well.”
A slow, almost cruel smile plays at the edges of Calloway’s lips.
She snaps her notepad shut - a deliberate, final movement.
Then, without missing a beat, she reaches into her blazer pocket, pulls out her phone, and dials.
Her expression doesn’t change, but there’s a new sharpness in her eyes, a glint of satisfaction, as she waits for the other end to pick up.
A brief pause. Then…
“This is ADA Lauren Calloway.” she says, her tone clipped, businesslike. “I need an arrest warrant issued for Mrs. Valena Childers, Dean of Students at Liberty College. Charges: Obstruction of Justice, Tampering with Evidence and Conspiracy.”
A muffled voice responds on the other end. Calloway’s lips press into a thin line.
“She won’t see it coming.” Her gaze flickers to Hannah Eastman, then to Sasha.
Another pause.
“Yes. I’ll have a team ready to move in by tomorrow afternoon. She has a board meeting at one PM. I want her taken into custody on campus.”
A slow, satisfied nod.
“Good. Expedite the paperwork, please. I want this airtight.”
She ends the call, slipping her phone back into her pocket, her movements precise, controlled.
One look at Erica who doesn’t have to say anything. She just smiles. The move Calloway is fixing to make has the potential to make the news.
Then the ADA looks at Sasha.
“You are asking for closure.” Calloway states, voice rich with quiet promise. “Then we’ll make sure you get it.”
She stands, pushing her chair back with a scrape.
“Meet me at Liberty College tomorrow. Quarter past one. Be on time not to miss anything.”
The plan is set.
And this time, no one is going to silence Sasha Lambert.
~~~
Things after the meeting with Lauren Calloway, the “Ice Queen,” pass in a blur.
The plan is in motion.
Erica drives in silence, the hum of the tires against the pavement the only sound cutting through the weight of everything they’ve set into motion. Her grip on the steering wheel is firm but controlled. Every so often, she glances at Sasha in the rearview mirror.
The girl in the back seat isn’t the same one who first walked into her office - shoulders hunched, eyes empty, voice barely above a whisper. No, something in Sasha has shifted. She’s still fragile, still raw, but she is no longer helpless.
Sasha sits a little taller, her hand still in her aunt’s, but it’s no longer just for support - it’s a choice: a silent declaration that she is not the same girl who had been told to suffer in silence.
Claire sits beside her niece, her arm wrapped around Sasha’s shoulders. The touch is protective, steadying, an unspoken promise: I will not let you face this alone.
Before pulling into a parking spot near the office, Erica speaks, her voice measured and unwavering.
“No one says a word about the arrest before it happens. Not a whisper.”
She meets their gazes in the mirror. Sasha nods first, the look in her eyes no longer just fearful, but determined. Claire squeezes her niece’s hand in reassurance. Hannah Eastman, always the quiet one, exhales shakily but nods.
This is happening.
~~~
On the drive home, the adrenaline high starts to wear off, leaving Erica with a strange, bone-deep exhaustion. But stopping isn't an option. Not yet.
She pulls into the lot of Mr. Leslie’s 24/7 supermarket, an old habit as much as a necessity. The store’s fluorescent lights hum overhead, flickering slightly in the far corner.
Helena Leslie, now running the place after her father had been gunned down in a store robbery, is chatting with a customer.
The memory of that night lingers. The scent of gunpowder. The sound of the gunshot too close, freezing the air around her like a moment suspended in time.
Being honest with herself, she hasn’t been the same since.
Now, her movements in the store are practiced, deliberate. She doesn’t check her phone while inside. She never rounds a corner without first glancing up at the convex mirrors mounted at each aisle’s intersection.
She picks up a pack of chicken breast - Spot and Tiger’s favorite - and adds a few more items to her cart on a whim. Flour, eggs, sugar, almond milk. German pancakes. Why? She doesn’t know. Maybe comfort. Maybe her sweet tooth.
In her own mind, she isn’t certain why they are even called “German”, but she got the receipe from Mr Schaller who runs a German bakery on the Upper West Side and arguably makes the best cheesecake and strudel in New York City, so she trusts his expertise.
With Helena stacking shelves now, the cashier, a teenager working the late shift, scans her items. The beep of the scanner feels louder than usual, but maybe it’s just her heightened senses.
“Have a nice evening, ma’am,” he says politely, bagging her groceries.
Erica offers a tight smile. “You too. Be safe.”
~~~
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The tension in the room thickens as Assistant District Attorney Lauren Calloway finally speaks.
“Obstruction of Justice, Tampering with Evidence, possibly Conspiracy,” she states, her voice razor-sharp, slicing through the silence like a scalpel. “All felonies. Punishable by up to twenty years in prison.”
Her green eyes flick to Erica, then settle on Sasha.
“That’s what Mrs. Childers is looking at.”
Sasha doesn’t flinch.
Things are getting real now.
Calloway leans forward slightly, resting her forearms on the table. “The Penal Code doesn’t take this lightly.”
Then, turning back to Erica, she delivers the verdict.
“Getting an arrest warrant for her should be no problem.”
Erica nods. She expected as much.
But knowing it and hearing it are two different things.
Across the table, Hannah Eastman lets out a shaky breath, hands twisting in her lap. Claire’s grip on Sasha’s hand tightens.
This is really happening. Finally.
Calloway’s tone softens - not much, but enough - as she addresses Sasha directly.
“With everything you’ve been through, I have no doubt that Mrs. Sinclair has already prepared you for the legal reality of our chances.”
Erica suppresses a small, knowing smile. Calloway says “our chances” now.
She’s not just an ADA in this moment.
She’s an ally.
Calloway gestures toward the sealed evidence bag containing Sasha’s torn clothing.
“We’ll send these for DNA analysis. Despite the time that’s passed, we’ll find your DNA on them. And most likely, Steve Lonnegan’s, too.”
She pauses.
“But.”
The word hangs in the air, heavy and cruel.
“I’m afraid we still might not be able to prove - beyond reasonable doubt - that he forced himself on you.”
Silence.
Sasha nods slowly, but when she speaks, her voice is hoarse, raw.
“I know.”
She straightens her spine as if outgrowing the oversized hoodie she tried to hide in, lifting her chin. No more shrinking. No more silence.
“I just want this to stop,” she says, her voice rough but unwavering. “The whispering. The laughs. The giggles.” Her hands clench into fists in her lap.
“All I want is for people to see what the school tried to bury. How they tried to tell me it was my fault.”
Claire doesn’t hesitate.
She wraps an arm around Sasha’s shoulders, pulling her close.
“We will make it stop.” Her voice is steady, fierce. Unshakable. “Right?”
She looks at Erica.
Erica looks at Calloway.
And Calloway looks back at Sasha.
Hannah Eastman clears her throat. “Mrs. Childers has another board of review scheduled for tomorrow.” she says, voice low but certain. “1 PM.”
Calloway’s brows lift.
“I happen to know her timetable very well.”
A slow, almost cruel smile plays at the edges of Calloway’s lips.
She snaps her notepad shut - a deliberate, final movement.
Then, without missing a beat, she reaches into her blazer pocket, pulls out her phone, and dials.
Her expression doesn’t change, but there’s a new sharpness in her eyes, a glint of satisfaction, as she waits for the other end to pick up.
A brief pause. Then…
“This is ADA Lauren Calloway.” she says, her tone clipped, businesslike. “I need an arrest warrant issued for Mrs. Valena Childers, Dean of Students at Liberty College. Charges: Obstruction of Justice, Tampering with Evidence and Conspiracy.”
A muffled voice responds on the other end. Calloway’s lips press into a thin line.
“She won’t see it coming.” Her gaze flickers to Hannah Eastman, then to Sasha.
Another pause.
“Yes. I’ll have a team ready to move in by tomorrow afternoon. She has a board meeting at one PM. I want her taken into custody on campus.”
A slow, satisfied nod.
“Good. Expedite the paperwork, please. I want this airtight.”
She ends the call, slipping her phone back into her pocket, her movements precise, controlled.
One look at Erica who doesn’t have to say anything. She just smiles. The move Calloway is fixing to make has the potential to make the news.
Then the ADA looks at Sasha.
“You are asking for closure.” Calloway states, voice rich with quiet promise. “Then we’ll make sure you get it.”
She stands, pushing her chair back with a scrape.
“Meet me at Liberty College tomorrow. Quarter past one. Be on time not to miss anything.”
The plan is set.
And this time, no one is going to silence Sasha Lambert.
~~~
Things after the meeting with Lauren Calloway, the “Ice Queen,” pass in a blur.
The plan is in motion.
Erica drives in silence, the hum of the tires against the pavement the only sound cutting through the weight of everything they’ve set into motion. Her grip on the steering wheel is firm but controlled. Every so often, she glances at Sasha in the rearview mirror.
The girl in the back seat isn’t the same one who first walked into her office - shoulders hunched, eyes empty, voice barely above a whisper. No, something in Sasha has shifted. She’s still fragile, still raw, but she is no longer helpless.
Sasha sits a little taller, her hand still in her aunt’s, but it’s no longer just for support - it’s a choice: a silent declaration that she is not the same girl who had been told to suffer in silence.
Claire sits beside her niece, her arm wrapped around Sasha’s shoulders. The touch is protective, steadying, an unspoken promise: I will not let you face this alone.
Before pulling into a parking spot near the office, Erica speaks, her voice measured and unwavering.
“No one says a word about the arrest before it happens. Not a whisper.”
She meets their gazes in the mirror. Sasha nods first, the look in her eyes no longer just fearful, but determined. Claire squeezes her niece’s hand in reassurance. Hannah Eastman, always the quiet one, exhales shakily but nods.
This is happening.
~~~
On the drive home, the adrenaline high starts to wear off, leaving Erica with a strange, bone-deep exhaustion. But stopping isn't an option. Not yet.
She pulls into the lot of Mr. Leslie’s 24/7 supermarket, an old habit as much as a necessity. The store’s fluorescent lights hum overhead, flickering slightly in the far corner.
Helena Leslie, now running the place after her father had been gunned down in a store robbery, is chatting with a customer.
The memory of that night lingers. The scent of gunpowder. The sound of the gunshot too close, freezing the air around her like a moment suspended in time.
Being honest with herself, she hasn’t been the same since.
Now, her movements in the store are practiced, deliberate. She doesn’t check her phone while inside. She never rounds a corner without first glancing up at the convex mirrors mounted at each aisle’s intersection.
She picks up a pack of chicken breast - Spot and Tiger’s favorite - and adds a few more items to her cart on a whim. Flour, eggs, sugar, almond milk. German pancakes. Why? She doesn’t know. Maybe comfort. Maybe her sweet tooth.
In her own mind, she isn’t certain why they are even called “German”, but she got the receipe from Mr Schaller who runs a German bakery on the Upper West Side and arguably makes the best cheesecake and strudel in New York City, so she trusts his expertise.
With Helena stacking shelves now, the cashier, a teenager working the late shift, scans her items. The beep of the scanner feels louder than usual, but maybe it’s just her heightened senses.
“Have a nice evening, ma’am,” he says politely, bagging her groceries.
Erica offers a tight smile. “You too. Be safe.”
~~~
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
Well, the 'wheels of justice' have been set in motion. However, i guess at this stage there's no guarantee of success. Or more to the point, nothing has officially done regarding the Lonnegans, father or son. But, small acorns and all that. This appears to be a case that needs to be taken 'step by step.'
Dear @LunaDog, since I'll be away most of today, let's take the next step now. Enjoy!
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
Her black Volvo glides into the underground parking garage of her apartment building. The air smells faintly of oil and concrete, cool and somewhat moist against her skin as she steps out and locks the doors with a quiet beep.
Inside her apartment, the moment she closes the door, she hears them - the patter of tiny paws against hardwood floors, the frantic little mews of excitement.
Spot and Tiger come careening around the corner, their small bodies trembling with anticipation.
A laugh escapes her before she even realizes it, and she crouches down, scooping them both up in one motion. Spot immediately climbs onto her shoulder, nuzzling against her neck, while Tiger purrs loudly in the crook of her arm.
The weight of the day doesn’t disappear, but it becomes lighter. Their unconditional love grounds her.
She moves through the well-kept, warmly lit apartment, setting them on their cat jungle gym while she shrugs out of her trench coat.
Routine is comforting.
The ritual matters.
Their bowls are emptied, rinsed, refilled with fresh water and food. Kittens first.
She dices the chicken breast into small pieces, knowing they’re watching her every move from the doorway, their tails flicking in unison.
She smiles.
“Are you hungry?” she asks, already knowing the answer.
When she sets the bowls down, she watches them eat, her mind wandering. They and their two siblings had been discarded once, left in a box at the doorstep of Sinclair & Associates like they were nothing.
Discarded.
Like the evidence Valena Childers had tried to throw away.
She exhales slowly, jaw tightening.
~~~
After changing into her grey sweatsuit, Erica heads into the kitchen and mixes the pancake batter from memory. She isn’t even thinking about it, just moving through the motions. Soon, the scent of flour, butter, and caramelized edges of pancake fills the apartment, mixing with the familiar notes of leather, wood, and lavender from the air freshener.
She settles onto the couch, placing her plate on the coffee table, along with a jar of plum jam - Mr. Schaller’s recommendation.
As she eats, she flips through the channels, barely paying attention until she lands on WNYC.
And there she is.
Candice Summers.
One of the most respected names in national news media, known for her unflinching, relentless pursuit of truth and her crusade to expose corruption up to the highest levels of the Government.
The woman who had once been framed for drug possession and fought back with everything she had. The woman Erica had helped clear her name.
A thought flares in Erica’s mind.
This story - the one they’re about to bring to light - deserves more than just an arrest on campus.
It needs an audience.
Sasha’s case is so much bigger than the girl. It is about power, corruption and the system’s failure to protect victims.
She reaches for her phone, thumbs hovering over the touch buttons for only a second before she starts typing.
“Candice, if you’re interested in a prime-time story for tomorrow, call me.
Erica Sinclair”
She hits send, then leans back against the cushions, plate in hand, watching the screen.
Now, she waits.
~~~
The call from Candice comes later that evening, just as Erica is rolling around on the floor, playing with the kittens.
She doesn’t go into great detail.
She doesn’t have to.
Since Erica saved her career, Candice trusts her.
“I’ll be there.”
It’s a promise.
~~~
At 5 AM sharp, Erica slides out of bed.
Her morning routine is mechanical, done on autopilot.
By the time she steps into Sinclair & Associates, their young receptionist, Holly, greets her with a cheerful smile.
“Good morning, Mrs. Sinclair!”
“Morning, Holly.”
She barely has time to set down her bag when a polite knock sounds at the door of her personal office.
Claire.
Polished. Sharp. But there’s a faint flush on her cheeks - a tell. She’s nervous.
“I’ve advised Sasha to be here at a quarter to twelve,” Claire says.
Erica smirks, hearing her father’s voice in her head: “Erica, when you’re five minutes early, you’re already ten minutes late.”
“That’s perfect.”
Claire hesitates, then steps closer as if she’s afraid that someone could overhear them. Her voice lowers into something just above a whisper.
“Do you think this will work, Erica?”
For once, Erica breaks her own rule. Claire is probably the closest thing to a friend she has at work, but the ghosts of her past still force her to keep her guard up. Still, she touches Claire’s arm - just briefly, but gently.
“Don’t worry. Today will go down in Liberty College history.”
And she means just what she says.
~~~
Inside her apartment, the moment she closes the door, she hears them - the patter of tiny paws against hardwood floors, the frantic little mews of excitement.
Spot and Tiger come careening around the corner, their small bodies trembling with anticipation.
A laugh escapes her before she even realizes it, and she crouches down, scooping them both up in one motion. Spot immediately climbs onto her shoulder, nuzzling against her neck, while Tiger purrs loudly in the crook of her arm.
The weight of the day doesn’t disappear, but it becomes lighter. Their unconditional love grounds her.
She moves through the well-kept, warmly lit apartment, setting them on their cat jungle gym while she shrugs out of her trench coat.
Routine is comforting.
The ritual matters.
Their bowls are emptied, rinsed, refilled with fresh water and food. Kittens first.
She dices the chicken breast into small pieces, knowing they’re watching her every move from the doorway, their tails flicking in unison.
She smiles.
“Are you hungry?” she asks, already knowing the answer.
When she sets the bowls down, she watches them eat, her mind wandering. They and their two siblings had been discarded once, left in a box at the doorstep of Sinclair & Associates like they were nothing.
Discarded.
Like the evidence Valena Childers had tried to throw away.
She exhales slowly, jaw tightening.
~~~
After changing into her grey sweatsuit, Erica heads into the kitchen and mixes the pancake batter from memory. She isn’t even thinking about it, just moving through the motions. Soon, the scent of flour, butter, and caramelized edges of pancake fills the apartment, mixing with the familiar notes of leather, wood, and lavender from the air freshener.
She settles onto the couch, placing her plate on the coffee table, along with a jar of plum jam - Mr. Schaller’s recommendation.
As she eats, she flips through the channels, barely paying attention until she lands on WNYC.
And there she is.
Candice Summers.
One of the most respected names in national news media, known for her unflinching, relentless pursuit of truth and her crusade to expose corruption up to the highest levels of the Government.
The woman who had once been framed for drug possession and fought back with everything she had. The woman Erica had helped clear her name.
A thought flares in Erica’s mind.
This story - the one they’re about to bring to light - deserves more than just an arrest on campus.
It needs an audience.
Sasha’s case is so much bigger than the girl. It is about power, corruption and the system’s failure to protect victims.
She reaches for her phone, thumbs hovering over the touch buttons for only a second before she starts typing.
“Candice, if you’re interested in a prime-time story for tomorrow, call me.
Erica Sinclair”
She hits send, then leans back against the cushions, plate in hand, watching the screen.
Now, she waits.
~~~
The call from Candice comes later that evening, just as Erica is rolling around on the floor, playing with the kittens.
She doesn’t go into great detail.
She doesn’t have to.
Since Erica saved her career, Candice trusts her.
“I’ll be there.”
It’s a promise.
~~~
At 5 AM sharp, Erica slides out of bed.
Her morning routine is mechanical, done on autopilot.
By the time she steps into Sinclair & Associates, their young receptionist, Holly, greets her with a cheerful smile.
“Good morning, Mrs. Sinclair!”
“Morning, Holly.”
She barely has time to set down her bag when a polite knock sounds at the door of her personal office.
Claire.
Polished. Sharp. But there’s a faint flush on her cheeks - a tell. She’s nervous.
“I’ve advised Sasha to be here at a quarter to twelve,” Claire says.
Erica smirks, hearing her father’s voice in her head: “Erica, when you’re five minutes early, you’re already ten minutes late.”
“That’s perfect.”
Claire hesitates, then steps closer as if she’s afraid that someone could overhear them. Her voice lowers into something just above a whisper.
“Do you think this will work, Erica?”
For once, Erica breaks her own rule. Claire is probably the closest thing to a friend she has at work, but the ghosts of her past still force her to keep her guard up. Still, she touches Claire’s arm - just briefly, but gently.
“Don’t worry. Today will go down in Liberty College history.”
And she means just what she says.
~~~
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
Firstly, as others have commented, describing Erica at home, and her relationship with Spot and Tiger gives an extra dimension to her tales here. A bit of 'yin' to go with the 'yan.'
And involving a journalist in the matter of Valena Childers arrest, sheer and utter genius. Should lead to loads of questions being asked by loads of people. Awkward questions as far as the Lonnegan's are concerned. And who better than a VERY respected reporter, who owes Erica 'one' to assign this to?
And involving a journalist in the matter of Valena Childers arrest, sheer and utter genius. Should lead to loads of questions being asked by loads of people. Awkward questions as far as the Lonnegan's are concerned. And who better than a VERY respected reporter, who owes Erica 'one' to assign this to?
Dear @LunaDog, you can tell, I enjoy including some "slice of life" for Erica in my stories.
Legally, they might not be able to get the Lonnegans before a judge, but Candice Summers might be able to do considerable damage by exposing what's happening behind closed doors.
Legally, they might not be able to get the Lonnegans before a judge, but Candice Summers might be able to do considerable damage by exposing what's happening behind closed doors.
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
When Claire leads Sasha into Erica’s office, the transformation in the girl is undeniable.
Gone is the hunched posture, the uncertainty weighing down her frame.
Dressed in a comfortable, yet not horribly oversized hoodie, Sasha stands taller now, shoulders squared, the slight application of makeup accentuating her delicate features rather than masking them.
There’s quiet confidence in the way she carries herself - a strength that wasn’t there before.
She doesn’t look small anymore.
She doesn’t look like a victim.
The pretty young woman looks ready.
Erica, securing the belt of her trench coat around her waist, studies the girl for a beat longer, taking it in.
She’s come so far.
And she’s about to go even further.
"You’re looking great," Erica remarks, adjusting the strap of her handbag over her shoulder.
Sasha’s lips part, surprised at the compliment.
“Thanks,” she says, voice softer than before, but no longer fragile.
Erica gives a short nod. It’s time.
~~~
The black Volvo glides into the Queens-Midtown Tunnel, slipping beneath the East River, leaving Manhattan’s steel and glass towers behind.
Inside the car, the low hum of the engine and the rhythmic flicker of tunnel lights create a steady pulse, a beat against the silence.
Erica steals another glance in the rearview mirror.
She’s past the point of no return now.
If that fact is sinking into Sasha, she doesn’t show it.
No nervous fidgeting. No uncertainty in her gaze.
Her hands rest calmly in her lap, her breathing even. Determined. Grounded.
Good.
Erica exhales slowly, keeping her tone measured, unwavering as she speaks.
“Listen.” Her voice cuts cleanly through the enclosed space. “When we meet up with ADA Calloway, all we have to do is follow her lead. It’s basically her show. Stay with me, and everything will work just fine. Got it?”
“Understood,” Claire affirms without hesitation.
Erica shifts her focus to Sasha, waiting.
The girl meets her gaze in the mirror and nods. “Fine with me.”
It’s more than just agreement.
The change isn’t just in her posture, but in her voice - no longer raw with fear, but soft, pleasant, with a slight lilt that speaks of someone who’s finding herself again.
Erica allows the smallest flicker of satisfaction to pass through her chest before fixing her eyes back on the road.
Not much longer now.
~~~
Just as before, Erica pulls into the parking lot across from Liberty College, her gaze flicking toward the campus entrance.
Different day. Same battlefield.
As the Volvo slows to a stop, a campus security guard waves her forward, directing her into a vacant spot.
She kills the engine.
The silence that follows feels sharp, expectant.
Erica slides out of the driver’s seat and shuts the door with a decisive thud. A second later, the car beeps, locking with finality.
Claire and Sasha step out beside her.
For a brief moment, they stand there, breathing in the cool air, the weight of the moment settling around them.
The security guard offers a casual, friendly nod. “Have a great day, ladies.”
Erica adjusts the sling of her bag over her shoulder and flashes him a small, knowing smirk.
“We’re planning on it.”
Then, together - three women walking in unison - they step forward.
Across the pedestrian bridge, through the campus gates.
Moving with purpose.
Like they are headed straight into a showdown.
Because they are.
~~~
As they step inside the administration building, the air shifts - thick with unspoken tensions, the weight of what’s about to happen pressing down on them.
The entrance hall is just as Erica remembers it: polished floors gleaming under fluorescent lights, the faint scent of coffee and printer ink hanging in the air, and the imposing stand of flags lining the walls.
Ahead of them, Sasha’s steps falter - just for a second.
She glances up at the college’s colors, her eyes flicking to the flag on the right.
The same maroon insignia stretches across the crest of her top.
A symbol of pride and belonging, despite everything.
Erica watches her, reading the silent acknowledgement in Sasha’s face.
“Even after what they did to her, she still feels like she belongs here,” she says to herself.
Because this was her dream, once. A school she had chosen for herself, never imagining it would betray her in the worst way possible.
The moment passes, and Sasha presses forward, catching up with Erica and Claire as they ascend the stairs toward the office of the Dean of Students, Dr. Valena Childers.
They’re nearly at the landing when they hear the sharp click of heels against marble, quick and purposeful.
A woman in black saunters up the stairs, flanked by a tall man in a suit.
Lauren Calloway.
The "Ice Queen."
The investigator’s badge gleams, clipped to his belt like a silent promise.
“Sorry,” Calloway says coolly, brushing past them with effortless authority. “We tried to bring the car up to the entrance, but they had to remove a roadblock for us.”
She barely slows her pace, making it clear - this isn’t a conversation. It’s a mission.
Reaching the door, she turns slightly, flicking a glance toward Erica, Sasha, and Claire.
Erica checks her Rolex.
Ten past one. Right on time.
Calloway doesn’t wait for confirmation.
“Follow me.”
She pushes open the door.
~~~
Gone is the hunched posture, the uncertainty weighing down her frame.
Dressed in a comfortable, yet not horribly oversized hoodie, Sasha stands taller now, shoulders squared, the slight application of makeup accentuating her delicate features rather than masking them.
There’s quiet confidence in the way she carries herself - a strength that wasn’t there before.
She doesn’t look small anymore.
She doesn’t look like a victim.
The pretty young woman looks ready.
Erica, securing the belt of her trench coat around her waist, studies the girl for a beat longer, taking it in.
She’s come so far.
And she’s about to go even further.
"You’re looking great," Erica remarks, adjusting the strap of her handbag over her shoulder.
Sasha’s lips part, surprised at the compliment.
“Thanks,” she says, voice softer than before, but no longer fragile.
Erica gives a short nod. It’s time.
~~~
The black Volvo glides into the Queens-Midtown Tunnel, slipping beneath the East River, leaving Manhattan’s steel and glass towers behind.
Inside the car, the low hum of the engine and the rhythmic flicker of tunnel lights create a steady pulse, a beat against the silence.
Erica steals another glance in the rearview mirror.
She’s past the point of no return now.
If that fact is sinking into Sasha, she doesn’t show it.
No nervous fidgeting. No uncertainty in her gaze.
Her hands rest calmly in her lap, her breathing even. Determined. Grounded.
Good.
Erica exhales slowly, keeping her tone measured, unwavering as she speaks.
“Listen.” Her voice cuts cleanly through the enclosed space. “When we meet up with ADA Calloway, all we have to do is follow her lead. It’s basically her show. Stay with me, and everything will work just fine. Got it?”
“Understood,” Claire affirms without hesitation.
Erica shifts her focus to Sasha, waiting.
The girl meets her gaze in the mirror and nods. “Fine with me.”
It’s more than just agreement.
The change isn’t just in her posture, but in her voice - no longer raw with fear, but soft, pleasant, with a slight lilt that speaks of someone who’s finding herself again.
Erica allows the smallest flicker of satisfaction to pass through her chest before fixing her eyes back on the road.
Not much longer now.
~~~
Just as before, Erica pulls into the parking lot across from Liberty College, her gaze flicking toward the campus entrance.
Different day. Same battlefield.
As the Volvo slows to a stop, a campus security guard waves her forward, directing her into a vacant spot.
She kills the engine.
The silence that follows feels sharp, expectant.
Erica slides out of the driver’s seat and shuts the door with a decisive thud. A second later, the car beeps, locking with finality.
Claire and Sasha step out beside her.
For a brief moment, they stand there, breathing in the cool air, the weight of the moment settling around them.
The security guard offers a casual, friendly nod. “Have a great day, ladies.”
Erica adjusts the sling of her bag over her shoulder and flashes him a small, knowing smirk.
“We’re planning on it.”
Then, together - three women walking in unison - they step forward.
Across the pedestrian bridge, through the campus gates.
Moving with purpose.
Like they are headed straight into a showdown.
Because they are.
~~~
As they step inside the administration building, the air shifts - thick with unspoken tensions, the weight of what’s about to happen pressing down on them.
The entrance hall is just as Erica remembers it: polished floors gleaming under fluorescent lights, the faint scent of coffee and printer ink hanging in the air, and the imposing stand of flags lining the walls.
Ahead of them, Sasha’s steps falter - just for a second.
She glances up at the college’s colors, her eyes flicking to the flag on the right.
The same maroon insignia stretches across the crest of her top.
A symbol of pride and belonging, despite everything.
Erica watches her, reading the silent acknowledgement in Sasha’s face.
“Even after what they did to her, she still feels like she belongs here,” she says to herself.
Because this was her dream, once. A school she had chosen for herself, never imagining it would betray her in the worst way possible.
The moment passes, and Sasha presses forward, catching up with Erica and Claire as they ascend the stairs toward the office of the Dean of Students, Dr. Valena Childers.
They’re nearly at the landing when they hear the sharp click of heels against marble, quick and purposeful.
A woman in black saunters up the stairs, flanked by a tall man in a suit.
Lauren Calloway.
The "Ice Queen."
The investigator’s badge gleams, clipped to his belt like a silent promise.
“Sorry,” Calloway says coolly, brushing past them with effortless authority. “We tried to bring the car up to the entrance, but they had to remove a roadblock for us.”
She barely slows her pace, making it clear - this isn’t a conversation. It’s a mission.
Reaching the door, she turns slightly, flicking a glance toward Erica, Sasha, and Claire.
Erica checks her Rolex.
Ten past one. Right on time.
Calloway doesn’t wait for confirmation.
“Follow me.”
She pushes open the door.
~~~
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
Inside the Dean’s secretariat, Hannah Eastman sits behind her desk, her hands smoothing over the front of her skirt in a nervous motion.
She had come to work today like on any other day.
Only it isn’t.
She had tried to mask her unease, telling herself she is simply doing her job.
Now, as ADA Calloway, her investigator, Erica, Claire, and Sasha step inside, she rises to her feet, swallowing hard.
Her eyes dart toward the heavy wooden door, its brass plaque polished to a shine:
Dr. Valena Childers, Dean of Students
Right beneath it, a printed sign reads
"Board in session – DO NOT DISTURB."
Hannah tilts her head slightly toward the door in an almost imperceptible motion.
Calloway barely spares the sign a glance.
“They’re in there?” she asks.
“Yes, ma’am,” Hannah replies, voice clipped. “They started at one o’clock sharp.”
“Good.”
Calloway places a hand on the gleaming door handle.
And pushes forward. Without knocking, of course.
~~~
The heavy door swings open, revealing the massive meeting table dominating Dean Childers’ office.
At the head of the table, Valena Childers sits tall and composed, her expression a carefully crafted mask of authority.
The board members, a collection of professors and administrators, are seated along the sides, their discussions cut short by the intrusion.
Childers looks up, her brows knitting in irritation, the displeasure rolling off her in waves.
“Hannah, you know I don’t want to be disturbed during…”
Her voice is sharp, reprimanding - the tone of someone used to wielding authority.
Then, she sees Erica.
And Sasha.
A flicker of recognition, then something colder - calculation.
Lauren Calloway steps forward before the Dean can regain her footing.
“Dr. Valena Childers?” Her voice is sharp, cutting straight through the tension.
Childers’ eyes snap to Calloway, jaw tightening.
“Of course.” She rises slowly, her spine stiff. “And who do you people think you are to intrude on a board meeting like this?”
Calloway doesn’t flinch.
She pulls out her badge, flipping it open in one smooth motion.
“Assistant District Attorney Calloway.” Her voice carries, unwavering. “We are investigating the rape of Sasha Lambert, one of your students.”
The room seems to contract.
Childers’ expression doesn’t crack, but something in her eyes sharpens - a flicker of alarm.
Calloway tilts her head slightly. Living in the moment.
“I trust you remember Mrs. Lambert.”
The silence is broken by a sudden outburst - one of the board members, a professor in black slacks and a maroon tie, bolts to his feet.
“I must protest!”
Calloway doesn’t even blink.
“Sit.”
Her tone is icy, absolute - the voice of authority, of a prosecutor who doesn’t tolerate theatrics.
The man hesitates for a fraction of a second - then slowly lowers himself back into his chair, the fight draining from his posture.
Calloway produces a folded document and unfolds it with precision, her gaze locking onto Childers.
“Dr. Valena Childers, you are under arrest for Obstruction of Justice, Tampering with Evidence and Conspiracy.”
Claire’s hand tightens on Sasha’s shoulder.
But Sasha doesn’t flinch.
She stands rooted, her expression unwavering, her silence louder than any accusation could ever be.
The investigator steps forward, moving behind Childers.
His voice is calm, professional - almost indifferent.
“Hands behind your back, please.”
The Dean’s face contorts with rage.
“You have nothing on me!” she screams, her voice shrill, desperate. “Nothing! This board ruled that nothing happened! There was no evidence besides her…”
Her eyes cut to Sasha, venomous.
“claim!”
The sharp, metallic snap of the handcuffs echoes like a gavel strike.
Sasha doesn’t look away.
She meets Childers’ glaring, furious stare head-on.
And she doesn’t blink.
The investigator guides Childers forward, the ADA’s voice cutting through the last echoes of protest.
“You have the right to remain silent…”
After Calloway mirandized the Dean, she turns her attention back to the board members, her gaze sweeping across their pale, uneasy faces.
“I strongly advise all of you not to leave the state for the next seven days.” she says smoothly. “You might be needed.”
The implication settles over them like a storm cloud.
Erica doesn’t miss the way some of them shift in their seats, nervous, suddenly unsure of just how deep this hole goes.
They thought they could bury this.
They thought wrong.
Calloway signals to the investigator.
“Let’s go.”
And just like that, the Dean of Students is escorted out in handcuffs.
~~~
She had come to work today like on any other day.
Only it isn’t.
She had tried to mask her unease, telling herself she is simply doing her job.
Now, as ADA Calloway, her investigator, Erica, Claire, and Sasha step inside, she rises to her feet, swallowing hard.
Her eyes dart toward the heavy wooden door, its brass plaque polished to a shine:
Dr. Valena Childers, Dean of Students
Right beneath it, a printed sign reads
"Board in session – DO NOT DISTURB."
Hannah tilts her head slightly toward the door in an almost imperceptible motion.
Calloway barely spares the sign a glance.
“They’re in there?” she asks.
“Yes, ma’am,” Hannah replies, voice clipped. “They started at one o’clock sharp.”
“Good.”
Calloway places a hand on the gleaming door handle.
And pushes forward. Without knocking, of course.
~~~
The heavy door swings open, revealing the massive meeting table dominating Dean Childers’ office.
At the head of the table, Valena Childers sits tall and composed, her expression a carefully crafted mask of authority.
The board members, a collection of professors and administrators, are seated along the sides, their discussions cut short by the intrusion.
Childers looks up, her brows knitting in irritation, the displeasure rolling off her in waves.
“Hannah, you know I don’t want to be disturbed during…”
Her voice is sharp, reprimanding - the tone of someone used to wielding authority.
Then, she sees Erica.
And Sasha.
A flicker of recognition, then something colder - calculation.
Lauren Calloway steps forward before the Dean can regain her footing.
“Dr. Valena Childers?” Her voice is sharp, cutting straight through the tension.
Childers’ eyes snap to Calloway, jaw tightening.
“Of course.” She rises slowly, her spine stiff. “And who do you people think you are to intrude on a board meeting like this?”
Calloway doesn’t flinch.
She pulls out her badge, flipping it open in one smooth motion.
“Assistant District Attorney Calloway.” Her voice carries, unwavering. “We are investigating the rape of Sasha Lambert, one of your students.”
The room seems to contract.
Childers’ expression doesn’t crack, but something in her eyes sharpens - a flicker of alarm.
Calloway tilts her head slightly. Living in the moment.
“I trust you remember Mrs. Lambert.”
The silence is broken by a sudden outburst - one of the board members, a professor in black slacks and a maroon tie, bolts to his feet.
“I must protest!”
Calloway doesn’t even blink.
“Sit.”
Her tone is icy, absolute - the voice of authority, of a prosecutor who doesn’t tolerate theatrics.
The man hesitates for a fraction of a second - then slowly lowers himself back into his chair, the fight draining from his posture.
Calloway produces a folded document and unfolds it with precision, her gaze locking onto Childers.
“Dr. Valena Childers, you are under arrest for Obstruction of Justice, Tampering with Evidence and Conspiracy.”
Claire’s hand tightens on Sasha’s shoulder.
But Sasha doesn’t flinch.
She stands rooted, her expression unwavering, her silence louder than any accusation could ever be.
The investigator steps forward, moving behind Childers.
His voice is calm, professional - almost indifferent.
“Hands behind your back, please.”
The Dean’s face contorts with rage.
“You have nothing on me!” she screams, her voice shrill, desperate. “Nothing! This board ruled that nothing happened! There was no evidence besides her…”
Her eyes cut to Sasha, venomous.
“claim!”
The sharp, metallic snap of the handcuffs echoes like a gavel strike.
Sasha doesn’t look away.
She meets Childers’ glaring, furious stare head-on.
And she doesn’t blink.
The investigator guides Childers forward, the ADA’s voice cutting through the last echoes of protest.
“You have the right to remain silent…”
After Calloway mirandized the Dean, she turns her attention back to the board members, her gaze sweeping across their pale, uneasy faces.
“I strongly advise all of you not to leave the state for the next seven days.” she says smoothly. “You might be needed.”
The implication settles over them like a storm cloud.
Erica doesn’t miss the way some of them shift in their seats, nervous, suddenly unsure of just how deep this hole goes.
They thought they could bury this.
They thought wrong.
Calloway signals to the investigator.
“Let’s go.”
And just like that, the Dean of Students is escorted out in handcuffs.
~~~
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
Absolutely magnificent, mind you that's NO surprise from you, Jenny.
And perhaps one of our many American friends can answer this. How come the female name 'Miranda' has become associated with the reading of a suspect's legal rights?
And perhaps one of our many American friends can answer this. How come the female name 'Miranda' has become associated with the reading of a suspect's legal rights?
Dear @LunaDog, thank you so much for your praise. Wait till tomorrow to see how the story wraps up.
As for the "Miranda Rights", in 1966 the Supreme Court in the case of Miranda vs. the State of Arizona ruled that upon arresting a person, this information must stated to protect the suspect's Fifth Amendment right against self-incrimination and the Sixth Amendment right to get counsel. The name of Ernesto Miranda stuck.
As for the "Miranda Rights", in 1966 the Supreme Court in the case of Miranda vs. the State of Arizona ruled that upon arresting a person, this information must stated to protect the suspect's Fifth Amendment right against self-incrimination and the Sixth Amendment right to get counsel. The name of Ernesto Miranda stuck.
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
Thanks for that @Jenny_S i know that the expression is commonly used in The States and i always wondered why? Now, thanks to you, i know! And, from what you say here, it's more the case of a Surname rather than a female given name that provided the inspiration for it's use.
The cuffs around Valena Childers' wrists clink with every step, their cold steel a sharp contrast to the warm, midday air outside.
The hallway is eerily silent at first - just the distinctive clicking of Calloway’s heels, the dull shuffle of the investigator guiding the disgraced Dean forward, and the steady footsteps of Erica, Claire, and Sasha following behind.
Then, the whispers start.
Like a ripple across a still pond, the quiet murmurs spread through the administration building. Doors crack open. Curious faces peek out. By the time they reach the top of the grand staircase, the scene below is a living, breathing entity of shock, awe, and revelation.
The lunch crowd has spilled into the atrium - students, faculty, staff, some still holding trays from the cafeteria, others clutching coffee cups mid-sip.
And then, as if by instinct, phones come out.
A wave of screens rises, cameras rolling, fingers swiping to start live streams.
The same institution Childers fought to protect from scandal now becomes the stage of her downfall.
Her face is stone. Her lip curls slightly in disdain, but Erica can see the twitch in her jaw - the struggle to keep her composure as reality crushes in.
Every step down the staircase feels endless, drawn out by the weight of countless eyes.
Someone whispers “Is that the Dean?”
Another voice, louder. “She’s in handcuffs.”
And then…
Click. Flash. Record.
By the time they reach the stand of flags, the whispers escalate into gasps and murmurs, voices mixing into an indistinguishable stew of disbelief, satisfaction, and judgment.
Some students don’t bother whispering.
“Holy shit, is that Childers?”
“You’re kidding me.”
“What the hell did she do?”
“I knew she was shady…”
Valena keeps her chin up, her back ramrod straight, but the tension in her shoulders betrays her.
For all the power she wielded, for all the meetings behind closed doors, for all the times she silenced the truth to preserve her legacy…
Now, she is reduced to nothing but a criminal under arrest.
They descend the final steps, crossing the threshold of the grand entrance.
The sunlight outside is blinding.
And then…
The real spectacle begins.
~~~
At the bottom of the short flight of stairs, the DA’s sleek black Suburban waits, its tinted windows reflecting the unfolding scandal.
But it’s not the only vehicle that has arrived.
A white news van, bearing the unmistakable logo of WNYC, has pulled up beside it.
And at the foot of the stairs, star reporter Candice Summers is already in action, gripping her microphone, speaking into the camera with professional urgency.
“Breaking news from Liberty College - Dean Valena Childers is being taken into custody as part of an ongoing criminal investigation into the alleged cover-up of a sexual assault case.”
Her words cut sharp and clear through the air, rising above the murmuring crowd.
Behind her, a camera crew captures every second, their lens zooming in on Childers' cuffed hands, Calloway’s impassive face, and Sasha standing tall behind them.
It’s everywhere now.
Live feeds. News streams. Social media blowing up.
The very scandal Childers tried to bury has erupted into something she can no longer control.
The crowd surges closer, growing bolder, louder.
And then…
The first cheer rings out.
It’s a single voice at first - sharp, defiant.
“About time, Childers!”
The words hang in the air for a beat - and then, like a match tossed into dry leaves, more voices rise.
Some students applaud. Others laugh, shake their heads, mutter curses under their breath. A few even boo, though it’s impossible to tell if it’s out of shock or misplaced loyalty.
Childers' pale face flickers with something - anger, humiliation, fear - before she steels herself once more.
The investigator grips her arm, firm but professional, guiding her toward the Suburban.
She doesn’t fight. She doesn’t dare struggle.
Because this is real now.
This isn’t a boardroom debate or a hushed conversation behind closed doors.
This is justice unfolding in front of hundreds of witnesses.
And millions more watching from their screens.
From the top of the stairs, Erica smirks.
She nudges Sasha gently, motioning toward the news van, the reporters, the spectacle of it all.
Sasha follows her gaze, her lips parting slightly as she takes in the reality of this moment.
She had been silenced for so long.
Had been ignored, dismissed, abandoned.
But now…
Now, the world is finally listening.
A single tear slips free, trailing down her cheek.
She doesn’t wipe it away at first.
Then, with the sleeve of her maroon sweater - the same color as the school that failed her - she brushes it aside.
But it isn’t sadness.
It’s relief.
It’s everything she’s held inside spilling out at last.
Claire pulls her into a tight embrace, her arms strong and steady, grounding her.
Sasha lets herself breathe, closing her eyes for a moment.
She isn’t alone.
And nobody can silence her anymore.
~~~
Tomorrow: the fallout. Stay tuned.
The hallway is eerily silent at first - just the distinctive clicking of Calloway’s heels, the dull shuffle of the investigator guiding the disgraced Dean forward, and the steady footsteps of Erica, Claire, and Sasha following behind.
Then, the whispers start.
Like a ripple across a still pond, the quiet murmurs spread through the administration building. Doors crack open. Curious faces peek out. By the time they reach the top of the grand staircase, the scene below is a living, breathing entity of shock, awe, and revelation.
The lunch crowd has spilled into the atrium - students, faculty, staff, some still holding trays from the cafeteria, others clutching coffee cups mid-sip.
And then, as if by instinct, phones come out.
A wave of screens rises, cameras rolling, fingers swiping to start live streams.
The same institution Childers fought to protect from scandal now becomes the stage of her downfall.
Her face is stone. Her lip curls slightly in disdain, but Erica can see the twitch in her jaw - the struggle to keep her composure as reality crushes in.
Every step down the staircase feels endless, drawn out by the weight of countless eyes.
Someone whispers “Is that the Dean?”
Another voice, louder. “She’s in handcuffs.”
And then…
Click. Flash. Record.
By the time they reach the stand of flags, the whispers escalate into gasps and murmurs, voices mixing into an indistinguishable stew of disbelief, satisfaction, and judgment.
Some students don’t bother whispering.
“Holy shit, is that Childers?”
“You’re kidding me.”
“What the hell did she do?”
“I knew she was shady…”
Valena keeps her chin up, her back ramrod straight, but the tension in her shoulders betrays her.
For all the power she wielded, for all the meetings behind closed doors, for all the times she silenced the truth to preserve her legacy…
Now, she is reduced to nothing but a criminal under arrest.
They descend the final steps, crossing the threshold of the grand entrance.
The sunlight outside is blinding.
And then…
The real spectacle begins.
~~~
At the bottom of the short flight of stairs, the DA’s sleek black Suburban waits, its tinted windows reflecting the unfolding scandal.
But it’s not the only vehicle that has arrived.
A white news van, bearing the unmistakable logo of WNYC, has pulled up beside it.
And at the foot of the stairs, star reporter Candice Summers is already in action, gripping her microphone, speaking into the camera with professional urgency.
“Breaking news from Liberty College - Dean Valena Childers is being taken into custody as part of an ongoing criminal investigation into the alleged cover-up of a sexual assault case.”
Her words cut sharp and clear through the air, rising above the murmuring crowd.
Behind her, a camera crew captures every second, their lens zooming in on Childers' cuffed hands, Calloway’s impassive face, and Sasha standing tall behind them.
It’s everywhere now.
Live feeds. News streams. Social media blowing up.
The very scandal Childers tried to bury has erupted into something she can no longer control.
The crowd surges closer, growing bolder, louder.
And then…
The first cheer rings out.
It’s a single voice at first - sharp, defiant.
“About time, Childers!”
The words hang in the air for a beat - and then, like a match tossed into dry leaves, more voices rise.
Some students applaud. Others laugh, shake their heads, mutter curses under their breath. A few even boo, though it’s impossible to tell if it’s out of shock or misplaced loyalty.
Childers' pale face flickers with something - anger, humiliation, fear - before she steels herself once more.
The investigator grips her arm, firm but professional, guiding her toward the Suburban.
She doesn’t fight. She doesn’t dare struggle.
Because this is real now.
This isn’t a boardroom debate or a hushed conversation behind closed doors.
This is justice unfolding in front of hundreds of witnesses.
And millions more watching from their screens.
From the top of the stairs, Erica smirks.
She nudges Sasha gently, motioning toward the news van, the reporters, the spectacle of it all.
Sasha follows her gaze, her lips parting slightly as she takes in the reality of this moment.
She had been silenced for so long.
Had been ignored, dismissed, abandoned.
But now…
Now, the world is finally listening.
A single tear slips free, trailing down her cheek.
She doesn’t wipe it away at first.
Then, with the sleeve of her maroon sweater - the same color as the school that failed her - she brushes it aside.
But it isn’t sadness.
It’s relief.
It’s everything she’s held inside spilling out at last.
Claire pulls her into a tight embrace, her arms strong and steady, grounding her.
Sasha lets herself breathe, closing her eyes for a moment.
She isn’t alone.
And nobody can silence her anymore.
~~~
Tomorrow: the fallout. Stay tuned.
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
I WILL! Be most assured of that!
Dear @LunaDog, I won't let you wait any longer. Enjoy!
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
The fallout is instantaneous.
By the time Erica sinks into her black leather couch that evening, wine in hand, the arrest is everywhere.
The footage of Valena Childers being marched out in handcuffs, the students' reactions, the public spectacle - it’s been clipped, dissected, and analyzed to death across every media platform.
YouTube compilations show different angles of the arrest, captured by students’ phones. Some set the footage to dramatic music, others add captions like “Justice Served” or “The Fall of Liberty”.
TikTok is flooded with edits - split-screen comparisons of Childers’ past speeches about “integrity and excellence” against the stark reality of her arrest.
X (formerly Twitter) is a warzone.
Some defend Childers, screaming about cancel culture and due process. Others shred the school administration apart for allowing the cover-up in the first place.
One post, retweeted thousands of times, simply reads:
“Imagine covering up a rape to “protect your school’s image” only to have your own arrest go viral. Poetic justice.”
Instagram stories flood with snapshots of the scandal, while long-form think pieces analyze the institutional failures that allowed this to happen.
And then, of course…
The News.
Erica leans back against the couch, wine glass resting against her thigh, as Candice Summers takes center stage on WNYC’s primetime broadcast.
The network doesn’t waste time.
Behind Candice, a screen shows Sasha Lambert on one side, Valena Childers being loaded into the DA’s Suburban on the other.
The news ticker at the bottom reads:
“LIBERTY COLLEGE SCANDAL: DEAN ARRESTED IN RAPE COVER-UP.”
Erica watches, half-amused, half-infuriated, as the President of Liberty College sits across from Candice, trying - and failing - to control the damage.
The man is all polished outrage and forced sincerity, hands folded, jaw tight, eyes narrowed in an attempt to appear deeply concerned.
“Of course,” he says, voice carefully modulated, “Dr. Childers was immediately terminated from her position. Other members of her board have been suspended pending investigation.”
Erica rolls her eyes. Of course.
The president continues, feigning disbelief.
“I personally am looking into this matter,” he states. “I am appalled that something like this could even happen at Liberty College - a school that prides itself on providing a safe environment for all students.”
Candice doesn’t even blink.
“You had three months to be appalled.”
Erica smirks. Touché.
The president blanches, but recovers quickly, pivoting to the next predictable talking point.
“I want to congratulate that particular student…”
Her smirk vanishes.
“That particular student”.
He won’t even say Sasha’s name.
The President keeps talking, praising the girl’s courage to speak up, offering his unwavering support, thanking Hannah Eastman, the secretary who provided the prosecution with critical evidence.
Erica raises her glass of Nero d’Avola, taking a slow sip.
Her two kittens, Spot and Tiger, snuggle up against her, purring as if they can sense her restrained frustration.
She strokes Spot absentmindedly, watching as Candice tears the President apart, piece by piece, without ever raising her voice.
By the end of the interview, he looks exhausted.
And so he should.
This isn’t going away.
Not tomorrow.
Not next week.
Not ever.
~~~
Epilogue
The trial of Valena Childers looms.
She will face charges of Obstruction of Justice, Tampering with Evidence, and Conspiracy to cover up a Felony.
Having tried to cover up a student’s trauma by burying the truth hasn’t worked, because the student and her advocates have stood for what is right.
There’s speculation that other faculty members may be implicated as well.
While the legal battle ahead is a storm cloud on the horizon for some, it is a clearing sky for Sasha Lambert.
She stays at Liberty College, not because she forgives them, but because she refuses to be forced out of the place she chose for herself.
She walks across campus differently now.
Head high.
Shoulders back.
Fear no longer is dictating her steps. Steve Lonnegan, the golden boy, stays out of her way. He has very good reason to do so, because despite pressure from his father, the Sons of Liberty’s head coach suspended him “pending review” from the College’s President – his aura of being untouchable is shattered, his possible career as a professional player more than questionable.
Sasha joins The Teal Ribbon, an organization dedicated to helping other survivors of sexual violence.
She speaks to other students.
She listens to their stories.
She fights, now not just for herself, but for every person who has ever been silenced.
And when the trial begins, when Valena Childers sits in a courtroom facing the consequences of her crimes… Sasha will be there.
She will watch.
And she will know, without a doubt, that justice is hers.
The End
…but Erica Sinclair will return in the gripping adventure “Erica Sinclair – Trek of Tears”
By the time Erica sinks into her black leather couch that evening, wine in hand, the arrest is everywhere.
The footage of Valena Childers being marched out in handcuffs, the students' reactions, the public spectacle - it’s been clipped, dissected, and analyzed to death across every media platform.
YouTube compilations show different angles of the arrest, captured by students’ phones. Some set the footage to dramatic music, others add captions like “Justice Served” or “The Fall of Liberty”.
TikTok is flooded with edits - split-screen comparisons of Childers’ past speeches about “integrity and excellence” against the stark reality of her arrest.
X (formerly Twitter) is a warzone.
Some defend Childers, screaming about cancel culture and due process. Others shred the school administration apart for allowing the cover-up in the first place.
One post, retweeted thousands of times, simply reads:
“Imagine covering up a rape to “protect your school’s image” only to have your own arrest go viral. Poetic justice.”
Instagram stories flood with snapshots of the scandal, while long-form think pieces analyze the institutional failures that allowed this to happen.
And then, of course…
The News.
Erica leans back against the couch, wine glass resting against her thigh, as Candice Summers takes center stage on WNYC’s primetime broadcast.
The network doesn’t waste time.
Behind Candice, a screen shows Sasha Lambert on one side, Valena Childers being loaded into the DA’s Suburban on the other.
The news ticker at the bottom reads:
“LIBERTY COLLEGE SCANDAL: DEAN ARRESTED IN RAPE COVER-UP.”
Erica watches, half-amused, half-infuriated, as the President of Liberty College sits across from Candice, trying - and failing - to control the damage.
The man is all polished outrage and forced sincerity, hands folded, jaw tight, eyes narrowed in an attempt to appear deeply concerned.
“Of course,” he says, voice carefully modulated, “Dr. Childers was immediately terminated from her position. Other members of her board have been suspended pending investigation.”
Erica rolls her eyes. Of course.
The president continues, feigning disbelief.
“I personally am looking into this matter,” he states. “I am appalled that something like this could even happen at Liberty College - a school that prides itself on providing a safe environment for all students.”
Candice doesn’t even blink.
“You had three months to be appalled.”
Erica smirks. Touché.
The president blanches, but recovers quickly, pivoting to the next predictable talking point.
“I want to congratulate that particular student…”
Her smirk vanishes.
“That particular student”.
He won’t even say Sasha’s name.
The President keeps talking, praising the girl’s courage to speak up, offering his unwavering support, thanking Hannah Eastman, the secretary who provided the prosecution with critical evidence.
Erica raises her glass of Nero d’Avola, taking a slow sip.
Her two kittens, Spot and Tiger, snuggle up against her, purring as if they can sense her restrained frustration.
She strokes Spot absentmindedly, watching as Candice tears the President apart, piece by piece, without ever raising her voice.
By the end of the interview, he looks exhausted.
And so he should.
This isn’t going away.
Not tomorrow.
Not next week.
Not ever.
~~~
Epilogue
The trial of Valena Childers looms.
She will face charges of Obstruction of Justice, Tampering with Evidence, and Conspiracy to cover up a Felony.
Having tried to cover up a student’s trauma by burying the truth hasn’t worked, because the student and her advocates have stood for what is right.
There’s speculation that other faculty members may be implicated as well.
While the legal battle ahead is a storm cloud on the horizon for some, it is a clearing sky for Sasha Lambert.
She stays at Liberty College, not because she forgives them, but because she refuses to be forced out of the place she chose for herself.
She walks across campus differently now.
Head high.
Shoulders back.
Fear no longer is dictating her steps. Steve Lonnegan, the golden boy, stays out of her way. He has very good reason to do so, because despite pressure from his father, the Sons of Liberty’s head coach suspended him “pending review” from the College’s President – his aura of being untouchable is shattered, his possible career as a professional player more than questionable.
Sasha joins The Teal Ribbon, an organization dedicated to helping other survivors of sexual violence.
She speaks to other students.
She listens to their stories.
She fights, now not just for herself, but for every person who has ever been silenced.
And when the trial begins, when Valena Childers sits in a courtroom facing the consequences of her crimes… Sasha will be there.
She will watch.
And she will know, without a doubt, that justice is hers.
The End
…but Erica Sinclair will return in the gripping adventure “Erica Sinclair – Trek of Tears”
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
OK, so in some sense Steve Lonnegan has got 'away with his crime,' i mean he's not facing a judge and jury directly. But his 'reputation' and his future prospects are now in tatters, deservedly so.
The important thing here is that a 'victim' has been totally vindicated, Sasha has been showed to have telling the truth all along. And a whole culture, where rich kids with powerful parents have had their little world destroyed, where they thought that they could behave with total impunity, now they can't simply act without bearing other's feelings into the equation as they had believed that they could.
This has been a work of true magnificence @Jenny_S , possibly your best Erica Sinclair story yet I.M.H.O. And, that IS really saying something, because they've all been bloody great. Not to mention those utterly superb accompanying A.I. drawings, that you've introduced into matters.
The important thing here is that a 'victim' has been totally vindicated, Sasha has been showed to have telling the truth all along. And a whole culture, where rich kids with powerful parents have had their little world destroyed, where they thought that they could behave with total impunity, now they can't simply act without bearing other's feelings into the equation as they had believed that they could.
This has been a work of true magnificence @Jenny_S , possibly your best Erica Sinclair story yet I.M.H.O. And, that IS really saying something, because they've all been bloody great. Not to mention those utterly superb accompanying A.I. drawings, that you've introduced into matters.
Will I be checking this out? You bet your life i WILL be, Mister!Jenny_S wrote: 1 day ago Erica Sinclair will return in the gripping adventure “Erica Sinclair – Trek of Tears”
Dear @LunaDog, thank you sooo much for your feedback. Has justice been served in this story? Maybe not to the extent we all would have wanted, but as we all know, not all stories get to have a happy ending.
I guess what was possible, got achieved.
I'm happy that you enjoyed the story and the illustrations and I'm glad that you'll be along for the ride when we take Erica on her most challenging adventure in "Erica Sinclair - The Trek of Tears".
Here's what the next story is about:
When the US government decides to throw her late father under the bus to seal a political deal with the dictator of an African country, Erica Sinclair is taking up the fight, standing up to protect her father's honor - even walking the Trek of Tears - deep in the jungles of Africa, because this case is as personal as it gets.
Stay tuned, sir.
I guess what was possible, got achieved.
I'm happy that you enjoyed the story and the illustrations and I'm glad that you'll be along for the ride when we take Erica on her most challenging adventure in "Erica Sinclair - The Trek of Tears".
Here's what the next story is about:
When the US government decides to throw her late father under the bus to seal a political deal with the dictator of an African country, Erica Sinclair is taking up the fight, standing up to protect her father's honor - even walking the Trek of Tears - deep in the jungles of Africa, because this case is as personal as it gets.
Stay tuned, sir.
For all Erica Sinclair adventures, please visit my story collection over at Wattpad under:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing
https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing