Ardito's Point of View
The conference hall buzzes with low conversations but I keep glancing at my watch.
I'm simply bored.
Someone clears his throat too often near the front row which makes me irritated but I hide the
scowl as I sit quietly at the far end of the table.
The Rector drones on about policy reforms, citations, new ethics codes. Across from me, I sight
Victor Dumas arguing with another lecturer about funding allocation. He likes being heard.
He raises his voice enough to fill the room.
"Research can't thrive without resources,
" he says, tapping his pen.
"Cut the budget again and
you'll have empty labs by next term.
"
A few professors murmur in agreement. Others roll their eyes.
The dean sighs.
"We're working on a compromise, Victor.
"
"I've heard that for months,
" Dumas snaps back.
I watch, silent. He's exactly what I expected. A loud and empty vessel who mistakes volume for
authority.
The discussion drags on and I yawn repeatedly. I glance at the clock. Ten minutes past the
scheduled end.
These people have no consciousness of time and it pisses me off.
When the rector finally calls for closing remarks, half the attendees reach for their phones. I fold
my notes neatly, ready to leave.
Then the first notification sound breaks the monotony. A small ping, followed by another. Then
another.
Within seconds, the entire room flickers with white and blue screens. I raise an eyebrow and
wonder what is happening.
The murmuring grows louder. I glance around.
"What is this?" someone near me mutters.
A lecturer named Benoit chuckles under his breath.
"Looks like this one is for you, Victor.
"
"What?" Dumas looks up sharply.
"Your daughter,
" Benoit says, still smiling faintly.
"Seems she's quite the star of the show today.
"
A ripple of amusement moves through the room.
Dumas's eyes narrow.
"Explain yourself this instant.
"
The woman beside him clears her throat.
"There's a post on the student forum. Your daughter uploaded a picture and a caption.
Something about—
" She hesitates while scrolling.
"
—finding love where she least expected it.
The students are assuming it's a lecturer.
"
I watch the silent exchange of smirks and murmurs.
Dumas stiffens.
"That's absurd. She's barely recovered from her accident.
"
"Then she must have recovered quickly,
" Benoit says dryly.
A few chuckles. The dean tries to wave it off.
"Let's not indulge in rumors.
"
But it's too late. The atmosphere has changed. Even the older professors are peering discreetly
at their screens.
I see Dumas typing furiously on his phone. His jaw twitches and in all of this, I remain still,
watching him.
When he finally looks up, his eyes meet mine briefly. There's no accusation, only irritation that
anyone might be watching his embarrassment.
So he clearly feels guilt and embarrassment? How human of him.
He clears his throat.
"Let's focus on relevant matters, shall we?"
The Rector nods awkwardly.
"Yes, of course. Thank you, Professor Dumas.
"
The conference slowly comes to an end making every conversation tainted with quiet
speculation.
When it's over, people file out in small groups, whispering.
I stand, sliding my folder and iPad into my briefcase. The hum of gossip still trails behind me.
"Who do you think it is?" one asks.
"No idea,
" the other replies.
"But the caption said 'a man of mystery'"
The first one snorts.
"You know that could fit half the faculty.
" They laugh and keep walking.
I pause in the hallway for a second.
What the hell is Ellen Dumas playing at?
In the corridor, I spot her father speaking heatedly to the dean and rector.
"She's been manipulated,
" he says.
"Someone's using her. The accident wasn't enough
humiliation? Now this?"
The dean tries to calm him.
"It's a student forum, Victor. By tomorrow, they'll forget.
"
Dumas lowers his voice.
"I won't tolerate it. I'll handle her myself.
"
Then he turns sharply and storms off.
For some reason, his last statement does something to my brain but I ignore it and walk the
other way.
My office is quiet, spacious, lined with shelves. A faint drizzle paints the window glass.
I sit, loosen my tie, and open my laptop. The university portal buzzes with messages about the
same rumor. I don't read them.
At that same moment, my phone rings.
"Sir,
" my butler's voice comes through, smooth and respectful as usual.
"You asked for that
background check on the Dumas family plus associates.
"
"Yes.
"
"I have the results.
"
"Go ahead.
"
"His finances are in better shape than public records show,
" he says.
"He's been funneling
money through academic grants into private accounts. Most of it filtered through a company
registered under Paulo DeLuca's holdings.
"
I lean back in my chair.
"DeLuca.
"
"Yes, sir. The same DeLuca recently linked to your late father's former partner in Milan.
"
My jaw tightens.
"Interesting coincidence.
"
"There's more,
" the butler continues.
"One of Dumas's research assistants was Clara Veyron.
She's listed in several project reports with him from five years ago. Their work was quietly
suspended before her death.
"
I don't speak for a long moment. The rain taps the window harder.
"Anything else?"
"His daughter was also close to Veyron,
" the butler says.
"The records list Ellen Dumas as one
of her mentees.
"
I exhale slowly.
"Send me copies of everything.
"
"I'll have them delivered within the hour.
"
The call ends.
I stare at the rain until it turns into blurred streaks.
The name Dumas keeps circling back, refusing to leave my path. The daughter's name now tied
to a rumor that smells of distraction.
Thinking back to when I saw Clara's letter with the Dumas girl, it all makes sense on how close
she was close to her.
I tap my pen against the desk, thinking.
If the girl lied, I want to know why.
If someone used her name, I want to know who.
One way or another, the truth will surface.
A faint buzz interrupts my thoughts. Another message. This one from an unknown number.
"You're not the only one watching them.
"
No name, no signature.
I stare at the screen, then lock the phone.
And for the first time in a long while, I sense the game shifting in my favor.
I click on the particular article I've been trying to avoid since I am never heavy on gossips and
the likes. A wicked smile spreads across my lips.
Ellen Dumas, you've just layed a perfect playground for me.