PART 1
“Take off that dress right now, because I am not going to walk around my university looking like I am dressed identical to a complete stranger.”
That sudden sharp command stopped me right in my tracks less than fifty yards from the main administrative building. It was twenty past eight on a crisp Monday morning, marking the start of the autumn semester at St. Jude State University, and I had exactly forty minutes before the Board of Regents would formally announce my appointment as the institution’s new president. At thirty-two years old, people frequently mistook me for an undergraduate student, and my short height, youthful face, and neat hair bun certainly did not help matters. The young woman blocking the paved walkway looked accustomed to having every single person recognize her instantly.
“That girl is Alyssa Mercer,” someone whispered nearby in the gathering crowd. “Her wealthy family just donated thirty million dollars toward the construction of the new commercial center.”
Alyssa pulled off her dark sunglasses and sneered as she evaluated my appearance from top to bottom. “I am speaking directly to you, so listen up because that dress is an exclusive piece.”
I glanced down at her outfit and nearly let out a small smile, realizing her dress was merely a cheap knockoff of a famous design crafted by Vivienne Laurent, a retired designer who had been a dear mentor of mine for years. Only two true originals of that exact dress existed in the world, with one sitting safely in her studio in Savannah and the other currently resting on my shoulders.
“Having an exclusive design does not automatically mean that what you are wearing is authentic,” I replied calmly.
Alyssa narrowed her eyes in visible anger. “Are you trying to imply that my dress is a fake?”
“I am simply pointing out that the stitching along your waistband is completely uneven,” I said.
That single observation set her temper completely ablaze. One of her wealthy friends stepped forward and tried to shove me backward, but I dodged her easily and reached into my pocket for my phone to call my secretary. Alyssa lunged forward and knocked the phone straight out of my hands, sending it smashing hard onto the concrete stairs where the glass shattered completely.
“I will throw some pocket change at you to pay for it,” Alyssa sneered as she deliberately stamped her high heel on top of the broken phone screen. “But before I do that, you are going to strip off that dress immediately.”
“You are going to pay every penny of my phone bill first, and then you will explain to campus security why you just destroyed someone else’s personal property,” I warned her smoothly.
Dozens of curious students stopped walking, and several pulled out their phones to start filming the interaction. Alyssa burst into loud, obnoxious laughter while looking around at the growing audience.
“Security? My uncle happens to be the senior vice president of this entire campus, so absolutely nobody is going to lay a single finger on me here,” she bragged.
Five minutes later, the head of campus security, Douglas Miller, arrived on the scene accompanied by two armed officers. He did not ask what had occurred, nor did he review any security footage, opting instead to listen exclusively to Alyssa’s version of events.
“This unauthorized woman snuck onto campus without any student identification, physically assaulted me, and wore a cheap fake outfit specifically to provoke me,” Alyssa lied smoothly.
“Show me your official university identification card right now,” Douglas demanded in a strict tone.
“I do not have one on me,” I stated clearly.
“In that case, you are coming directly to the security station with us,” Douglas ordered.
“Are you not going to check the overhead surveillance cameras before making judgments?” I asked him directly.
“There is zero need to do that because Miss Mercer has absolutely no reason to lie to us,” Douglas snapped immediately.
That biased response troubled me far more than the broken smartphone lying ruined at my feet. Just last night, an anonymous whistleblower had delivered a heavy dossier to my desk detailing fraudulent contracts, inflated concessions, and suspicious payments connected directly to Vice President Gregory Mercer, who was Alyssa’s uncle. I had deliberately chosen to walk onto campus alone that morning without a formal escort specifically to observe the university’s daily atmosphere before everyone learned how to alter their behavior around the new president.
Alyssa opened her expensive designer handbag, pulled out a thick wad of hundred-dollar bills, and slammed the cash violently against my chest. “There is ten thousand dollars, which is more than enough to cover your cheap broken phone and your pathetic attempt at impersonation,” she sneered.
The cash scattered everywhere across the dirty floorboards. I stood tall and refused to bend down to gather the cash.
“You can pick those bills up yourself, and you should take this time to think very carefully about your foolish actions today,” I advised her steadily.
Her smirk faded instantly into a glare. “My uncle Gregory is pulling up right now, and when he gets here, you will finally learn who actually controls this university,” she threatened.
Fifteen minutes went by while security guards kept me trapped in place with my ruined phone lying near my shoes and dozens of phone cameras pointing at me. When I spotted Vice President Gregory Mercer stepping out of a sleek black sedan, I knew the morning chaos was only just starting.
PART 2
Gregory Mercer approached us briskly, flanked by two academic coordinators and a staff member from the student affairs office. Alyssa immediately scurried over to his side like a defenseless victim.
“Uncle Gregory, that insane trespasser attacked me on my way to class,” Alyssa cried dramatically.
Gregory stared directly into my eyes, but he failed to recognize who I was. He had missed the previous afternoon’s emergency virtual meeting due to an alleged medical appointment, meaning he had not yet viewed my official portrait.
“Are you currently enrolled as a student here?” Gregory asked sternly.
“No, I am not,” I replied.
“Then what business do you have wandering around my campus?” he demanded sharply.
“I came here today to formally assume my official administrative duties,” I answered directly.
Gregory looked amused by my response. “And what official position could you possibly be referring to?”
“You will find out the full truth in just a few short minutes,” I said quietly.
His temporary amusement melted instantly into extreme irritation. He ordered the guards to escort me straight toward the security office, but when I repeatedly requested an immediate review of the security tapes, one of the academic coordinators spoke up far too fast.
“The security camera stationed in this specific courtyard is entirely out of order today,” the coordinator claimed hastily.
I looked upward at the ceiling beam and raised an eyebrow. “I never actually specified which of the three visible security cameras I wanted to review,” I noted coolly.
Several surrounding students began whispering among themselves, prompting Gregory to raise his voice and demand that everyone clear the area immediately. However, his command came too late because the surrounding circle of onlookers was growing larger by the second. Alyssa suddenly grabbed her friend’s large cup of sticky iced coffee and dumped the dark liquid straight down the front of my white outfit.
“Now our dresses do not look identical anymore,” Alyssa mocked while stepping back with a malicious grin.
The brown liquid stained the white fabric permanently, creating a brief, tense silence followed by nervous laughter from her friends.
“That bespoke dress costs four hundred and eighty thousand dollars,” I stated without raising my voice.
Alyssa doubled over in hysterics at my statement. “As if a world-class designer like Vivienne Laurent would ever sew a custom garment for someone like you,” she laughed loudly.
I remained completely silent, which seemed to irritate her fragile pride even further. She reached out, grabbed the soft fabric around my neck, and yanked hard until the shoulder seam ripped completely open.
My instincts kicked in instantly, and I delivered a swift, sharp slap across her face. The loud sound echoed sharply across the quiet courtyard.
Alyssa stood completely frozen in absolute shock before screaming wildly at the top of her lungs. “Grab her right now, grab this crazy woman,” she shrieked.
Two large security guards forcefully seized both of my arms, squeezing tightly. As I struggled against their harsh grip, my bare arm scraped hard against a sharp piece of shattered glass on a nearby bulletin display, slicing my forearm wide open. I felt warm blood immediately trickle down toward my wrist.
Alyssa stared at my bleeding wound without showing a single shred of remorse. “Kneel down on the dirty concrete and beg for my forgiveness right now,” she demanded haughtily.
“I will never do that,” I answered through gritted teeth.
Her friend quickly retrieved a large plastic bucket of bright red industrial paint that workers had left behind for the welcome mural. Alyssa picked up the heavy bucket with both hands and stepped toward me.
“This is your absolute last chance to get on your knees,” she warned threateningly.
“If you throw that paint, you will regret it for the rest of your natural life,” I warned her evenly.
Without hesitation, she lifted the bucket and poured the thick red paint directly over my head. The sticky red liquid drenched my hair, poured down my face, and ruined what was left of my damaged dress.
Alyssa immediately pulled out her phone and started a live broadcast to her massive social media following. “Look closely, everyone, so all of North America can see the fraud who came onto campus to provoke my family,” she announced directly into the screen.
Within moments, tens of thousands of online viewers joined the live stream, flooding the chat with toxic insults without understanding a single thing about the actual situation. Alyssa smiled triumphantly at the camera while the security guards tried to force my knees down toward the floor.
“Today you are getting kicked off this campus permanently, and I will personally ensure that no other university accepts you,” Alyssa declared proudly.
Just as the guards exerted full pressure on my shoulders, the sound of multiple heavy engines echoed across the courtyard. A line of dark official SUVs pulled up right alongside the esplanade, and members of the Board of Regents, academic department heads, university attorneys, and my personal secretary, Oliver Bennett, quickly stepped out of the vehicles.
Oliver caught sight of me standing there covered in red paint and turned completely pale from shock. He ran past the crowd as fast as he could.
