Chapter 7: People
I didn't sleep.
I sat in the armchair in the corner of the spare room while Caleb slept, and I read Derek's message three more times on Caleb's phone, which he had left on the nightstand.
*I have people.
You don't.*
I had heard that kind of language before.
Not from criminals.
From men who had grown up being told that their connections were their armor — that who you knew mattered more than what you did, that the right name dropped at the right moment could make almost anything disappear.
Derek's father owned two car dealerships in the county.
His uncle sat on the city planning committee.
His older brother had played college football and now coached at the regional high school, which meant his name was on a sign outside a building where children went every day.
Caleb had none of that.
What Caleb had was a security log, a photograph, and a retired vice principal who had made two phone calls before midnight.
I told myself it was enough.
I wasn't entirely sure I believed it.
In the morning, Caleb came downstairs and found me already at the kitchen table with coffee and my laptop open.
"You didn't sleep," he said.
"I slept a little."
He looked at the laptop screen.
I had been reading through Derek's Facebook post and the comments beneath it.
The thread had grown overnight — nearly two hundred comments now.
Most of them were from classmates who had been at the reunion.
The tone had shifted somewhere around two in the morning.
Caleb leaned over my shoulder and read.
The first shift had come from a woman named Priya, who had been in their graduating class.
Her comment was short: *I was there last night.
The documents didn't look altered to me.
They looked like public records.*
After that, others had followed.
Slowly at first, then faster.
*Didn't someone get fired over that office thing senior year?*
*I always thought that was weird.
The custodian seemed like such a decent guy.*
*Derek, why would someone fabricate a security log from ten years ago?
What would be the point?*
Derek had responded to several of them.
His replies were long and defensive — full of phrases like *I'm not going to dignify this* and *there are things about that night that people don't know* and *this is exactly the kind of harassment I've been dealing with.* Each response made things worse.
By six in the morning, he had deleted the original post.
But Priya had taken a screenshot before he did.
"She posted the screenshot," Caleb said quietly, reading over my shoulder.
"With the caption: *Why delete it if there's nothing to hide?*"
Caleb straightened up.
He poured himself coffee and stood at the counter.
"He's going to come at me directly now," he said.
"The post didn't work.
So he'll try something else."
"What can he actually do?"
"He could try to claim I broke into the school's records system.
He could file a harassment complaint.
He could get his father to call someone." Caleb shrugged, but it wasn't a casual shrug.
"Or he could do something I haven't thought of yet.
That's the one I'm worried about."
My phone rang.
The number was local but unfamiliar.
I answered it.
"Is this the mother of Caleb—?" A woman's voice.
Brisk, professional.
"It is."
"My name is Sandra Okafor.
I'm a reporter with the Millbrook Courier.
I've been following a story this morning about a reunion last night and some documents that were shared.
I was hoping to speak with your son."
I looked at Caleb.
He held out his hand for the phone.
"This is Caleb," he said.
I watched his face as he listened.
"Yes," he said.
"I have the original records request letter.
I have the log.
I have the photograph." A pause.
"Yes, Raymond Voss.
V-O-S-S." Another pause.
"He's willing to speak on the record?
He told you that himself?"
His eyes met mine.
"Then yes," Caleb said.
"I'll talk to you.
But I want one thing understood before we start."
"What's that?" the reporter asked.
May you like
"This story isn't about me," Caleb said.
"It's about Raymond."
