Heiress Falsely Accused Me of Plagiarism, I Shocked Silicon Valley with Scrap Metal

"Bang!"

A pickup truck slammed into me, sending me flying.

The truck door creaked open with a squeak. A pair of filthy old military boots stopped in my line of vision.

I forced myself through the pain to lift my head. When I saw that face, my blood ran cold.

"Frank?"

It was my father.

"Well, look who it is," Frank stared at me greedily. "Dressed like some Ivy League elite bitch. Seems your dead mother taught you well, Elana."

"Are you insane?!" I clutched my fractured right arm and shouted. "Today is the final makeup exam! I was falsely accused of plagiarism. I fought so hard for this chance to clear my name!"

Frank gave a cold laugh, then suddenly grabbed my collar and yanked me up. The pain from my broken bone made me scream.

With his other hand, he roughly tore off my backpack and dumped everything onto the rain-soaked street.

Books, my exam permit, and several crumpled twenty-dollar bills I'd saved from working part-time as a server—all scattered on the ground.

Frank's eyes lit up. He lunged forward and shoved all the money into his own pockets.

"Give it back! That's my taxi money to get to school and my living expenses!" I reached to grab it, but he kicked me down.

"Don't fucking talk to me about life, Elana," Frank spat viciously in my face. "You were born in the slums, with cheap blood in your veins—you'll be poor trash your whole life! You think getting into some rich kids' private university will change your class? Dream on!"

He opened the car door. Before getting into the driver's seat, he looked me up and down: "Consider this a lesson. Keep your eyes open from now on and don't offend big shots you can't afford to mess with. If someone hadn't kindly tipped me off, I wouldn't even know my daughter had become so 'accomplished' these days."

With that, he drove off, completely ignoring my injuries—covered in blood with a broken arm.

"Big shots..." I collapsed on the ground in despair.

Who? Who was so calculating in trying to destroy me?

But I had no time to think about that now.

There were only forty minutes left until the exam ended.

Not only did I have no money for an Uber, I didn't even have the three dollars for the subway. Not to mention going to the hospital—calling an ambulance would saddle me with thousands of dollars in debt.

I bit through my lip to stay conscious, cradled my broken right arm, and walked toward the university two miles away.

I couldn't be expelled with plagiarism on my record. Absolutely not!

When I finally stumbled into the lecture hall, the clock showed exactly eleven o'clock.

The exam was over.

"Elana Davis?"

At the podium, Professor Hartman was organizing the last test paper. Seeing me covered in blood, his brow furrowed, but quickly turned to disappointment.

The students who hadn't yet left turned around. No one came forward to help. Instead, they whispered to each other, not hiding their contempt and disgust.

"Oh my God, what's that smell on her? Like she rolled through a sewer in the slums."

"This thief still has the nerve to show up? The academic committee should just expel her outright!"

"Who knows if this whole look is just an act..."

I used what strength I had left to walk to the podium and pleaded: "Professor... Professor, I was in a car accident on the way. My arm is broken... Please, give me an exam paper. I can write with my left hand. I know the formulas. I didn't plagiarize..."

"That's enough, Miss Davis." Professor Hartman interrupted me. "The exam officially ended one minute ago. Rules are rules. This isn't some community college where you can make excuses and throw a tantrum."

"Oh, look who's here?"

A malicious female voice came from the back of the classroom.

The crowd naturally parted to create a path.

Chloe Sterling walked over.

"Chloe..." I stared at her intently.

I remembered what Frank said before leaving about a "tip from a big shot."

In this school, the only person who had direct conflict of interest with me and possessed the wealth and power to bribe my father was her.

The heiress who stole my core design at the exhibition and then turned around to accuse me of plagiarism.

Chloe walked up to me, covering her nose: "Elana, what's the point of all this? Everyone knows you're a lying plagiarist. If you don't dare face the retest, why not just admit it?"

She leaned close to my ear and whispered in a voice only we could hear, with a smile:

"To avoid the exam, you actually broke your own arm? A rat from the slums—you really can be ruthless with yourself.

But now, you don't even have this last chance to bite back."