Chapter 4 Chapter 4

Sloane’s POV

By the time we escaped the Grand Assembly Hall, I’d decided Headmaster Whitmore deserved an award.

Not for leadership.

For managing to speak for fifteen minutes without answering a single question.

“I’m telling you,” Luca announced as we descended the front steps, “that assembly would’ve gone better with food.”

“Everything goes better with food according to you,” Evie said.

“Name one thing that doesn’t.”

“Your hockey conditioning.”

He considered that.

“Fine. Name two.”

Despite everything, Charlotte laughed.

It was a small sound, but Quinn glanced at her like he’d been waiting all morning to hear it.

They were walking beside each other again, although there was still an uncomfortable distance between them. I wasn’t going to pretend I understood their relationship. I’d never been particularly talented at the whole romance thing, especially when it involved people who could communicate an entire argument through eye contact.

I preferred words.

Preferably ones I could quote accurately.

“Did you find anything else?” Quinn asked me.

I pulled out my phone.

“Not about the vehicle itself. Sebastian’s right. There isn’t enough detail to identify the model from that mirror.”

“Great,” Luca muttered. “Our mystery car is officially a car.”

“Excellent contribution,” Sebastian said.

“Thank you.”

“But I found the exact stretch of Briar Ridge Road,” I continued. “And there’s a private estate entrance just beyond the curve.”

Charlotte stopped walking.

“North Ridge Estates?”

I looked at her.

“You know it?”

“My mother knows the Hendersons. They have a house there.”

Luca spread his arms.

“Of course they do. Why can’t any of my mother’s friends own a useful security camera?”

“Because your mother’s friends own restaurants,” Evie said.

“Which are useful.”

“Not right now.”

“Debatable.”

Charlotte was already taking out her phone.

“I can ask whether the entrance had cameras three years ago.”

“Don’t ask them for footage yet,” Sebastian said. “We need to know whether anything was recorded and whether records might still exist.”

Charlotte nodded.

“I’ll ask.”

Quinn looked at her.

“You don’t have to get involved.”

She gave him a look that could’ve frozen the fountain behind us.

“I’m already involved, Quinn.”

He wisely closed his mouth.

The group separated near the courtyard.

Theo practically dragged Quinn toward the dining hall, declaring that no one was allowed to investigate a crime on an empty stomach.

Charlotte went with them.

Evie hesitated beside Sebastian.

“Do you really think the school can trace whoever’s running that blog?” she asked.

Sebastian shrugged.

“Depends how careless they were. I wouldn’t count on it.”

Something flickered across Evie’s face.

It disappeared before I could decide what it was.

“Right,” she said.

Luca threw an arm around her shoulders.

“Personally, I’m hoping they trace whoever decided we needed calculus before lunch.”

Evie smiled.

“That’s not how investigations work.”

“Then investigations need improvement.”

I watched them head toward the dining hall.

Evie’s question bothered me.

Not because she’d asked it. Everyone was wondering whether the Ledger’s creator would get caught.

It was the way she’d sounded.

Nervous.

Then again, we were all nervous.

I wrote nothing down.

One expression wasn’t evidence, and Evie was my friend.

I wasn’t about to turn her into a suspect because she’d asked a perfectly reasonable question.

The Chronicle office was empty when I arrived.

I loved that room.

The old newspapers, the slightly unreliable printer, the smell of coffee that had probably been spilled sometime during the previous century.

Some people found comfort in libraries.

I found mine surrounded by deadlines and printer ink.

I opened the archive on my laptop and pulled up the charity-run photographs I’d found earlier.

Three years ago, the Chronicle had covered a summer fundraiser along Briar Ridge Road.

The event itself wasn’t particularly interesting.

Wealthy people running five kilometers so they could congratulate themselves over expensive bottled water.

But the photographs were useful.

I enlarged one showing the entrance to North Ridge Estates.

There was the stone wall.

The private-property sign.

And something I’d missed earlier.

A small camera mounted above the entrance gate.

I leaned closer.

“Hello.”

The camera wasn’t pointing toward the exact spot where Noah had been injured, but it covered the road approaching the gate.

Which meant it might have captured vehicles traveling through that section.

Three years was a long time for security footage to survive.

I wasn’t getting excited yet.

I opened another photograph.

This one showed volunteers standing beside a table near the entrance. Behind them, a temporary sign advertised the charity run.

And beside the sign stood a man wearing an Ashcroft maintenance jacket.

I frowned.

Why would an academy employee be working at a private residential entrance?

I checked the photograph’s caption.

Ashcroft facilities team assists with Briar Ridge Summer Benefit.

Interesting.

I searched the Chronicle archive again.

This time, I looked for the event’s organizing committee.

The results appeared almost immediately.

The benefit had been sponsored by the Ashcroft Alumni Association.

And according to the event program, its logistical coordinator had been the academy’s facilities department.

That gave me an idea.

Professor Grant found me twenty minutes later, sitting on the floor beside the Chronicle’s filing cabinets.

He stopped in the doorway.

“Should I be concerned?”

“Depends.”

“About?”

“Whether you consider digging through old event records a sign of dedication or a cry for help.”

He looked at the papers scattered around me.

“Both.”

I smiled.

He set his coffee on the desk.

“What are you looking for?”

“Briar Ridge charity-run records.”

His expression changed slightly.

“Because of the Ledger?”

“Because of a photograph.”

I showed him the old event image, not the anonymous post.

“Do you remember whether the academy handled equipment for this fundraiser?”

He adjusted his glasses.

“Facilities coordinated parking and temporary lighting, if I remember correctly. Why?”

“I’m trying to establish which cameras were operating near the entrance that summer.”

He studied me.

“Sloane, be careful not to confuse a lead with a conclusion.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

I sighed.

“I’m not accusing anyone. I’m checking whether records exist.”

That seemed to satisfy him.

“Then start with the event files. The Chronicle photographed the setup the day before the run.”

I blinked.

“We did?”

He nodded toward the cabinets.

“Old photo assignments. Bottom drawer, probably.”

After he left, I pulled the drawer open.

It stuck halfway.

Naturally.

Nothing at Ashcroft could ever make my life easy.

I gave it a harder tug and nearly landed on my backside when it came free.

Inside were folders labeled by year.

I found the charity-run assignment and opened it.

Contact sheets.

Event schedules.

A parking diagram.

And a list of equipment supplied by the academy.

I scanned it.

Portable barriers.

Two lighting towers.

Radio equipment.

One temporary traffic-monitoring camera.

I stopped.

The camera had been positioned at the North Ridge entrance to record vehicle movement during the fundraiser.

According to the paperwork, it had been installed by Ashcroft’s facilities team and removed the following week.

I checked the date.

The fundraiser had taken place just days before Noah’s accident.

I sat back.

That didn’t prove the camera was still there on the night of the collision.

But it gave us something specific to investigate.

An actual piece of equipment.

An actual installation record.

Not another anonymous message.

I photographed the document and sent it to Sebastian.

Found something. Can you meet me in the Chronicle office?

His reply arrived a moment later.

Ten minutes.

I smiled.

For once, I was the one delivering the surprise.

Sebastian arrived eleven minutes later.

I considered mentioning his tardiness, but the expression on his face suggested he’d spent those eleven minutes doing something useful.

“Show me,” he said.

I handed him the equipment list.

He read it twice.

Then looked at me.

“Where did you find this?”

“Old Chronicle records.”

He studied the date.

“The camera was supposed to be removed the following week.”

“Exactly.”

“And the accident happened before that removal date.”

I nodded.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then Sebastian opened his laptop.

“We need the installation location and whoever signed the equipment back in.”

“Already working on it.”

He looked at me.

“Of course you are.”

I grinned.

“Try to keep up.”

His mouth twitched.

“Insufferable.”

“Accurate.”

We spent another twenty minutes comparing the parking diagram with the photograph from the Ledger.

The temporary camera had been positioned on the same side of the road as the silver mirror.

Not proof that it had taken the photograph.

Not proof that it had recorded the collision.

But the overlap was worth pursuing.

Sebastian tapped the diagram.

“There’s a bigger question.”

“Which is?”

“If the academy installed a camera there, who had access to its recordings?”

I looked at the equipment list.

The answer wasn’t printed on it.

But someone in the facilities department had signed for the camera.

Someone had been responsible for collecting it.

And someone might know where the recordings went.

I reached for my notebook.

This time, I didn’t write a theory about who was guilty.

I wrote down the name of the employee who had signed the installation form.

Then I circled it.

Tomorrow, I was going to ask that person a few questions.

Because The Velvet Ledger might control what Ashcroft saw online.

But it didn’t control what I found in a filing cabinet.