Chapter 7 - Leo’s Scholarship
St. Jude’s announced Leo’s scholarship review.
Not because he had done anything wrong.
Because someone had placed an anonymous allegation in his file claiming he falsified household income.
My mother had been dead four years.
I became Leo’s legal guardian until he turned eighteen.
Our finances had been thoroughly reviewed.
The allegation was nonsense.
But the timing was not.
It appeared three days after Leo first raised Northbridge questions.
Dr. Hart found the note.
No supporting documents.
No named complainant.
Yet the financial-aid office flagged Leo’s scholarship for “verification.”
He had not been told.
“What happens if they cancel it?” Leo signed.
“They won’t.”
He frowned.
I corrected myself.
We don't know.
Better.
His annual cost exceeded seventy thousand dollars.
I could help.
But not easily.
Leo saw my face.
I can transfer.
That sentence hurt.
St. Jude’s had been his dream.
Engineering labs.
Deaf-studies minor.
Research.
He had earned his place.
Bryce’s words echoed:
Poor people don’t deserve to study here.
Money had become a weapon.
Dr. Hart contacted independent counsel.
The university board created an emergency committee after alumni revolt.
The scholarship flag was frozen pending investigation.
No removal.
Then financial-aid IT logs showed who created the anonymous note.
A temporary administrator account.
Assigned to the President’s special projects office.
Used from Grant Mercer’s guest Wi-Fi session during another donor visit.
Not proof Grant typed it.
But the pattern tightened.
Then Leo received an email.
Unknown address.
You should have taken the warning. Withdraw from St. Jude’s and all of this ends.
He showed me.
My first instinct was federal involvement.
Threat.
Possible witness intimidation.
Carla stopped me.
“Not yours.”
I knew.
Local police documented it.
University preserved headers.
The sender used an anonymizing service.
No instant magic trace.
Real investigations take time.
Leo signed:
I’m staying.
I wanted to say no.
I wanted to pack his dorm.
Move him home.
Enroll him elsewhere.
Protect.
Control.
Mom’s voice appeared in my memory:
“Protection without choice becomes another cage.”
I hated when dead parents were right.
So I signed:
Then we make staying safer.
New dorm access.
Escort options.
Emergency text alerts.
Temporary replacement hearing device.
Classroom accommodations.
Not bodyguards following him everywhere.
Leo approved each step.
His life.
His choices.
My role was becoming clearer.
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Brother.
Not shield.
