He leaned back, assessing me, the fake warmth gone, replaced by the calculating businessman I remembered from Room 314.

“You always were sharp,” he murmured. He drew a long, crisp envelope from his breast pocket and slid it across the marble table.

“What is this?”

“A cashier’s check,” he said smoothly. “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Enough to wipe out your medical-school debt and set you up beautifully for your residency.”

I kept my face blank though my heart hammered. “And what does it buy you?”

He leaned in, lowering his voice. “I know you’re valedictorian. Your ceremony next Saturday will be heavily attended — my team has arranged for local news to cover it, focusing on your inspirational journey. All I want in return is two things.”