Part 3: The Doctor Is In
No one spoke for a full thirty seconds.
The projector fan whirred softly in the background, the only sound in the massive, tension-filled room.
Dr. Aris slowly took off his glasses and wiped them with a microfiber cloth.
He looked at the other committee members, who all gave sharp, decisive nods.
"Selena," Dr. Aris said, his voice thick with emotion.
He didn't use the microphone.
He didn't need to.
"In my thirty years of academia, I have never witnessed a more rigorous, undeniable, and courageous defense of scientific truth."
He stood up, and the rest of the committee stood with him.
"It is my absolute honor," Dr. Aris continued, a proud smile breaking across his face, "to be the first to call you Dr. Selena Davis."
"Actually," I interrupted softly, my voice carrying clearly across the room.
I looked down at the pathetic, broken man shivering in the front row.
"It's Dr. Selena Vance. I'll be reclaiming my maiden name effective immediately."
The committee smiled and nodded in agreement.
Dr. Dupont stood up and began clapping.
Soon, the entire board was giving me a standing ovation.
But the applause was abruptly cut short by the harsh, metallic sound of handcuffs ratcheting closed.
The federal agents had moved in.
One agent hauled Hunter to his feet, yanking his arms behind his back and snapping the steel cuffs onto his wrists.
"Hunter Davis," the agent read from a small card, "you are under arrest for federal wire fraud, embezzlement, and violating the False Claims Act."
Hunter didn't fight back.
He looked entirely hollowed out, a ghost of the arrogant man who had blocked my kitchen door just twelve hours ago.
As they dragged him up the center aisle, he stopped right beside the podium.
He looked up at me, his eyes wide, bloodshot, and begging.
"Selena," he choked out, tears spilling down his cheeks. "Please. I'm your husband. Don't let them do this."
I leaned casually against the wooden podium.
I looked at my ruined, jagged hair in the reflection of his terrified eyes.
"You should have let me go to the defense quietly, Hunter," I whispered.
I offered him a cold, razor-sharp smile.
"I guess women really do ruin everything when they leave the kitchen."
Hunter let out a devastated wail as the agents shoved him forward, marching him out the heavy oak doors and into the custody of the FBI.
Barbara jumped up, tripping over her own purse as she tried to chase after them.
"Hunter! My baby!" she shrieked, running up the aisle.
She stopped at the doors, realizing they were already gone, and turned back to face me.
Her face was twisted into a mask of pure, venomous hatred.
"You did this!" Barbara screamed, pointing a trembling finger at me from across the room. "You ruined my family! You are a monster!"
I stepped out from behind the podium, packing my laptop into my heavy backpack.
I walked slowly up the center aisle, stopping right in front of my former mother-in-law.
She flinched, stepping back against the heavy wooden doors.
"I didn't ruin anything, Barbara," I said, my voice perfectly level. "I just turned on the lights."
I looked her up and down, noting the spilled coffee staining her cheap sweater.
"You have two hours to get your things out of my apartment," I ordered coldly.
"Your apartment?" Barbara gasped. "Hunter pays the rent!"
"Hunter’s accounts are currently frozen by the federal government," Dr. Dupont interjected, walking up the aisle behind me.
Dr. Dupont handed me a sleek, official-looking folder.
"And considering the university just awarded you a prestigious fellowship and a massive independent research grant, I believe you are the sole breadwinner now, Dr. Vance."
Barbara's jaw dropped.
She looked from the federal director to me, completely and utterly defeated.
She had tried to break my spirit with a pair of kitchen scissors.
Instead, she had handed me the crown.
"Two hours, Barbara," I repeated softly. "Or I'll have the police escort you out."
I pushed past her, stepping out into the bright, freezing sunlight of the university courtyard.
The air smelled like pine needles and absolute freedom.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed a high-powered divorce attorney I had researched on the walk over.
"Yes, I need to file an expedited divorce petition," I said into the phone, walking toward the street.
"On what grounds?" the receptionist asked.
I smiled, running a hand over my short, fierce, asymmetrical hair.
"Irreconcilable differences," I replied. "And fifty years in federal prison."
I hung up the phone and kept walking.
I had lost eight years to a lie.
May you like
But as I walked away from the Science Building, I knew one thing for certain.
I had the rest of my life to tell the truth.
