Chapter 4

When Gerald realized I wasn't giving up the card, his expression went dark.

He signaled to the guys around him. A handful of them moved to surround me almost immediately.

"Dallas." Gerald dropped his voice, his eyes turning cold. "Don't push this. It's just a card. Do you really want to make this ugly?"

I held my bag in front of me. "What — when borrowing doesn't work, you try taking it?"

"Taking it? We're just helping you come to your senses."

Rafael shoved me from behind. I stumbled and hit the edge of a desk. My bag fell, everything scattering across the floor again.

Monica stood off to the side with a smirk. "Serves you right."

A few guys kicked my textbooks aside. One of them deliberately stepped on my Switch. The screen cracked with a sharp snap.

"What are you doing?!" I pushed back to my feet, but someone pressed down hard on both my shoulders.

"Relax, Dallas." Gerald smiled, reaching toward my pocket. "We're all classmates here. What's the big deal about a card?"

I knocked his hand away. "Back off."

That did it. Gerald's expression turned ugly. He grabbed me by the collar. "So you want to do this the hard way, huh?"

The people around us didn't step in. They egged it on.

"Hit him! What's having money got him?"

"It's a card. Get over yourself."

Gerald cocked back his fist and swung at my face.

I turned my head. His punch missed. I grabbed his wrist and twisted.

"Ah!" He let out a sharp cry and staggered back.

Monica screamed. "Dallas! You're going to hit him now too?!"

She lunged at me. I pushed her back and pulled out my phone, dialing 911.

"I'm on the third floor of Building 5 at Whinston University. Someone is attempting to rob me, damaging my property, and assaulting me."

Monica's face went pale. She threw herself at me. "Are you insane?!"

She ripped the phone from my hand and, without a second thought, hurled it out the window.

It hit the pavement below and the screen exploded.

The classroom went dead silent.

But what no one expected was that in less than ten minutes, they heard sirens from the street below.

When the officers walked in, Gerald and Monica went white.

"Who called this in?" The lead officer looked around the room.

"I did." I raised my hand. "They took my belongings and threw my phone out the window."

The officer looked at everything on the floor, then at my cracked Switch, then at the shattered phone on the ground below. His brow furrowed. "What happened here?"

Gerald immediately put on his most innocent face. "Officer, this is a huge misunderstanding. We were just messing around!"

Monica was right behind him. "Exactly, just friends goofing off. It's nothing!"

The other students backed them up one by one.

I looked around calmly. Same as my past life. Every single one of them.

The officer's expression didn't change. "Throwing a phone, assault — this is what you call goofing off?"

Mr. Tim, our professor, came rushing in with a stormy look on his face. "What on earth is going on in here?!"

The officer gave him a quick rundown. Mr. Tim listened, then turned to Gerald with a hard stare. "You again."

Gerald tried to argue, but the evidence was right there on the floor.

In the end, under police oversight, Gerald and Monica were made to reimburse me for the phone and the Switch, and to apologize in front of the class.

As we left the office, Monica grabbed my arm and hissed through her teeth. "Dallas. You'll regret this."

I looked at the rage twisting her face and, for some reason, I laughed.

"I'll be waiting."

When I got back to the dorm to pack, I noticed someone had gone through my things. But nothing was missing, so I let it go.

I'd barely stepped off campus when a black Maybach pulled up in front of me.

"Mr. Dallas, your father has urgent business. He needs you home."

The family butler, Mr. Johnson, didn't wait for a response. He pulled me straight into the car.

That evening, my father slid two documents across the table. Behind his gold-framed glasses, his eyes were sharp as a blade.

"Dallas. This is your last chance to choose. The $30 billion family trust fund — or a $1,500 monthly allowance."

"The full amount has already been deposited into your Zurich Bank account. Sign the papers and the money is yours. The business is yours."

The crystal chandelier in the boardroom scattered harsh light behind my father. I squinted. For a moment I was back there — headlights coming straight at me, the sound of bones breaking under tires.

Gerald's grin as I died was still fresh in my memory.

"I'll take the $1,500 a month."