But sometimes, no matter how much you hustle, the cards just don’t fall your way.
The air in the exam room felt heavy, thick with the kind of heat that clings to your skin. My shirt stuck to my back, and my hand was slick with sweat, making the pen slip with every line I tried to write. The clock ticked louder in the silence, but all I could think about was the stifling heat. Outside, the sun cascaded over the city like a punishment. 39 degrees, arecord for this time of the year, they said.
Halfway through the test, the professor’s eyes landed on my paper. He didn’t wait for me to finish. His gaze lingered, and then he motioned for me to follow him to his office.
A bead of sweat trickled down my back as I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, unable to shake the feeling of dread as I waited in front of office number 202-II for almost an hour. Eventually, the professor appeared, with a coffee in hand and a cigarette between his lips.
“Come in.”
The next thing he told me was that I was going to fail the course.
“But…,” I began, my question coming out as a growl, “have you already graded my exam? What did I do wrong?”
He looked me up and down, stopping at my hips. I was wearing a short skirt; it was too hot for any other kind of clothing. If I had dared, I would have slapped him across the face. All I did was uncross my arms and let them dangle lifeless at my sides, trying to make him look away. Finally, he took the cigarette out of his mouth, crushed it against the ashtray, and deigned to retrieve my exam sheet. There wasn’t a single mark on it. He hadn’t even reviewed it. He began reading the first exercise, something about a case study we had seen in class, and after a few lines, he spoke again.
“I’m surprised you can even form a correct sentence in English, given the way you speak,” he mentioned.
My blood boiled inside my veins.Cabrón. Hijo de puta.
“I have no issues with my English, sir,” I said instead.
“Whatever you say,Rodríguez,” he brushed it off, “But this isn’t enough for me. You’re going to fail the course. Unless…”
The next thing I felt was his hands on my thigh, his touchas pressing as red-hot iron, ready to leave its mark on me forever.
He was lucky I didn’t slap him in the face. After I said no, he dismissed me with a wave of his hand, and that was the end of it. Two days later, a red mark appeared on my grade report.
I was killing myself working. I was killing myself studying. And I failed anyway despite my efforts, all because I had the nerve to say no to a man.
That was reason enough for him to fail me.
And that was reason enough for me to cheat. If the system was going to play dirty, then I had no choice but to play dirtier.
I had heard rumours about a certain guy who helped some rich kids who wouldn’t lift a finger to get their degree, so their parents could hang it on the wall of their shiny companies. Everyone had heard about them. I inquired a bit among the faculty circles (people become very open after a few drinks) and found out how to contact him. The Counterfeiter.
It was much easier than I expected. And much cheaper than the tuition for just one subject at Cutnam Law.
Do I regret it?
No. I did what I had to do. It wasn’t that act that led me to this cell.
That was Enzo.
Enzo Woods is to blame for everything.
Chapter 36
ENZO
I almost got away with it.
I almost got the girl.
I almost won this twisted game.
Now I’m fucked, but I gotta say it: fuck them if they can’t take a joke.
That’s it.
