The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism novel Chapter 161

Chapter 161: 161 | Prometheus House Rules

The highway opened up past the Creston Hills interchange and then immediately closed again. Move-in traffic. Half the cars on the road carried Halloran stickers on their bumpers or had parents in the front seats with the thousand-yard stare of people about to write very large tuition checks. A grey minivan in the next lane had a banner taped to the side that read FUTURE #1 HERO in letters large enough to read from orbit.

"That’s aggressive," I said.

"That’s a liability," Diane said, already composing the PR crisis in her head. "If that child washes out in six months, that banner is going to live on the internet forever. I would never let a client do that."

"You wouldn’t let a client breathe without a focus group."

"Breathing is on-brand for most people. I just make sure they do it photogenically."

The campus appeared through the windshield like something from a recruitment brochure that had been fed steroids. White concrete and glass rising from the Creston Hills elevation, catching the morning sun in a way that made the buildings glow against the pale sky. The architecture was clean and modern and very deliberately designed to make you feel small before you’d even parked.

It worked.

The main gate crawled with vehicles. Sedans, SUVs, one actual limousine that I watched Diane clock and dismiss in the same glance. Campus security in white uniforms directed traffic with the patience of people who did this once a year and hated every second of it. A drone camera from a local news crew hovered thirty feet above the entrance, capturing the parade of incoming students for whatever segment they’d air that evening.

Diane pulled the Range Rover up to the checkpoint and lowered her window. The guard leaned down, saw her face, and straightened up like someone had run a current through his spine.

"Ms. Fitzgerald. Welcome back."

"Thank you, Marcus. I’ll need visitor parking in the north lot and student parking for my daughter in 1-A residential."

The guard checked his tablet. "1-A, yes ma’am. And the other vehicle following you?"

"That’s the daughter."

He waved us through without checking Sloane’s credentials, which told me everything about how often Diane had been on this campus and how many favors she’d banked with the administration over the years.

The drive through campus felt like passing through a small city that had been designed by someone who thought normal cities didn’t have enough glass. Academic buildings lined the central spine in a row of white and steel, connected by covered walkways with landscaping so immaculate it looked computer-generated. Students and parents moved in clusters along the paths, carrying boxes and bags and the particular expression of people who were simultaneously thrilled and terrified.

I recognized the feeling. It sat in my own chest like a second heartbeat.

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