Class Notes.

Part 4 The fallout

Monday Morning

The sunlight that hit the school that morning was cold, thin, pale, and unfeeling. It didn't warm anything. It just revealed. The kind of light that laid you bare if you weren't careful.

Nicole stepped through the front doors the same way she always did: head low, strides even, hair spilling just enough across her face to stay unreadable. She didn't look tired. But she was. Not from lack of sleep, but from that quiet, dragging fatigue that came from carrying too much truth around without speaking it.

At her locker, Jecka was already waiting. She leaned against the wall like she'd been there a while—one earbud in, the other out, eyes sharp. There was always something analytical in Jecka's gaze, like she was watching a clock tick down on a puzzle only she knew how to solve.

"Have you seen Kelly or Megan?" Jecka asked flatly.

Nicole shook her head. "No."

Emily was the one who said what they were both thinking. She sauntered up from the trophy case with a cigarette behind her ear, hoodie sleeves pulled down past her wrists, slowly swaying, smirk already loaded.

"Guess they're grieving," she said. "Real shame."

Nicole didn't respond. She just stared at the hallway clock until the bell rang, then gave a tiny nod to no one in particular.

"Let's go somewhere quiet," she said.

They cut through the school's west wing, slipping behind the locked gym doors into a forgotten corner. Concrete walls. Windows so grimy they filtered the outside world into a sickly yellow hue. Curling old posters clung to the brick like fossilized lies.

It was quiet. It was perfect.

Emily crossed her arms and kicked at a crushed soda can. "So what's the deal, Nico? You got the money or not?"

Nicole didn't answer immediately. She pulled out her phone, scrolled for a moment, then turned the screen toward them.

The photo was grainy but clear enough: Nicole sitting on the edge of her bed, posture straight, hair sleek. Fanned across her comforter were thousands in small bills—bundled, sorted, precise. Like she'd just robbed a bank and wanted the world to know she did it right.

Jecka let out a low whistle. "That's all of it?"

Nicole nodded. "And I'm giving you both your cut. Like I promised."

Emily's eyes lit up, but her suspicion burned hotter than her excitement. "What's the catch?"

Nicole stared at them, voice cool and level. "No catch. But before I hand it over, I want to talk about what comes next."

She sank to the concrete floor, back pressed to the wall. The chill grounded her. Jecka and Emily followed, curiosity replacing caution.

"I've been thinking," Nicole began, fingers still tapping the keypad of her phone. "This can't just be a one-time thing. Not if we're smart."

Jecka tilted her head. "You gonna start robbing banks or something?"

Nicole gave a crooked smirk. "Worse. I'm going to become a stockbroker."

Emily blinked. "What the fuck?"

Nicole let that settle in before continuing.

"I know it seems unexpected, but just thing about this shit for a moment. Money doesn't come from nowhere. It moves. It responds—to fear, to scandal, to death. If I can control death? If I kill the right people, at the right time, and I choose wisely when to kill and vice versa. I can manipulate the markets."