Chapter 5 - "Are You Proud of Us Now, Dad?"
The applause didn't start immediately. There was a fraction of a second—a hanging, stunned silence—before a thunderous roar erupted from the collegiate sections in the upper tiers. The sound cascaded down like an avalanche, shaking the chandelier crystals.
In row fifteen, Elena Morales buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking violently as hot, unstoppable tears broke through her fingers.
On stage, stepping from behind the heavy velvet curtains into the blistering glare of three massive spotlights, were Julian and Leo.
They walked with an easy, measured grace that defied their cheap clothes. Their heads were held high. Their eyes were clear, focused, and utterly devoid of fear. As they crossed the stage toward Dr. Hayes, the giant LED screens behind them beamed their faces in crystal-clear, forty-foot resolution for every single person in the auditorium to see.
In the dead center of the front row, the smile completely vanished from Richard Vance’s face.
The crystal glass in his hand tilted. Sparkling water sloshed over the rim, soaking into his thousand-dollar trousers, but Richard didn't even notice the wetness. His body had turned entirely to stone.
Beside him, Victoria let out an indignant squawk. “What?! Those... those street rats? This has to be a clerical error! Richard, do something! Call the dean!”
Richard didn't hear her. The roar of the audience sounded like it was underwater, muffled by a high-pitched ringing that was suddenly screaming inside his skull.
He stared up at the giant screens.
At sixteen, the twins’ baby fat was completely gone. Their bone structure had solidified. In the hyper-detailed glare of the 4K broadcast cameras, Richard was looking at his own high cheekbones. His own straight, narrow nose. His own strong, square jawline. But behind those features were Elena’s eyes—piercing, golden-amber, and filled with a brilliant, untamable intellect.
*No,* Richard thought, his heart slamming against his ribs like a sledgehammer. *No. It’s impossible. She disappeared. She was supposed to starve!*
On stage, Dr. Hayes handed the heavy mahogany plaque to Julian, shaking both boys’ hands with a warmth and deference he had never shown to any student in his career. Hayes stepped back from the podium, gesturing for the winners to make their acceptance remarks.
Usually, the winning students gushed. They thanked their prep-school teachers. They thanked their private tutors. They thanked their corporate sponsors, their venture capitalist fathers, and God.
Julian stepped up to the microphone. Leo stood half a step behind him, his shoulder touching his brother’s, a united wall of obsidian resolve.
Julian didn't look at the crowd. He didn't look at the deans. He didn't look at the cameras.
His eyes looked straight down, locking like laser sights onto the center seat of the VIP presidential row. Straight into the terrified, pale eyes of Richard Vance.
Julian reached out with one steady hand, pulled the gooseneck microphone down to his height, and leaned in.
The auditorium fell into an expectant, pin-drop silence.
Julian didn't thank the board. He didn't thank the sponsors.
He took a slow, deep breath, his voice deep, clear, and carrying an emotional weight that hit the room like a sonic shockwave:
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“ARE YOU PROUD OF US NOW, DAD?”
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