Oh, that video.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kyle said, then drank some more water. Waves of nausea crashed through his stomach and head, and he thought about vomiting.

“Oh, I think you do,” Ginyard said.

“Have you seen this video?” Kyle asked.

Both nodded.

“Then you know I didn’t touch the girl.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But you were there,” Ginyard said. “You were an accessory.”

To keep from throwing up, Kyle closed his eyes and began rubbing his temples. The girl was a wild little thing who’d spent more time in the Beta house than in her dorm room. A groupie, a dinger, a party animal with an abundant supply of Daddy’s cash. The brothers of Beta passed her around. When she cried rape, the brothers had instantly gone mute and solidified into an impenetrable wall of denial and innocence. The cops eventually gave up when she proved too unreliable with the details. No charges were filed. She later left Duquesne and mercifully disappeared. The great miracle of the ugly little episode was that it had been kept quiet. No additional lives were ruined.

“The indictment names you and three others,” Ginyard said.

“There was no rape,” Kyle said as he continued to rub his temples. “If she had sex, I promise you it was by consent.”

“Not if she blacked out,” Ginyard said.

“We’re not here to argue, Kyle,” Plant said. “That’s what lawyers are for. We’re here to help cut a deal. If you’ll cooperate, then this will all go away, at least your part of it.”

“What kind of deal?”

“Detective Wright will handle that.”

Kyle slowly sat back and tapped his head on the red vinyl bench behind him. He wanted to plead, to beg, to explain that this wasn’t fair, that he was about to graduate and pass the bar and start a career. His future held so much promise. His past was unblemished. Almost.