the hallways, or engaged in vigorous debates in the classroom. Here at Montford, we encourage discussion,” he said.
Hunter rolled his eyes, making J.D. grin. “Hey, man, I don’t write the speech. I just deliver it.”
“I like the academics, but that has to be quite some pressure on the students. What’s your transfer ratio like?” Daniel asked, edging closer to Sarah’s story.
“Oh, low. Very low. Less than five percent, on average. Few students can pass up the opportunity of a Montford education.”
Under five percent? Then why Sarah?
The math building smelled a little different than the others. There was the faint aroma of wood polish, yes, but also the smell of chalk dust. The flooring was a little less pristine from the daily beating by hordes of students who didn’t bother to wipe their feet after being outside. The affect here was old money, not new money. But still money. A lot of it.
While Samuel quizzed J.D. about student life, I pretended to watch the classes in progress behind clear windows. All the while, I was searching those windows for fingerprints. Especially fingerprints that matched up with my database.
My first hits came in the next building.
Scan complete: Identity confirmed.
Ben LaCosta.
100% accuracy.
Sharon Alexander.
100% accuracy.
Ben appeared to be leading his class, demonstrating complex equations via laptop projector. Sharon sat near the far wall, chin in hand, looking like she was about to doze off. All the kids wore a variation of the same uniform: khaki pants or skirts on the bottom, and collared, polo-style shirts on the top.
J.D. rambled on about prestigious families who had attended in the past, pointing out things they’d donated along the way—a set of laptops, new microscopes for the biology lab. In one case, an entire wing of a building.
My scanner alerted me to Claude Parsons in the history building. He bit a pencil and typed into his laptop while the teacher lectured via PowerPoint.
That accounted for all the Watson kids but Hannah. So far, none of them were doing anything unusual.
J.D. led us down a hall that connected to another building, housing the first of two dormitories. They were separated by gender, and visiting hours were posted prominently on the front door. “School policy doesn’t allow dorm visitors while the students are in classes,” J.D. explained.
“Is security tight overall? I can’t help but worry, sending my daughter away from home,” said Daniel.
J.D. nodded. “Montford has very tight security. You probably noticed the video camera on the front gate, and we have others scattered across the campus. The cameras are always on.”
I filed that information away as Samuel got down to what most average kids would want to know.
“Anything crazy happen here? Urban legends?” Samuel asked. “It can’t always be so perfect, can it?”
J.D. shot a quick look back at Daniel before lowering his voice. “Room parties get wild sometimes.” Then he raised it and said, “Not that I’m aware of.”
Daniel snorted and glanced away.
We headed into the quad, then veered off at an angle on the opposite side, where J.D. pointed out the sports field.
“We’re hosting the first soccer game of the season there tonight—you all should come check it out. Our team ranked number two in our league last year, but we’re going to kick . . . uh, some great balls, this year. I’m number fourteen, just so you know.”
Samuel made a face behind J.D.’s back.
“Sure, that sounds great,” Daniel said. We wouldn’t turn down an extra chance to poke around.
“Do you have football here?” Samuel asked, scanning the fields.
J.D. shook his head. “Nah, no football—the parents are too scared of their kids getting head injuries. But we have every other sport you might want—field hockey, baseball, swimming, tennis. Did I mention soccer?”
Tucked away partway between the soccer field and the administrative building was a smaller building that didn’t connect to the others.
Security system: Activated.
Powered by: NuTech CVA.
I frowned. All the buildings so far had security systems—but this one was locked up as tight as a safe.
Even more perplexing—NuTech. This security was connected to a different server. A private one.
“What’s that?” I asked, when J.D. walked by without comment.
J.D. followed my pointing finger and shrugged. “I think it’s going to be some kind of science lab when they finish renovating. It’s totally sealed up, though. Keeps the riffraff out.”
I reached out to connect with the security network. Right away, I brought up a list of people authorized to enter.
Regist . . . d Users: C . . . e . . . on . . .
The