This is about suspicious activity. What's suspicious? A student at a student science fair? A student whose equipment doesn't match her background? My background?
Amara's voice shook. What background is that? Cunningham didn't answer. The implication sat between them. Torres cleared his throat.
Dale, maybe you should remember who's the senior officer here. I've been doing this for 20 years. I know it's suspicious when I see it. He picked up Amara's laptop, opened her email, started scrolling. Sir, that's private.
You need a warrant. I need probable cause, which I have. Suspected theft. He clicked through her emails, her messages with Dr. Carter, her scholarship applications. Who's Dr. Patricia Carter?
My mentor from MIT. She's been helping me remotely. Remotely? He said it like it was suspicious. So, an MIT professor is mentoring a kid from...
He glanced at her ID. Lincoln Technical High School, Chicago's South Side. Yes. She saw my research proposal and offered to help. Why would she do that?
The question hung there. Why would someone important care about someone like you? Because my work is good, Amara said quietly. Cunningham snorted. Right.
He kept scrolling, stopped at an email. What's this? Congratulations on national medal finalist pool. This real? Yes, that's why I'm here.
National medal you? He laughed a mocking laugh. What's your GPA? 4.0. At what kind of school?
A public magnet school. One of the top STEM programs in Illinois. Public school, he said it dismissively. And they just let you use all this equipment. My teacher stayed late to supervise.
I signed equipment logs. I followed every protocol. Cunningham set the laptop down. Picked up one of her circuit boards. This soldering work is pretty clean.
Professional level. You do this yourself? Yes. With no help. My father was an electrician.
He taught me before he died. Convenient story. He set the board down. So, your dad dies, leaves you with skills, and now you're building medical devices. Amara's throat tightened.
It's not a story. It's my life. And where's your mom? Deployed military. So, you're here alone?
No supervision. Dr. Carter is attending virtually. My grandmother is in the city. I can call your grandmother. Cunningham exchanged a look with Torres.
Does she even know you're here? Of course. She helped pay for my bus ticket. Bus ticket? You took a bus from Chicago?
I couldn't afford a flight. Cunningham leaned back. A slow smile spread across his face. So, let me get this straight. You're a scholarship kid from the South Side.
Took a bus 14 hours. Showed up with equipment you built from garbage. No parents. And you expect me to believe you're a national medal finalist? I am a finalist.
Oh, I'm sure your name is on some list. Probably some diversity quota thing. He made air quotes. But that doesn't mean you built this. Torres stepped forward.
Dale, that's enough. I'm doing my job. Your job is security, not interrogation. My job is protecting this event from people who don't belong. The words landed like stones.
The radio crackled. A woman's voice. All units be advised. Head judge Dr. Reynolds is looking for the booth 23 participant. Repeat.
Requesting Amara Jefferson. Cunningham grabbed the radio. Tell him she's unavailable. Security matters. Copy that.
Amara's heart pounded. Dr. Reynolds was looking for her. That's the head judge, she said desperately. He knows me. Please let me go to him.
If he wants to talk, he can come here. My project is unattended. Your project is fine. But Amara knew better. She knew how easy sabotage would be.
18 months, gone in minutes. The tears came, silent, hot. Cunningham saw them and smiled. See, guilty conscience. That's not Torres started.
Go check the main hall. I've got this. Torres hesitated. Then he left. Amara was alone with Cunningham.
No cameras, no witnesses. He stepped closer. Here's what's going to happen, he said quietly. You're going to admit you took this equipment without permission. Tell me where you really got it.
Then the cops decide what to do. He paused. Or you can make this easy. Pack up, leave, go home. I won't, Amara whispered.
I worked too hard. Then you're making a mistake. The PA system crackled. Judges beginning second round. Booth 23, please report.
Final call for booth 23. Cunningham smiled. Sounds like you're disqualified anyway. Amara closed her eyes. Her grandmother's voice echoed.
Stay strong. Stay dignified. She opened her eyes, looked directly at Cunningham. I'm not going anywhere and I'm not admitting to something I didn't do. His smile faded, his jaw tightened.
We'll see how tough you are when the cops get here. Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Multiple people moving fast. Cunningham turned toward the sound. A man's voice boomed.
Officer, what is happening here? Dr. David Reynolds stood at the end of the hallway. 62 years old, silver hair, wire-rimmed glasses, navy blazer over white shirt. His face was tight with controlled fury. Behind him stood Katherine Woo, the expo director, tailored black suit, tablet in hand.
Her expression could have frozen water. Behind them, three more judges, all of them looking at Cunningham like he was something scraped off a shoe. I asked you a question, officer. Dr. Reynolds's voice was ice. What is happening here?
Cunningham straightened, put on his professional face. Security matter, sir. Suspected theft. I'm handling it. Suspected theft.
Dr. Reynolds walked closer. Each step was deliberate. Theft of what? She has equipment that doesn't match her background. Expensive components.
No proof of ownership. Her background. Dr. Reynolds stopped 3 ft from Cunningham. Explain that statement. Cunningham's confidence wavered.
I mean, she's a student. The equipment looks professional. I was verifying. You were verifying nothing. Dr. Reynolds turned to Amara.
His expression softened. Amara, are you all right? Did he hurt you? Amara's voice came out shaky. He grabbed my arm, searched my things without permission, kept me here for 40 minutes.
Dr. Reynolds's jaw clenched. He turned back to Cunningham. This young woman is Amara Jefferson, one of three finalists for the National Medal of Science Youth Division. I have been her remote mentor for 14 months. I have reviewed every component of her project, every circuit, every line of code.
Cunningham's face went pale. I didn't know. You didn't ask. Dr. Reynolds pulled a folder from under his arm, opened it. Here is her complete documentation.
Receipts, donation letters, permission forms, time logs showing 18 months of work, all verified, all legitimate. He held the pages up. Cunningham didn't reach for them. Katherine Woo stepped forward, her heels clicked on concrete. Officer Cunningham, you detained a national medal finalist.
Ma'am, I was doing my job. She looked suspicious. Looked suspicious how Katherine's voice could cut steel. Be specific. She had expensive equipment, and she's from...
He stopped. From where? Katherine waited. Finish that sentence. Silence.
Because she's black. Dr. Michelle Johnson stepped forward. The Black neuroscience researcher stepped forward. Her voice was quiet but lethal. Is that what you're not saying?