Chapter 14

Andre nodded. He didn't trust his voice.At 8:15, he put on the only clean shirt he had: a white button-down, two sizes too big, bought from a thrift store on 7th Street. He buttoned it to the top. He put his notebook in his backpack, the one with the paperclip zipper, and walked out the front door.The bus ride to Whitmore took 22 minutes. He sat in the back and didn't look at his phone; he didn't have one. When he arrived at the mathematics building, Eleanor Voss was waiting at the entrance. She wore the same old coat. She carried the same leather briefcase. She looked at Andre and said nothing; she didn't need to. They walked in together.The review panel was on the fourth floor, room 412. The door was closed. Behind it, 15 professors, Dean Harrison Wells, and Garrett Sinclair were already seated. Andre's hand was on the door handle when he heard Sinclair's voice through the wood: low, confident, laughing about something.He pushed the door open.Room 412 was built for 30 people; there were over 60 inside. Fifteen faculty members sat at a curved table facing the whiteboard. Dean Harrison Wells was in the center, reading glasses on, legal pad open. To his right: Garrett Sinclair—pressed suit, polished shoes, arms folded, the posture of a man who had already decided the outcome.Behind the panel, three rows of chairs had been added: graduate students, postdocs, adjuncts, anyone who could justify being in the room. Ryan Caldwell stood near the back wall. Tessa Williams sat in the second row with her laptop open. James Okafor was by the window.Outside in the hallway, another 40 students pressed against the glass panel beside the door. Someone had propped their phone against the glass; the livestream started before Andre entered the room.Andre walked to the whiteboard. He set his backpack on the floor. The white button-down shirt, two sizes too big, hung off his shoulders like a flag on a still day.Dean Wells cleared his throat. "Mr. Powell, the panel will present three problems. You will have 30 minutes total. You may use the whiteboard chalk and nothing else. No notes, no calculator, no assistance." He paused. "Do you understand?""Yes, sir.""Begin when ready."Wells nodded to a professor at the end of the table, Dr. Alan Marsh, who had been selected to present the problems. Marsh stood and wrote the first equation on a separate board to Andre's left: abstract algebra, a group theory problem involving symmetry operations on a finite field, the kind of problem that appeared on doctoral qualifying exams.Andre studied it for 40 seconds. Then he picked up the chalk and started writing. His hand moved fast—not rushed fast, there was a difference. Each line followed the last with the precision of a boy who had spent thousands of problems alone in the dark. He reduced the group structure in three steps, identified the kernel, and mapped the quotient.Six minutes. He set the chalk down. "Done."

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