Chapter 11 - The Cheating Allegation
The hearing lasted three hours.
By the end, no one looked victorious.
Gregory Vale admitted providing Nathan with material derived from draft championship questions.
Nathan admitted paying Vale.
But he denied knowing the materials were confidential.
The board could not yet prove otherwise.
Preston was cleared of intentional misconduct.
That mattered most to me.
His scores connected to compromised questions were invalidated, but he was allowed to continue in categories unaffected by the leak.
Nathan’s donor credentials were suspended pending a full ethics review.
The Crowe Educational Foundation was removed from championship sponsorship.
Nathan walked out furious.
Preston walked out relieved.
Then a new allegation arrived.
This one targeted Eli directly.
A parent claimed Eli’s perfect logic score was impossible.
They demanded forensic review.
Normally, extraordinary scores triggered automatic review anyway.
But now every action looked political.
Eli submitted without complaint.
His scratch work.
Digital timing data.
Camera footage.
Keystroke logs.
Everything.
“Does this bother you?” I asked.
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“But if I want people to trust the result, they should check.”
Nathan overheard.
For once, he said nothing.
The forensic review took ninety minutes.
Every answer was legitimate.
Every keystroke aligned with allowed input windows.
Every camera frame showed Eli working alone.
Professor Reed released a statement.
“Mr. Ellis’s record is fully verified.”
Applause erupted.
Then Ethan whispered, “Nerd.”
Eli elbowed him.
The tension broke.
But someone in the back shouted a question.
“Dr. Ellis, did your position give your sons an unfair advantage?”
Cameras turned toward me.
I had avoided interviews all day.
Now there was nowhere to go.
I stepped toward the microphone.
“My sons deserve scrutiny equal to every other contestant.”
The reporter pressed.
“But you’re chair.”
“Yes.”
“Doesn’t that create a conflict?”
“It creates the appearance of one.”
“So?”
“So I recused myself four months ago from every decision, scoring panel, procedural ruling, and appeal involving my sons.”
“Did you have access to question drafts?”
“No.”
That surprised them.
The compliance chair did not write questions.
Question development was firewalled specifically to prevent exactly this problem.
Another reporter called out.
“Did you know Mr. Crowe’s son would compete?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know Nathan would attend?”
“Yes.”
“Why not disclose your history publicly?”
“Because family history is not a competition credential.”
Someone asked, “Are Eli and Ethan Nathan Crowe’s sons?”
I looked toward the boys.
They both nodded.
Their choice.
“Yes.”
The room erupted.
Even though everyone already suspected it, confirmation transformed rumor into fact.
A reporter shouted, “Did Mr. Crowe abandon them?”
I chose my words carefully.
“Nathan voluntarily ended visitation thirteen years ago.”
“Why?”
“You’ll have to ask Nathan.”
Every camera turned.
Nathan stood near the wall.
He looked trapped.
A reporter approached.
“Mr. Crowe?”
“No comment.”
“Did you know your sons were competing?”
“No comment.”
“Did you financially support them?”
“No comment.”
“Did you recognize them when you arrived?”
Nathan’s face tightened.
“No comment.”
The clip spread instantly.
But Preston stepped into view.
“Stop.”
Everyone turned.
He faced the cameras.
“My brothers are contestants, not gossip.”
Nathan looked stunned.
Preston continued.
“My dad’s decisions are his responsibility. Eli and Ethan didn’t ask for this publicity.”
A reporter said, “Preston, are you saying you accept them as your brothers?”
Preston looked at the twins.
“Yes.”
Nathan closed his eyes.
That one word did what no legal document had.
It publicly connected the three boys.
Another reporter asked, “Has today changed how you see your father?”
Preston went still.
I expected him to refuse.
Instead he said, “Yes.”
Nathan’s face collapsed.
Preston added, “But I’m still figuring out what that means.”
Then he walked away.
The boys followed him.
Not Nathan.
Him.
And I realized something.
Nathan’s greatest fear wasn’t losing public respect.
It wasn’t the foundation.
It wasn’t even the investigation.
It was losing Preston.
Because Preston was the son Nathan stayed for.
The one whose achievements Nathan displayed.
The proof Nathan had made the right choice.
If Preston rejected the story Nathan had built, what remained?
That night, I found Nathan sitting alone in the empty auditorium.
The giant screen was dark.
He looked at me.
“I thought giving Preston everything would make up for what I did.”
I sat two seats away.
“That’s not how children work.”
“I know.”
“You can’t overfather one child to compensate for abandoning two others.”
“I know.”
We sat quietly.
Then he said, “I want to know them.”
“You may not get to.”
“I’m their father.”
“You’re their father by biology.”
He winced.
“What do I do?”
It was the first sincere question Nathan had asked me in thirteen years.
“Stop asking what you’re owed.”
He looked at me.
“Ask what they need.”
“What do they need?”
“That’s the first thing you have to learn.”
Before he could answer, my phone vibrated.
A championship alert.
FINAL ROUND QUALIFIERS ANNOUNCED.
I opened it.
Three names stood at the top.
ELI ELLIS.
ETHAN ELLIS.
PRESTON CROWE.
Despite the scandal.
Despite the invalidated scores.
Despite everything.
All three brothers had reached the final academic decathlon.
May you like
Tomorrow night, they would stand on the same stage.
And only one could become state champion.
