THE ELITE'S GAMBIT
CHAPTER 4: THE PRINCIPAL'S GAMBIT
The Principal's office smelled like old wood and decisions that couldn't be unmade.
Kay sat in the left chair. Lina in the right. Not touching. But close enough that the air between them felt charged, the same way it had felt in the lab at 2 AM when neither of them had said what they were both thinking.
Principal Hartley sat across from them. 60 years old, maybe 65. 30 years of not being impressed by teenagers had carved lines into her face that made her look like she'd seen every scheme, every excuse, every desperate plea before it left your mouth.
She read the email from IT. Read it again. Looked at them over her glasses.
"So," she said. Voice flat. No inflection. "You tried to access the school's servers without permission."
Kay opened his mouth.
Lina cut him off. "We didn't try. We did. Successfully. For 3 hours last Tuesday."
Kay looked at her. What are you doing?
Lina ignored him. Pulled her sketchpad from her bag. Flipped to the installation design
the full layout, every component labeled, every connection mapped. Set it on the desk.
"This is what we built. An AI that experiences art in real time and adapts its emotional responses based on visual input. To test it, we needed server capacity the Innovation Guild lab doesn't have. So we used the school's."
She met Principal Hartley's eyes. Didn't blink.
"We should have asked first. We didn't. That's on us."
Principal Hartley looked at the sketchpad. At the algorithm flowchart Kay had added in the margins. At the technical specifications scribbled in 2 different handwriting styles that somehow worked together.
She didn't speak for 10 seconds.
Then: "And who owns the intellectual property if this works?"
Silence.
Kay looked at Lina. Lina looked at Kay.
They hadn't thought about this.
Principal Hartley leaned back in her chair. "That's what I thought."
The door opened.
Mira Chen walked in. Chess pin. Folder in hand. Expression that said she'd been waiting for this exact moment for weeks.
"I thought I should be here for this part," she said.
Principal Hartley didn't look surprised. "Miss Chen. How did you know about this meeting?"
"IT sent the email to you at 7:43 AM. You forwarded it to the Student Council President at 7:51. He mentioned it in the group chat at 7:52. I read the chat at 7:53." Mira sat down in the chair between Kay and Lina without being invited. Opened the folder. It was thick. Official. Full of documents with the Crestwood Academy seal watermarked on every page.
"Article 7, Section 4, Subsection B," Mira said, reading. "Any joint project funded by the Student Council becomes partial school property. The school retains 40% intellectual property rights. The clubs retain 60%, split according to contribution percentage."
Kay's jaw tightened. "We didn't know that."
"Most people don't read the appendices," Mira said. "I do."
She pulled out another document. Slid it across the desk toward Principal Hartley.
"I also found this. The IP assignment agreement. Required for any project using school resources beyond the $50,000 allocation. You were going to mention this, weren't you?"
Principal Hartley looked at Mira for a long moment. Then at the document.
"Yes," she said. "I was."
Principal Hartley pulled out 2 copies of the agreement. Set them in front of Kay and Lina.
"Here's the issue," she said. "If this installation works if it's as innovative as you're claiming the school will want to showcase it. Patent Office, tech journals, college application portfolios. Which means they'll want to own it. Partially. Which means you'll need to sign agreements."
She tapped the papers.
"But I can't let you sign anything without understanding what you're signing. So let me be clear: this agreement gives Crestwood Academy 40% ownership of anything you create using school servers, school funding, or school facilities. You retain 60%, split between your 2 clubs. If you commercialize it sell it, license it, patent it the school gets 40% of all revenue. Forever."
Lina stared at the paper. "Forever?"
"In perpetuity. Yes."
Kay picked up the document. Started reading. His eyes moved fast too fast for someone actually reading, but he was absorbing every word, filing it under categories only he understood.
"What if we don't sign?" he asked.
"Then you can't use the school's servers. You'll need to find external hosting. AWS, Google Cloud, Azure any of them will work. But they're not free."
"How much?" Lina asked.
Principal Hartley looked at Mira.
Mira pulled out her phone. Typed. "For the computational load you're describing? Approximately $2,000-$3,000 for a 12-day prototype deployment. More if you want redundancy or failover."
Kay's hand tightened on the paper. "We don't have that."
"I know," Principal Hartley said. "Which is why you need to decide. Sign the agreement and use our servers. Or find another way."
Kay's phone buzzed.
He looked at the screen.
Unknown number. Text message.
Don't sign anything.
He showed it to Lina. Her phone buzzed at the same moment. She looked.
Same message. Same unknown number.
Kay: "Who is this?"
He tried to reply. The message wouldn't send. Number blocked outgoing texts.
Lina looked at Mira. "Did you send this?"
"No."
"Do you know who did?"
Mira's face was unreadable. "No."
Principal Hartley: "Is there a problem?"
Kay locked his phone. Set it face-down on his lap. "No. Just spam."
Lina gave him a look. He gave her one back. Not now.
Principal Hartley leaned forward. "You have 12 days left until the event. If you want to use the school's servers, you need to sign these agreements today. If you don't, you'll need to find another way to host your AI. Which means more money. Which, from what I understand, you don't have."
She leaned back.
"So. What's it going to be?"
Kay looked at the paper. At the signature line at the bottom. At the 40% in bold text.
Lina looked at him.
He said: "We need time to think."
Principal Hartley: "How much time?"
"24 hours."
"I can give you 24 hours. But the server access expires at midnight tomorrow. After that, you'll need to reapply. And the approval process takes 5 business days."
Lina: "We'll have an answer by then."
Principal Hartley nodded. "Then we're done here."
They stood. Walked to the door.
Mira stayed seated.
"Miss Chen?" Principal Hartley said. "Was there something else?"
Mira closed her folder. "No. Just wanted to make sure everyone understood the terms."
She stood. Followed Kay and Lina out.
In the hallway, Kay stopped walking. Turned.
"Why are you helping us?"
Mira adjusted her glasses. "I'm not helping you. I'm clarifying the rules."
"That's the same thing."
"It's really not."
Lina: "You knew about this meeting. You knew what she was going to say. You had that document ready."
Mira: "I prepare for contingencies. It's what I do."
Kay: "Who sent those texts?"
"I don't know."
"You're lying."
Mira looked at him. No expression. No tells. The face of someone who'd learned to play chess before they learned to smile.
"Believe what you want," she said. "But if I were you, I'd figure out who's watching before you sign anything."
She walked away.
Kay and Lina stood in the empty hallway.
They walked to the Innovation Guild lab. Didn't speak the whole way.
Inside, Kay locked the door. Pulled out his phone. Showed Lina the text again.
"Someone's warning us."
Lina: "Or setting us up."
"For what?"
"I don't know. But they know about the meeting. They know about the agreements. They know we were going to sign."
Kay sat down at his desk. Opened his laptop. Pulled up the agreement PDF Principal Hartley had emailed them.
Started reading. Actually reading this time.
Lina watched him for 30 seconds. Then: "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking we sign. We have no choice."
"That text"
"Could be anyone. Could be a prank. Could be someone trying to sabotage us."
"Or it could be someone trying to help."
Kay didn't look up from the screen. "We have 12 days. We can't waste time investigating mystery texts from blocked numbers."
Lina sat down on the couch. The same couch she'd fallen asleep on 2 nights ago. The same couch where Kay had covered her with his jacket and then pretended he hadn't.
"What if there's another way?" she said.
"There isn't. I already calculated it. Without the school's servers, we need $2,000 minimum for cloud hosting. We don't have it. The budget's allocated. There's no buffer."
"Then we find it."
"How?"
Lina didn't answer right away.
Kay looked at her. Really looked.
"You know something."
"I don't."
"You do. You have that look. The one you get when you're about to do something stupid."
Lina: "I'm not going to do anything stupid."
Kay: "You're going to do something I won't like. That's different from stupid, but in your case, they usually overlap."
"I'm going to talk to my parents."
Kay's hands stopped typing. "No."
"They have money. They might fund us."
"Absolutely not."
"Why not?"
Kay closed his laptop. Turned his chair to face her. "Because then you're indebted to them. Because they'll want to be involved. Because they'll have opinions. Because you'll hate it."
"You don't get to decide what I hate."
"I'm not deciding. I'm predicting. Based on data."
"Everything isn't data, Kay."
"No. But this is. You and your parents have a complicated relationship. Adding money to that complication makes it worse."
Lina stared at him. "How do you know that?"
"You mentioned it once. 2 weeks ago. You said your mom wanted you to 'do something practical.' You said your dad wanted you to 'think about your future.' Neither of them said they wanted you to be happy."
Lina's voice went quiet. "You remember that?"
"I remember everything."
Silence.
Then Lina stood up. "I'm calling them anyway."
"Lina—"
"It's my decision. Not yours."
She walked to the door. Stopped with her hand on the handle.
"You don't get to protect me from my own family."
She left.
Kay sat alone in the lab.
Looked at the agreement on his screen.
At the signature line.
At the 40% that would follow them forever.
His phone buzzed.
Same unknown number.
She's making a mistake. So are you. Check your email.
He opened his email.
New message. No subject. No sender name. Just an attachment.
What_You_Need_To_Know.pdf
He downloaded it.
Opened it.
Started reading.
His face went pale.
Lina came back 20 minutes later. Eyes red. Jaw tight. She didn't say anything. Just sat down on the couch and stared at the wall.
Kay: "What did they say?"
"They'll think about it."
"That's not a yes."
"I know."
"That's a no."
"I know."
Silence.
Then her phone buzzed.
She looked at the screen.
Same unknown number.
Check your email. Attachment: "What_You_Need_To_Know.pdf"
She opened it.
Scrolled.
Her face changed.
"Kay."
He was already standing. Walked over. Looked at her phone.
"It's the original contract," she said. "The one between the school and the Innovation Guild from 5 years ago. Before you joined."
She kept scrolling.
"Kay. The school owns everything. Not 40%. Everything. They own every project the Innovation Guild creates. It's in the fine print. Section 12, Subsection F. 'All intellectual property developed using Guild resources, regardless of funding source, becomes sole property of Crestwood Academy.'"
Kay took the phone. Read it.
Read it again.
"That's not possible. I would have known."
"Would you have? Or would they have hidden it from you?"
Kay pulled out his laptop. Opened the current agreement. Searched for Section 12.
It wasn't there.
He opened the school's Club Charter. Searched for IP assignment clauses.
Found it. Section 12, Subsection F.
Still there.
Still active.
"They never removed it," he said quietly. "They just stopped mentioning it."
His phone buzzed.
Same unknown number.
Your predecessor tried to fight it. He lost. Don't make the same mistake.
Lina: "Who was your predecessor?"
Kay didn't answer for 5 seconds.
Then: "Marcus's older brother. He graduated 3 years ago. Started the Innovation Guild as a freshman. Built it into what it is now."
"What happened to him?"
"He tried to patent something he built in the lab. The school sued him. He lost. They own it now. It's being used in the admissions department. He doesn't get credit. Doesn't get money. Nothing."
"Why didn't you know about this?"
"He didn't tell anyone. Marcus mentioned it once, but I thought it was exaggeration. He said his brother got 'screwed over by the fine print.' I thought he meant bad negotiation. Not legal theft."
Lina's phone buzzed again.
The Principal knows. Mira knows. They're waiting to see if you're smart enough to figure it out.
Then another message:
You have 11 days. Don't waste them signing your rights away.
Then:
Meet me. Tonight. 10 PM. Rooftop of the East Wing. Come alone. Both of you.
Kay looked at Lina.
She looked at him.
"This is insane," he said.
"Completely."
"Could be a trap."
"Probably is."
"We should ignore it."
"We should."
Neither of them moved.
Then Kay stood up. "I'm going."
"So am I."
"I said come alone."
"It said both of you. Reading comprehension, Kay. Try it."
He almost smiled. Stopped himself.
"Fine. But if this is a setup"
"Then we'll deal with it together."
She picked up her bag. Walked to the door.
Stopped.
Looked back at him.
"Thank you. For what you said about my parents."
"I was just stating facts."
"You were protecting me."
"That's the same thing."
"It's really not."
She left.
Kay stood in the empty lab.
Looked at the agreement on his screen.
At the hidden clause that would take everything.
At the unknown number that somehow knew more than he did.
He saved the PDF. Backed it up to 3 different drives. Encrypted it.
Then he texted Marcus.
I need to talk to your brother. Tonight if possible.
The reply came in 30 seconds.
He doesn't talk about Crestwood anymore. What's this about?
The Innovation Guild. The contract. What they did to him.
3 minutes of silence. Then:
He'll call you. Don't mention my name.
Kay's phone rang 5 minutes later. Unknown number. Different from the texts.
He answered.
"Hello?"
A voice he didn't recognize. Older. Tired.
"Marcus said you're asking about the Guild."
"I am."
"Then listen carefully. I'm only saying this once."
10 PM. East Wing Rooftop.
The rooftop wasn't supposed to be accessible. The door had been locked for 2 years since a junior had tried to throw a party up here and campus security had found them at 1 AM with a DJ and a fog machine.
But the door was open now.
Kay and Lina climbed the stairs. Pushed through. Stepped out into the cold.
The city spread out below them. Lights everywhere. The kind of view that made you forget you were still at school, still trapped in schedules and rules and hierarchies that didn't matter outside these walls.
Someone was already there.
Standing at the far edge. Back to them. Hands in pockets.
Kay: "Who are you?"
The figure turned.
Not Mira.
Not a student Kay recognized.
Someone older. Mid-20s maybe. Professional clothes. The kind of person who looked like they didn't belong at a high school but also looked like they'd been here before.
"My name doesn't matter," they said. "What matters is what I know."
Lina: "And what do you know?"
The person pulled out a folder. Same type Mira had carried. But thicker.
"Everything the school doesn't want you to know. About the contract. About your predecessor. About what they're planning to do with your project if you're stupid enough to sign."
They walked closer. Handed the folder to Kay.
"Read it. Then decide if you still trust Principal Hartley. Or Mira Chen. Or anyone in this school who's been watching you build something they want to own."
Kay opened the folder.
Inside: contracts, emails, legal documents. All stamped with Crestwood Academy letterhead.
All dated from 3 years ago.
All signed by Marcus's brother.
"Who are you?" Kay asked again.
The person smiled. "I'm the one who got out. And I'm here to make sure you do too."
They walked to the door. Stopped.
"You have 11 days. Don't sign anything. Don't trust anyone who tells you there's no other way. There's always another way."
"What way?"
"Figure it out. You're smart. Both of you. That's why they want what you're building."
They left.
Kay and Lina stood on the rooftop.
Alone.
With a folder full of secrets and 11 days to decide what to do with them.