The past never knocked.
It waited—then kicked the door in.
When Old Hustles Resurface
It started with Lip getting pulled aside after class.
Not arrested.
Not accused.
Just questioned.
Two cops. Plain clothes. Calm voices.
The worst kind.
"Phillip Gallagher," one said, flipping a notebook shut, "you ever hear of a service that pays smart kids to take SATs for other people?"
Lip's jaw tightened.
By the time he got home, the rumor had already spread through the South Side. Someone had been caught. Someone had talked. Names were floating.
And Lip's name was circling.
Fiona panicked.
Carl joked.
Debbie cried.
Luke went quiet.
The Threat
This wasn't street trouble.
This was paper trouble.
SAT fraud meant:
criminal charges
college blacklisting
permanent academic records
future doors closing before they even opened
And Lip wasn't just a kid with potential anymore.
He was the future.
Luke knew exactly what this was.
The world's delayed bill.
Analytical Mode: Absolute
Luke sat at the kitchen table at 2:17 a.m., laptop open, lights off.
The System hummed—not loudly, not dramatically.
Just precision.
He replayed every angle of the old SAT hustle:
burner phones
test center registrations
payment routes
intermediaries
handwriting
camera placements
Then he dismantled it all—retroactively.
Not physically.
Digitally.
Erasing the Trail
Luke used Genius-Level Analytical Ability the way a surgeon uses a scalpel.
No hacking theatrics.
No illegal breaches that left logs.
Instead:
Cross-referenced SAT test center databases with known camera blind spots
Identified which proctor reports were statistically unreliable
Flagged inconsistencies between payment timelines and test dates
Backtracked burner phone pings to dead zones already marked as data-corrupted
He didn't delete evidence.
He made it unusable.
Evidence without coherence doesn't survive court.
The Police Follow Smoke
Two days later, the cops returned.
Different tone.
Less confidence.
"We can't find anything concrete," one admitted. "But someone's covering tracks."
Luke sat beside Lip, silent.
Lip stared straight ahead.
"Sometimes," Luke said calmly, "people confuse intelligence with guilt."
The cop studied him. "And sometimes smart kids get away with things."
Luke nodded. "Sometimes."
That was all.
Lip's Reckoning
That night, Lip snapped.
"I was stupid," he said, pacing. "I thought I was untouchable."
"You were desperate," Luke corrected. "There's a difference."
Lip stopped. "You fixed this."
"I contained it," Luke said. "You fix the future."
Lip exhaled slowly.
"No more shortcuts," he said. "College. Clean."
Luke nodded once.
"That's how you win."
Aftermath
The investigation stalled.
Then quietly died.
No charges.
No records.
No whispers strong enough to stick.
But the lesson stayed.
The System updated internally:
Past Risk Neutralized
Academic Trajectory Preserved
Warning Logged: Repetition Will Cost More
Luke looked at Lip—brilliant, reckless, burning too fast.
The world had tried to reclaim him.
This time—
It failed.
But the margin was thinner now.
And Luke knew:
The past doesn't stop chasing.
It just waits for you to slow down.