Page 99 of Sunny Undone

“Sit down, Della,” the unknown man says.

And I know I’m not going to get the answers I want until I do, because whatever this is, they want the guise and pretense that this is civilized and polite.

So, I do.

“I’m Joan Metcalf from Faculty Affairs,” Joan says as if we haven’t spoken twice before. “And this is Patrick DeLuca, the college’s legal advisor.”

The fact there is a lawyer here makes me even more uneasy.

“We’ve received a formal complaint regarding the integrity of data associated with your current wetlands study.”

For several seconds, I struggle to comprehend the sentence, because what I think they’re saying can’t be true. I try to process every word individually to check for some error, but there isn’t.

“What?”

Joan leans forward. “There are significant discrepancies between the raw data retained on the department servers and results attributed to sampling locations in your working analysis.”

“No,” I say, quickly. Two letters. One word.

DeLuca slides several sheets toward me. “Specifically, conductivity readings, dissolved oxygen measurements, nitrate concentrations, and⁠—”

“No,” I repeat. “I know what Joan said, but what I’ll telling you is that can’t be possible.”

Dean Whitaker leans forward. “Della…”

The steps roll through my head, and I start to construct a pattern of data integrity and safeguards. “I calibrated the equipment myself.” My heart is hammering, now. Hard enough that I feel every beat in my ribs and can hear the shake it causes in my voice. “I have calibration logs. Field notes. Sample IDs. There are photographs and video from the sites. GPS records. I don’t fabricate data. Mina has some of the duplicated⁠—”

Mina!

Oh my God. Is that why she was smiling as she left? Did she want my job? My research? Is she trying to edge me out so she can take over and make this her thesis?

“Nobody has reached a conclusion,” DeLuca says.

I circle my hand between us all. “This feels like a conclusion. Surely, I should have been informed and been able to compile all the data required to show why none of this is true. Is it because of the Velaro Coastal Group’s donation? Do they want me gone? Have you considered that a donation to the university is insignificant to them in the big scheme of things, and is just a means to silence my research so they can get their way, here?”

“This is a preliminary inquiry, Della.” The dean sounds irritated that I’m attempting to make my defense now.

DeLuca turns some of the pages on the table around so I can see them.

The numbers on it are mine, allegedly. But as I look more closely, I see differences. From location three. The sample from three visits ago. The nitrate level. It’s normal.

Except, I remember that sample. Standing in ankle-deep water while mosquitoes tried their best to consume me alive. I remember the reading because I ran it twice, given the first sample surprised me.

“This is wrong,” I say.

“It’s the server file,” Joan says.

“I don’t care. This is wrong.”

“We heard from one of your lab assistants, Evan Ashley, that you’ve been having issues with lab equipment and samples,” Joan says as if pacifying a child. “Refrigerator units breaking. Holding samples out of chilled units for longer than recommended while you stayed in Gator Flats for personal reasons.”

I face the dean, trying to keep my frustration under control. “Yes, there have been some issues with equipment because of budget cuts; the maintenance logs and requests to the bursar prove all that. But I disregard any insight from the samples after the chill chain has been broken.”

DeLuca temples his fingers. “Is it correct that you are now involved in a relationship with a member of an organized crime gang who inhabit the property adjacent to your sample area?”

My mouth opens, then closes. “I’m not sure my personal life is any of your business.”

DeLuca smiles, sharply. “We are just trying to ascertain whether you would have any vested interest in preventing any development on the Gator Flats site.”