The Heiress’ Return: Six Brothers at Her Beck and Call (Wynter Quinnell) novel Chapter 1768

Wynter shook her head, doing her best to regain her composure. After all, they were on a university campus, and setting a bad example wouldn't do. Hence, she lightly pushed Dalton aside and strode forward.

She figured that it was perhaps time to consult a diviner or take a trip to the underworld and uncover the truth about her past life with him.

In her hazy memories, Dalton always seemed like the type of character straight out of a fantasy novel—a seemingly aloof yet deeply desire-driven demonic cultivator.

Mt. Dragon might be able to send her to the underworld for a quick visit—maybe to browse a spirit market and search for lost souls. She could even investigate the missing spirit of Stacey, who had allegedly committed suicide.

The morgue held no trace of her, nor did the dormitory or any other part of the campus. In fact, Monway University was disturbingly clean—unnaturally so. A place completely devoid of wandering spirits was far from normal.

Dalton observed her silently, his gaze flickering with complex emotions. He seemed torn between wanting her to remember and dreading the day she fully recovered her memories. Because when that day came, it might mark the end of their relationship.

Dalton smiled faintly, the sunlight shining on his face, highlighting his handsome features. However, his beauty was devoid of warmth, leaving passersby unsettled.

"Let's go check out the area outside the campus. I noticed some food stalls on the way here. Besides, I'm a bit hungry myself," Wynter said.

She grabbed Dalton's hand and led him toward the snack street just outside the campus. She claimed they were going for food, but in truth, she was gathering information for the case.

They arrived at the street after walking a few miles past the campus gates. The street was bustling, filled with an array of snacks and delicacies.

"Hi, I would like a wrap! Extra veggies!" Wynter said to one of the stall owners, then turned to Dalton. "Dalton, pay up."

Dalton chuckled, pulling out his phone to complete the payment.

The stall owner handed over the wrap and commented, "You two are really good-looking. You don't look like students from around here, though."

Wynter took the wrap from the owner and smiled. "We're not students. A girl recently died in the dorms, and I'm her cousin. I came to take a look."

The stall owner raised an eyebrow. "Her cousin? You are not like her, personality-wise."

Wynter's ears perked up. "Oh? Do you know my cousin?"

"Not exactly," the stall owner replied. "But I remember seeing her once. A motorcycle sped past here and hit someone—it was going way too fast.

"The girl riding on the back was her. She didn't even flinch when the person got hit. She looked annoyed and told the person not to scam her at such an old age. Then, she pulled out a wad of cash and tossed it at them before riding off.

"That's why I remember her. The other stall owners saw it, too. We all thought she acted more like a delinquent than a student. Luckily, the person who got hit wasn't seriously injured and didn't pursue the matter."

Wynter listened intently, connecting the dots with what she'd learned earlier about Stacey's boyfriend from Tracy and this motorcycle. The motorcycle was likely a high-end bike, and the rider was probably Stacey's boyfriend.

She asked the stall owner, "Do you remember anything about the person riding the motorcycle?"

The stall owner shook his head. "Not much. They both had helmets on. She only took hers off after getting off the bike, which is how we recognized her."

"Got it. Thank you! By the way, your wrap is delicious—authentic and hygienic. I'll definitely come back for more."

The stall owner beamed. "Of course! I dare say my wrap is the best around here!"

"Alright, let's go," Wynter said as she pulled Dalton along.

Wynter needed to confirm whether Stacey had actually taken someone else's spot for a financial aid scholarship.

The police provided her with the answer. They had plenty of investigation materials—after all, the case involved human sacrifice, making it far from an ordinary investigation.

With the case being of such high importance, Wynter was assigned a specialized contact who worked with remarkable efficiency.

"I've interviewed many students. Based on the data and their evaluations, it's clear that someone with Stacey's family background wouldn't qualify for a scholarship like that.

"Her family is well-off—more than that, they're affluent. They've already planned her future and are preparing to send her abroad for a doctorate next year."

"A quick-and-easy PhD," Wynter commented.

She didn't have much to say about such family planning but was more interested in the evaluations of Stacey's personality, which described her as introverted. This contrasted sharply with her parents' temperament.

"Were Stacey's parents particularly difficult to deal with?" Wynter asked.

The investigator was relieved to finally be able to vent. "They're adamant that this was a case of campus bullying and insist that we're just fumbling the investigation.

"The school isn't willing to close off an entire dorm building for a detailed probe, given how critical the students' schedules are. Her parents have latched onto this point and even filed lawsuits against a few students.

"I can sympathize with grieving parents. Losing a child is unbearable for anyone. But they refuse to acknowledge that Stacey's death is connected to a romance scam.

"No matter how we question them, they claim their daughter could never have been manipulated by just anyone. According to them, she was outstanding—a brilliant cellist who'd even won awards."

Wynter drummed her fingers on the table. "Then why did the school give a scholarship to someone with such a privileged background?"

The investigator hesitated, clearly overwhelmed by the tangle of clues buried in the statements from the deceased, her family, and the students. No one had thought to single out the scholarship issue.

"Talk to the approving officials. This isn't an isolated problem at one school. Financial aid is meant for students who genuinely need it. I need to know if corruption runs from top to bottom or if the issue lies with the recommending faculty," Wynter instructed.

Typically, homicide cases didn't focus on issues like these. The public pressure to solve this high-profile suicide case demanded a conclusive result that could be widely accepted. As a result, the scholarship issue was overlooked.

But for Wynter, ensuring that aid reached those who deserved it was crucial.

When school administrators were summoned, most just wanted the case resolved quickly. Some genuinely had no idea scholarships could be mishandled.

Upon investigation, it was discovered that certain faculty advisors recommended students they were close to, regardless of financial need. In some cases, students would even share a portion of the money with their advisors.

No one expected the investigation into Stacey's death to uncover financial aid corruption. After all, she was a beneficiary. But the unspoken agreements and shady practices were laid bare.

Students who genuinely needed aid didn't receive it. Those from affluent families, on the other hand, used the funds for leisure and travel.

Their social media posts were filled with poetic captions about broadening their horizons, like "Reading ten thousand books is no substitute for traveling ten thousand miles."

The thought was fleeting, dissipating the moment Dalton moved closer, his presence grounding her. Only then did she realize how much her emotions had been affected. Her clenched fists were pale from tension.

It was clear now that the trap set for her this time had been meticulously crafted, aimed directly at her vulnerabilities.

Wynter couldn't deny that she was fully aware that some of her thoughts were wrong. Yet, she couldn't always stop herself. Moments like this made her question why she was even bothering to solve cases for people like this.

Back in the formation, she had encountered university students like this one. Their self-entitled mindsets had even influenced the restless spirits trapped within the formation.

It made her wonder if it was truly worth it to give her all, sacrificing everything, only to encounter scenes like this.

Some people took resources for granted, wore their entitlement like a badge of honor, and even used concepts like self-esteem as a shield. It seemed that their title as students protected them.

Her gaze returned to Kaysen. She knew the offense he'd committed was minor, yet she couldn't suppress her frustration. Because in him, she saw someone else's opportunities being blocked, their life derailed, only to be mocked for lacking emotional intelligence.

And yet, she couldn't do much about him. It was simple—his rhetoric resonated with a certain people's mindset.

Budget travel was supposed to be stressful.

A female student had even used her financial aid to buy a concert ticket to see her idols, claiming it gave her strength and purpose. There was also another student who said splurging on an iPhone or Air Jordans gave them confidence and relief.

As someone with a background in psychology, Wynter understood that these were basic coping mechanisms. Achieving such goals could genuinely motivate individuals to push themselves harder.

But using financial aid for it? That was a different matter entirely.

It wasn't just students from wealthy families doing this. Even those who had struggled to get into university sometimes adopted the same mindset.

After years of effort to escape poverty and enter higher education, some slackened their discipline, seeing college as a time to compensate for their deprived youth.

The times had changed, and Wynter refrained from judging. This moral ambiguity was precisely why the issue existed in a gray zone. Financial aid was a test of character.

Wynter knew she needed to compose herself. Still, she looked directly at Kaysen and said, "I know what you're going to say. You'll argue that even if you didn't get the scholarship, their low emotional intelligence meant the aid wouldn't have gone to them anyway."

Kaysen shrugged nonchalantly. "Exactly."

"That might be true. But it doesn't change the fact that you don't deserve the financial aid."

Her tone was firm as she turned to the school administrators. "If this is the standard your school uses to distribute aid, then it's time to reevaluate how resources are allocated. Financial aid has clear rules and guidelines, and no one should interfere with them."

Her voice became calm. "However, since the funding provided to your school is by the Chamber of Commerce, the chamber's chairman should have a say in this, don't you think so?"

The school administrators hesitated, caught off guard by the sudden mention of the Chamber of Commerce. It was their largest donor, after all.

Wynter's smile deepened slightly, but there was no warmth in it. "If the outcomes remain unsatisfactory, we'll simply cancel all future donations from the Chamber of Commerce."

She extended a hand toward one of the principals, Jarred Leyton, her gesture professional yet laced with subtle authority. "Mr. Leyton, I almost forgot to introduce myself—I'm the Chamber of Commerce's new chairman, Wynter Quinnell."