Monday morning arrived with a bitter, biting wind that swept mercilessly across the campus quad, stripping the last dead leaves from the ancient oak trees. Students hurried past with their heads tucked into their scarves, eager to escape the freezing chill. I pushed through the heavy glass doors of the student union building, welcoming the blast of artificial heat. I checked my narrow metal mailbox in the crowded lobby, expecting the usual useless clutter—glossy junk mail, pre-approved credit card offers I couldn't afford, and ignored campus event flyers.
Instead, sitting alone in the center of the dented metal cubby, was a heavy, matte-black envelope.
It was sealed with a thick, perfectly circular dollop of gold wax, stamped with the intricate, imposing crest of Vanguard Holdings—a stylized shield flanked by twin falcons. It looked entirely out of place among the cheap, brightly colored flyers and mundane utility bills, radiating an aura of wealth and quiet menace.
