The commemoration of Professor Marcus Lucius Antonius was held at the Academy Faculty Club at 3 p.m. Bella wore a deep sapphire dress with a silver leaf brooch and attended on time, greeting Olivia in the hall.
“Lady Bella, thank you for coming,” Olivia said. She wore a black suit and looked weary.
“You look tired. How are you?” Bella asked with concern.
“I’m fine, just worked the whole night with others to put this commemoration together.”
“A lot of people are attending,” Bella observed, looking around at the gathered students and staff.
“Only school staff and students. The professor’s ex-wife and daughter will come next week. They will hold a formal funeral and a memorial service for him then.”
“Just let me know the time; I’ll attend.”
“I will. Please sit, we shall start soon.”
Bella found a seat in the back, beside an older, long-faced man with stubble.
The commemoration started with Olivia, who briefly recalled the first day she met the professor, which was her interview for the assistant job, the time she worked alongside him, and what she learned from his mentorship. Later, the professor’s nine postgraduate students and several undergraduate students gave speeches to remember his teaching. They all paid high respect to the professor and felt deep sadness about the tragedy. A silence and solemn atmosphere infected everyone.
The quiet reverence, however, was broken. The arrival of a tall and dignified man in a dark gray velvet overcoat, with gray hair and stubble, caused a brief moment of noise. Bella recognized the man as the Academy President, Bernd Petz.
The President sat in the row behind Bella. She overheard a woman ask him, “Did you sign it?”
“Not now, Molly,” the President said in a low voice.
A group of students sitting in the front row turned around to look at the President, then whispered among themselves. After a guy in a sports sweater finished his speech, a girl with wavy black hair and glasses from the front group stood up and strode to the stage.
“Hello, I’m Emily Fernández, a TA for Professor Antonius’s Global Economic History. To me, the professor was not just a teacher, but also a mentor in life, who gave me support in the darkness of my life. I didn’t hold much hope that I could come to the Academy this semester, because I’m an international student, from Oz, and the Queen of the United Fairylands doesn’t welcome us to study in this great and free country.” Whispers erupted in the audience at Emily’s words, but she continued. “It was Professor Antonius who told me not to worry. ‘I’ll speak for all of you and defend your right to the best education.’ he told me.” She paused, sobbing uncontrollably, but quickly regained control. “He once told us in a lecture, ‘To fight against ignorance and prejudice is a scholar’s duty.’ He moved here because he loved the inclusive academic culture. He believed that’s the reason the Academy became one of the top universities in the world. But this is a sad day,” she paused again, staring directly at the President, “not only because we lost Professor Antonius, but also because our university’s president betrayed the Academy’s spirit, which Professor Antonius most praised…” Her words received applause and murmurs of agreement. “He sold us out, surrendered to xenophobia…”
Olivia instructed a security guard to drag Emily out, but this only made Emily more agitated. “Professor’s death was not an accident, but a conspiracy! A murder!”
Emily was escorted out of the hall by the security guard, and several students followed them. The remaining audience still whispered, glancing occasionally at the President.
“I think you’d better leave,” Bella heard the woman, Molly, said.
“You’re right. Excuse me,” the President sighed, and promptly left.
Olivia stood on the stage and asked if anyone else wanted to speak, but no one raised a hand. She spoke, “Thank you everyone for coming. We all will remember Professor Antonius in our hearts. Professor Antonius passed away on the day he was going to the book signing of his new book, Wars and Innovations. So, I and his students decided to fulfill his last wish by holding an event about the book at the Dressrious Salon this Friday at 3 p.m. Welcome everyone to join us.”
People began to stand up and file out.
“On the contrary, that’s not his last wish,” the man sitting beside Bella muttered, preparing to leave.
“Pardon?” Bella was surprised.
“The professor didn’t want the book spread widely. The night before last, the professor called me and said he didn’t want to print any more books.”
Bella looked at the man with confusion.
“Sorry to forget to introduce myself,” the man offered a handshake. “Pete, from the Academy Press. I’m the editor of the professor’s books.”
“Bella, the professor’s former student in Rome.” Bella shook his hand. “You said the professor told you he didn’t want to print the book the night before the signing? Did he mention why?”
“He was afraid someone might distort his work, using his book to justify wars.”
“But it’s an academic book. He never worried about such a thing before.”
“Maybe he thought the situation changed,” Pete shrugged, walking out.
Bella walked out behind him, deep in thought. They separated at the entrance. On the way to the parking lot, Bella saw Emily and three students arguing about something.
“Hey, Emily, I’m Bella, the professor’s former student in Rome,” Bella walked to them, introducing herself. “I heard your speech. Very brave.”
“Thank you,” Emily smiled.
Bella hesitated, then asked, “About what you said earlier, what do you mean the professor’s death was not an accident?”
“We suspect the government is behind it,” Emily said angrily.
“Because the professor defended us. He often spoke against the Queen’s policies, from tariffs to immigration. And he publicly declared that limiting international students at the Academy was not only against academic freedom but also against constitutional principles,” a Black male student with a French accent added.
“Just earlier, the President signed the deal to agree to limit the amount of international students, right after the day the professor died. It couldn’t be a coincidence,” an Arab-looking guy said. Others nodded.
“Do you have any proof?” Bella asked.
“Not directly, but we looked at the photos and videos of the car accident online. We believe someone hacked his car to make it look like an accident,” Emily said, showing Bella a photo on her phone.
Bella took the phone and looked at the photo carefully. It was from the search results page of a social network: a white car crashed terribly into the pier of an overpass. Bella scrolled through other photos, all posted by different accounts. From those photos, Bella made out the car was a Nikola N model, an electric car from Nikola Inc., one of the Duke’s companies.
“There is a video from a dash cam. Someone saw how the car crashed the pier. Let me show you.” Emily found the video and played it. A white car drove erratically, then smashed into the pier.
“Looks like the car lost control,” Bella muttered.
“Yes,” Emily confirmed.
“Did you tell others? Report it to the police?”
“No. Only we have discussed it yet. We don’t have firm proof to show the police,” Emily said sadly.
Bella took a name card from her bag and handed it to Emily with her phone. “If you find anything new, call me, let me know. May I have your number? I have connections to the car company; I can reach out if I find something.”
“Sure, that would be great.” Emily took Bella’s phone, typed her number, then took the card.
“Hope we’re just overthinking,” Bella said with a forced grin, then wished them well and left.