"Do you know what it feels like when somebody with ten thousand citations uses your idea?"
"No."
"Neither do I."
She laughed bitterly.
"Because I spent two days convincing myself maybe I stole it from him without realizing."
Her roommate stared.
"That's impossible."
"I know."
"Now."
She pushed noodles around.
"When somebody is famous enough, you start distrusting your own memory."
The next morning, the Dean called.
Not her assistant.
The Dean personally.
"Could you meet at ten?"
The Black woman hesitated.
"Will I lose work hours?"
Silence.
Then:
"No."
"Facilities will pay your scheduled shift."
"Why?"
"Because we're asking you to attend university business."
The Black woman almost said that should be obvious.
Instead:
"Fine."
The meeting included the Dean, Research Officer, outside counsel, a student advocate, and the head of Financial Aid.
That last person irritated her immediately.
She looked toward him.
"Why are you here?"
He shifted.
"The university wants to discuss your financial situation."
"No."
Everyone stopped.
The Dean said:
"We thought—"
"I know what you thought."
She folded her arms.
"You saw the uniform."
"You realized I work thirty-two hours because my scholarship package doesn't cover housing."
"And now that the story is embarrassing, somebody wants to fix my financial situation."
The Financial Aid Director looked toward the Dean.
The Black woman continued:
"That is not the first conversation."
The Dean nodded slowly.
"You're right."
The Director left.
No argument.
That helped.
The Research Officer opened the meeting.
They had obtained version-control records from the Professor's university cloud account.
A draft document created after he downloaded her fellowship application contained copied passages.
He later rewrote most.
The mathematical structure remained.
The student's original proof had been incomplete.
That part mattered.
The Professor extended it.
But attribution was absent.
The officer explained:
"In research, improving another person's unfinished work does not transfer authorship."