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mine once said, ‘It is doubtful whether any human being has ever known as much as he did.’”

Ying’s guard went up when she heard one old white man celebrating another old white man. “Yeah, but what does that have to do with your Tree?”

“Quite simply, Aristotle provided the intellectual foundation on which this Tree and all of modern logic and reasoning is built. You see, Aristotle outlined what he called the three laws of thought: the law of identity, the law of noncontradiction, and the law of the excluded middle. The idea behind these laws was to guide any rational discussion or inquiry.”

Ying stood up and began wagging her finger.

“Yaaaas . . . I’ve read this. It’s coming back to me now . . . The law of identity essentially says that something is indeed what you say it is. One must accept that before you can move forward with any rational discussion. For example, in order for us to discuss whether or not Albert Puddles is the most tidy man at Princeton, we must first agree that there is one Albert Puddles and he is who we both think he is.”

Turner chuckled knowingly and nodded at her understanding.

“The second law is the law of noncontradiction, which means you can’t say something that is both true and false at the same time. A classic example of a violation of this law is the statement ‘Everything I say is a lie.’ If it were true, then the statement would invalidate itself, but if it were a lie, then that would mean that at some point the person would have said something true.” Ying drew breath like an auctioneer at a cattle sale. “And last but not least is the law of the excluded middle, which states that in order to proceed in a well-reasoned argument, something either must be true or not; there can be nothing in between. A classic example violating this law is the question ‘Is the king of the United States bald?’ Since there is no king of the United States, the question and any argument stemming from it are, therefore, invalid.”

Turner nodded, impressed. “So, for our trees to be sound, we need to make sure that we build upon these three laws. Now, here’s where we get to the good stuff—” At that moment, Albert Puddles burst through the door.

His cheeks shined a bright pink, and cold sweat poured from his forehead and around his spectacles. The young professor’s eyes were bloodshot, and his normally immaculate suit was covered in dust. His hands visibly shook, and his shoulders slumped with an unseen burden.

Ying jumped out of her seat with her hand on her mouth, her eyes straining with concern.

“My God, what happened to you?” cried Turner.

Albert placed his hands on his knees and gasped for air, attempting to collect himself. “Eva . . . I . . . I . . .”

Angus rushed to Albert and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Eva? You saw her? Is she OK?”

Puddles wriggled from Turner’s grip and took a huge step back. His cheeks regained some of their color, and his jaw clenched in anger.

“Yes, Professor. I saw her . . . And she’s doing well. My only regret is that I didn’t get a chance to catch up with her before she framed me and took out the entire Princeton police station! By the way, I’m doing fine, thank you for asking.”

“What!” cried Ying.

Albert grabbed Ying’s lemonade glass from the table and sat down on the professor’s sofa, gulping the cool liquid down in seconds. In his typically precise way, he took the spare moment to readjust his tie, wipe the spots from his glasses, and brush the dust off his coat and pants while catching his breath. Turner and Ying stood watching him as if he were a curious animal at the zoo.

When he finally felt comfortable that he had regained some of his typical immaculateness, Albert began, “I went to the Princeton police station to tell Weatherspoon about the Tree, just like you said, Professor. When I got to the station, before I could go inside, Eva stopped me in the parking lot.”

“Oh dear God,” interjected Turner, staring at Albert with a knowing look.

“She wanted me to turn a blind eye. She said that the incident at the bank was an accident and that turning her in wouldn’t do any good.”

“What did you say?” asked Ying.

Albert resented the question and with one look made sure that Ying was aware of it. “I told her no and went into the station. And that’s when she cut the power to the station, took all the evidence implicating her, and planted evidence to frame me.”

Both Ying and Albert turned to Turner like children to a parent. The older man’s brow carried the weight of a man who has lost a child. He walked toward the kitchen and stroked his chin.

Softly, Turner asked, “How did you get out?”

“She let me out.”

“Intentionally?”

“Yes.”

“And what did she tell you to do?”

“She told me to run.” Albert took another sip. “Shouldn’t you have seen this coming, Professor, with your special ‘Tree of Knowledge’?”

“The Tree is not all-knowing, Puddles. It is only as good as the information. I assumed Eva had no knowledge of the evidence she left behind. Clearly, I was wrong.”

Seconds went by as Turner stroked his chin in a silence punctuated by the ticktock of his grandfather clock.

After staring at Turner for some time, neither Ying nor Albert could take it anymore, and the two simultaneously blurted out, “What should we do?”

“Ms. Koh. You need to return to your studies. I couldn’t possibly involve you in this. Forget what you’ve seen today. Puddles and I will be fine.”

“Professor, there’s a problem. Eva knows about Ying,” said Albert.

“How?”

“She saw Ying and me leaving Princeton for your house. She knows that Ying is involved. I don’t think it’s safe for us to just leave her here.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?” interjected Ying.

Turner looked at the two of them, rose from his chair, put on his sport

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