36

Jonathan

I stand in the courtyard at Midwestern University, trying to appear casual as I chat with some of my students about their business analytics assignments. In reality, I’m only half-listening to their questions and responding on auto-pilot.

The other half of my attention is focused on the periphery—scanning the clusters of undergrads lounging on the grass, soaking up the early spring sunshine over their lunch break.

Word has spread like wildfire about Dominic Fowler’s “generous donation” to the university, stemming from those photos the public relations department at Blue Sky released. In them, Cathy beams alongside her newly married father and stepmother, all smiles and affection with an accompanying statement about wishing them well and Dominic’s desire to “give back” to his daughter’s academic community.

It’s all carefully orchestrated.

Rumors and speculation about the exact amount of Blue Sky’s donation grow more exaggerated and outlandish by the day.

Which is exactly what we wanted.

It’s been a week since I left New York. A week of being apart from Cathy. But a necessary week.

It didn’t take long for Marty to approach me after Dominic’s donation appeared in the university’s account. It was a simple matter of shifting money through the dummy funds we set up with Tophy. It was made easier because, as usual, Marty checked nothing of what I did or how I did it. He made the usual demands. Put his trust in me after he put me in my place. I might have been stupid enough to think he wouldn’t falsify evidence against me but he failed to anticipate the lengths I’d go to free myself.

The idiot.

The alarms coded through Tophy’s bank started to ping hours after the transfer, showing a clear money trail in Marty Sotheby’s name. It was very sloppy work on my behalf. I should have been more careful, but such is life. It was a simple matter of Tophy notifying the authorities about Marty’s embezzlement once the money filtered into an offshore account under Marty’s name. Marty will head to prison with nothing to his name but disgrace.

By now, he should have been alerted to hand himself in to avoid public embarrassment.

“Professor Black?”

The jarring bellow cuts through the courtyard, silencing conversations and drawing every eye toward the figure plowing across the lawn. Marty’s ruddy face is twisted in a rictus of rage as his glare zeroes in on me.

I politely excuse myself from the bewildered students and move away from them. But not too far. After all, I want everyone to hear.

“Can I help you with something, Dean Sotheby?” I keep my voice mild, not rising to meet his combative energy even as he storms right up into my personal space.

“You little shit,” he spits out, seemingly oblivious to the fact that we’ve become the focus of dozens of eyes and camera phones already. “Playing me for a fool with your little games? You’re in way over your damn head this time, Black.”

I blink at him, feigning confusion as my heart kicks up a staccato rhythm against my ribcage. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re referring to, sir.”

“Don’t even try to play dumb with me!” His shout is a whip-crack of barely restrained rage, fuming jowls quivering with the effort of suppressing the torrent surely straining to erupt. “Why the hell am I being called in by the police? What the hell did you do with my money?”

I make sure my frown draws low. “Your money? Do you mean the university’s money from the Fowler donation? If that’s what you’re referring to, I placed it in a secure account in order to safeguard it. Just as you usually ask me to do with all university funds. You can check your paperwork if you’d like to check.”

He brings his face close to mine, perspiration glistening on his face. “I want my money right the fuck now.”

I take a step away. “Everything is in your account. I can give you a copy of the transfers signed off by you, should you wish to see them? I always log in my details when handling the vast amounts of money that pass through the accounts here so anyone can see I’m above board. But if you’re suggesting I’ve hidden the money for my own purposes…well, that’s a serious accusation. In fact, that’s an accusation of theft and embezzlement. And I would call that slander, Dean Sotheby. Would you like me to come with you and talk to the police? I’m sure I can help straighten everything out with them.”

It’s amazing to witness the rapid mottling of Marty’s face as the implication of my words sinks in, his body going rigid while his gaze darts around at the students who are watching this conversation. Some of them have started recording on their phones, too. He recognizes that subtle shift in dynamics, senses the trap being baited whether he has the self-awareness to fully comprehend how it sprang shut around him using the same threats he aimed at me. The only difference is, his were fabricated and mine are real.

“You...you’d better fix this,” he growls again, quieter now yet somehow twice as menacing. “I’ll bury your entire career so deep in the ground, you pathetic piece of shit. Fix it now before I—”

I lean close so I can whisper to him. No one else can hear but him. “You would have already ended my career long ago if you really intended to do that, but your greed outweighed your good sense.”

“Have you forgotten about Emmerson?” Marty snarls.

I lean in close and whisper. “Your word means shit. Who would trust the tainted dean of a university after embezzlement?”

A siren whoops and a police car draws into the parking space on the other end of the lawn. Marty’s gaze zeroes in on the two officers alighting their car.

“Time to pay your dues, Dean,” I murmur just loud enough for him to hear, letting the words hang heavy between us.

Something snaps behind his eyes then—that final, desperate ember of self-preservation instinct flaring to life. In one explosive movement, Marty pivots and takes off at a dead sprint toward the opposite end of the parking lot.

Shouts and exclamations erupt from the crowd as the police officers immediately give chase, yelling commands for Marty to stop. He ignores them. A part of me wonders how he can muster that surprising burst of speed.

But the deputies are quicker, more trained for this type of pursuit. The sheriff shouts a warning before stopping, pulling a Taser from his belt and firing. Marty drops to the ground in a tangle of limbs with the crackling buzz of a Taser splitting the air.

I should feel something—elation, perhaps, or at least a sense of relief—but as I watch the pathetic, twitching heap that was once my tormentor get hauled into the backseat of the police cruiser, I’m just...numb.

Numb to the hoots and cheers erupting around me from the students who just witnessed a very public fall from grace. Numb to the way Marty’s wild-eyed stare finds mine through the glass of the cruiser’s rear window as they peel from the curb.

He’s gone. Years of him holding everything over my head is gone. In the end, it’s happened so fast it’s surreal. Hard to believe.

Slowly, I turn from milling students, all of whom are shocked that their dean was arrested. It’ll be the talk of campus for years, I’m sure. My hand drifts toward my jacket’s inner pocket, fingers closing around the solid rectangle of my cell.

I round the corner and draw it from my pocket. Cathy is already on the call. “Did you get that?”

“I heard everything. He got exactly what he deserved, the lying worm. You did so well,” she says, her tone a mixture of vindication and pride.

“It worked better than I thought it would.” I pause, letting it sink in. Marty is finally gone, disgraced. One threat neutralized.

“The PR gurus at Blue Sky are coming into their element. I’m so glad we paid those people to film him. The first vids are coming through on the socials. Oh my God, look at him go down!” Cathy’s laugh contains a hint of darkness. “I dare say Marty Sotheby is a black smear at the university now.”

We share a loaded silence, both knowing there’s one final loose end to tie up. “Cathy...I miss you so much. I can’t wait for this nightmare to be over.”

“I miss you too, Jonathan,” she says softly. “Just stay strong for me, okay? You can do this last part. I believe in you.”

My chest aches with longing to have her back in my arms again. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Now go get that bastard.”

I slip my cell back into my pocket and draw a steadying breath. Time to return to my apartment and wait. If the plan works, Chris should seek me out very soon, acting on pure greed. With Marty publicly disgraced, Chris will assume I’m vulnerable and ripe for exploitation. He already knows I’ll give him money and now with the photo of Cathy and me against us, I hope he’ll reach out to me again for the thousands he knows I can access.

My footsteps slow as I round the corner to my apartment building’s entrance. Leaning casually against the brick exterior with his hands shoved in his pockets is none other than Chris himself. Our eyes meet and he pushes off the wall, straightening his jacket.

Didn’t take him long at all.

I should be surprised.

I really should, but it speaks loud that it doesn’t.

I fight to keep the triumph off my face, shaping my features into something resembling trepidation. I’m quietly satisfied that he’s taken the bait, that smug, twisted part of me relishing getting one over on him after everything. But I’m also disgusted just looking at the man, my stomach churning with hatred for what he’s done to Cathy.

“Professor Black,” he greets with a curt nod as we converge on the building’s entrance. “Quite the show earlier with the dean, eh? Can’t say I’m surprised, really.”

I force a neutral expression, hoping my revulsion doesn’t show. “Imagine that. Crazy stuff.”

“Yeah. Crazy.” Chris’s eyes flit around briefly before settling back on me. “Look, I was hoping we could talk? Some place we can’t be overheard.”

The request is so predictable, so perfectly playing into my plan, that I very nearly smirk. Instead, I feign reluctance with a small shrug. “How about right here? What do you want, Chris?”

A tight smile pulls at the corners of Chris’s mouth. “I think you know what I want now I know you have access to…funds, Professor. Or do you want that photo I have of you and beautiful Catherine Fowler to make the rounds? Tut tut, you naughty professor. I must say, you’re punching way above your weight there. Your scandal would top Marty Sotheby’s. And a dean ripping off his university is pretty scandalous—don’t you think?”

White hot rage detonates in my chest. Before I can stop myself, my fist clenches and I draw back, ready to smash that grin right off his face. But Chris is faster—grabbing my wrist and slamming me back against the bricks.

His eyes bore into me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl. “In case I haven’t made myself clear, I want every last cent from Dominic Fowler’s donation,” he mutters in a low, menacing tone. “And maybe we can work out an alternative payment plan for that pretty little girlfriend of yours. You’re going to do exactly what I say from now on. Unless you want to lose everything...”

I wrench my wrist from his grip and collect myself, forcing down the simmering heat in my veins. “You’d better come in.”

He steps back and gestures to the closed door behind my back. I lead the way into the building, holding the door for Chris to follow me inside. Keeping my anger in check, I punch the call button for the elevator, readying to see this through once and for all. No matter how much my skin crawls just being around this bastard. No matter what’s really at stake.