by Claire Adams
My heart ached. I was torn between believing the pain I saw in his eyes and the heavy waves of disappointment that pushed me back.
"It doesn't matter," I decided. "I don't care what happened between you and Libby. That was your mistake, and I don't think I should have to pay the price for it."
Ford grabbed both my hands. "Clarity, I promise you, I won't let it affect you. You're right, you're totally innocent. What we have—"
"We don't have anything." My voice was hollow.
He shook his head and tried again. "What I meant was what we shared—"
"Nothing happened," I said.
"Clarity, please. You have to believe a person can change in two years. Don't you believe people can redeem themselves?"
The anguished question pierced me to the core. I wanted to believe that people could redeem themselves more than anything in the world. Then I could believe my father could someday be the man I had loved and trusted.
My father, the dean. I took a deep breath and kept my voice steady. "It doesn't matter what I believe. All I know is that it seems like you got close to me, complimented me, and mentored me, just so you could get closer to my father."
"What? Why would I be more interested in your father than you?" Ford asked.
"You're hoping he'll save your job, but now he can't even save himself."
The look of shock and dismay on Ford's face was the final push I needed to walk away. The glimmer of hope his horrified expression gave me was more than I could take.
Chapter Twelve
Ford
I ran up the stairs two at a time and wished I could outrun the look in Clarity's eyes. She was upset, and there was something more than her father's mistake. A bad feeling chased me. Libby would not stay quiet for long. The thing that slowed me down, dragged me down with every step, was the guilt over what I had done.
I charged up the steps and did not pause for breath on the landing. A sharp turn and another flight of stairs, and the sound of student laughter faded away. I was almost to my office floor when I heard heavy footsteps above me.
Florence Macken rounded the corner on her way down, and I skidded to a stop. I stumbled backward on the next landing and grabbed the railing for support.
"Professor Bauer, just the man I was hoping to catch," she said.
My department head stood over me, three steps up, and made no move to join me on the landing. She settled her hands on her hips and smirked at me from above.
"I imagine you've heard that rumors have come to light around Landsman campus," Macken said. "That means changes that have been stymied for some time will be going ahead soon."
I braced myself against the railing. "Rumors. Let me guess, there was a student report made this morning," I said.
I couldn't blame Libby for beating me to it. She knew her leverage was not going to last long, though I was surprised she went ahead before even making a specific demand of me.
Then my stomach sank. If Libby had lodged a complaint against me, it meant she had confronted Clarity. When Clarity did not believe her or bend to her blackmail threats, Libby had no choice but to go ahead and make the complaint against me.
"Student complaint?" Macken asked. "This morning?" Her faced smoothed into a superior mask. "Of course, I'm surprised that you want to discuss first."
I paused and listened for a moment. Macken prided herself on knowing everything first, so it was not hard to believe she would bluff. "I'm assuming nothing can happen until it comes before the Honor Council," I hedged. "So, really, there is nothing to discuss until that happens. You wouldn't step outside of protocol, would you?"
"Honor Council," she muttered. Macken let her fists slip off her hips and crossed them over her formidable stomach. "You're just trying to distract me with some student drivel, Professor Bauer. Not everyone on campus is as interested in the personal lives of the students as you are."
She didn't know. Libby had not yet filed a complaint against me for our inappropriate relationship. When the weight did not lift from my shoulders, I knew it was time for me to declare the mistake myself. Luckily, I did not have to discuss it with Florence Macken.
"Sorry, I won't waste your time anymore," I said. I climbed a step upwards, but my department head refused to move.
A reptilian smile curved the corners of her mouth. "You can't tell me you don't already know. You haven't heard?"
"I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about. I was teaching this morning," I said. When her smile did not fade but stretched farther, the knots in my stomach returned.
"Your friend, Dean Dunkirk, got some bad news while you were rambling on to your students in class," Macken said. She unclenched one arm to toss a hand around in the air. "The Dean of Students has been suspended as of ten o'clock this morning."
My confusion was genuine. It was impossible to imagine Clarity got up this morning, turned her father in to the college administrators, and then calmly attended my class. No one else knew about the doctored application unless the dean had confessed to his other friends at Thanksgiving.
I thought over the day, forced myself to ignore the bright spots of Clarity's smiles, and assured myself Dean Dunkirk had not had time to tell anyone else about his mistake.
"Why would Dean Dunkirk be suspended?" I asked. "Please tell me Landsman College is not going on a witch hunt."
Mackey shook her head, her smile still in place. "Turns out we don't need a witch hunt," she said. "With your friend the dean out of the way, our department budget will go to review. Landsman College is anxious to conduct business better than usual, so it seems department cuts will be made sooner rather than later. Separate the wheat from the chaff, so to speak. Seems the Dean has managed to kick start that process instead of save you from it."
I scowled up at her and climbed the steps that separated us. "Why do you think I would ask Dean Dunkirk to help me?"
"You need it," Macken said flatly. "Why else would you go out of your way to befriend the dean? I know you were invited to his house for Thanksgiving. Must have been quite a cozy little celebration with him and your star student."
I swallowed hard. The only other explanation that Macken would think of was my interest in Clarity. I had to steer her in the other direction. "So what if I made friends with an administrator? I would think that would be encouraged."
"Not if he turns out to be a disgrace," Macken crowed.
"Is he okay? What was he accused of? Is Dean Dunkirk still on campus?"
My department head raised an eyebrow. "Concerned for your friend? I wouldn't be. If I were you, I wouldn't go near Patrick Dunkirk with a ten foot pole."
"What has he been accused of?" I asked again. "Clearly the evidence is not all in if he was only suspended."
Mackey snorted. "They've got evidence against him. Speaking of evidence, turns out your buddy falsified evidence himself. He did a big favor for the football team by letting the star running back off lightly."
I spun on my heel and charged down the stairs to find Clarity's father. If something had happened, I wanted to hear it from a reliable source. I walked to Dean Dunkirk's office so fast that I was out of breath by the time I made it to his door.
A sign was taped over his name plate stating that the Dean of Students was temporarily unavailable and that all inquiries needed to be made through the office of the president.
I checked my watch and jogged off campus to the house he shared with Clarity. Luckily, she was still in her second class of the day and there was no other evidence of visitors. I peeked in the garage window and noted the dean's car inside. He normally walked everywhere, but I doubted he was still on campus.
"Dean Dunkirk, Patrick, open up!" I rapped hard on the front door.
A curtain shifted in the living room, but there was silence.
"Patrick, it's Ford; we need to talk," I called and knocked again.
It was no surprise that he did not want to see anyone. I could imagine him pacing up and down the length of the liv
ing room, trying to prepare a way to tell his daughter what happened.
"Ford?" a cautious voice at the door called.
"I just heard,” I said. "I wanted to make sure you're okay. Clarity is still in class. She didn't know anything about it when I talked to her earlier today."
The door opened a small fraction, and the dean waved me inside. I stepped into the foyer and was surprised by the transformation. The Thanksgiving decorations had been meticulously packed away in a plastic bin that now stood next to the front staircase. The curtains had been drawn over the door's stained glass, but also along the entire front of the house.
We stood in shadows, and the dean said nothing. He plodded over to the decorations and shut the lid.
"They must have blindsided you in your office. Thank god you live nearby. I can't imagine weathering something like this while being stuck on campus," I said.
"It doesn't matter where I am," Clarity's father said, "I'm disgraced. No one is going to hire a Dean of Students that was caught falsifying evidence and brushing plagiarism under the rug."
"Is that really what happened? Did you really make a ruling based on what was best for the football team?" I asked.
Patrick backed away and shook a hand at me. "No, no. I can't talk to you about this. You're the editor of the school newspaper and, clearly, I don't know who I should trust, otherwise this wouldn't have happened."
I shook my head. "This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't made an enemy. Now, let me see if I can guess what happened. You thought you recently made a friend. Then that friend asked you for a favor."
"Ford, stop," Patrick said. "As much as I want to believe you are trying to help me, you are probably the last person I should be talking to about this."
"You refused to do the favor because it was against your moral judgment," I said.
Patrick shook his head, walked to his leather sofa, and collapsed. "How am I supposed to tell Clarity any of this?" he asked.
"You didn't do anything," I said.
Patrick ran both hands through his red hair and looked up at me. "Please don't sound so sure. I've made a mistake."
"It's not a mistake when you were set up. Am I right? Someone is using leverage to force a favor from you." I sat down on the chair across from him.
Patrick leaned back and slumped into the sofa. He heaved an unsteady sigh, then said, "I thought I had made a good impression on one of our largest donors. Everything was fine, and I didn't think anything of it, not even when he gave me some ridiculously expensive gifts. It's the holiday season, I was hopeful. Turns out that was very naive."
"That happens to good people," I said.
"Well, I'm not sure a good person would do what I did next," Patrick said. "He asked me to look over an application, give his son some pointers. I didn't think anything of it, until he became very specific about the feedback he wanted. In the end, I was basically rewriting the applicant's essay. Then he asked me to overlook his test scores."
"But you refused." I knew it had to be true. "That's what you should be focused on now. You did the right thing, didn't you?"
"I refused to finish a second draft of the essay. I advised him there was nothing to be done with the test scores; they had to be included. Next thing I know, the president of the college is in my desk chair when I arrive this morning. I am suspended without pay as they review the evidence against me."
I leaned forward and balanced my forearms on my knees. "That's what I don't understand. How did this donor know about this plagiarism case? It's like he had it lined up to be used as leverage whenever he needed."
Patrick covered his face with his hands and groaned. "I should have seen it coming. God, why did I think everything was fine? Now I've screwed everything up."
"Whatever it is, you didn't do it. Did you?" I asked.
"That's not going to matter. It looks like I did," Patrick said.
I slapped the coffee table. "Come on, we can fight this. Just tell me what kind of leverage this donor thinks he has, and we'll figure out a way to take it apart. If we expose what he was trying to do, then you'll be proven innocent."
Patrick sat up a few inches. "It's an old plagiarism case. It was higher priority just because it had to do with a football player during the season last year."
"Who was the student?" I asked.
"Brian Tailor."
It was my turn to slump back in my chair. The name set off too many alarm bells in my head, but somehow Clarity's father had revived his hope.
He sat up and scrubbed a hand over his chin. "You think that we could expose what Michael Tailor is trying to do and save my job?"
The words were sluggish in my mouth. It was too late to tell the dean anything but the truth. I didn't want him or his daughter to get hurt any farther. "No. There's no way. He obviously had this planned, and he wouldn't have gone ahead if he thought you could get free of it."
Patrick's face fell. He dropped his head to his hands and tangled his fingers in his red hair again. "I don't understand how I got caught up in this in the first place. There were no signs of plagiarism; Brian Tailor is a good student. I didn't even think about him being on the football team. Everyone thinks the coach and the administration might have pressured me, but there wasn't anything wrong. From what I thought I saw, Brian Tailor was innocent."
I stood up. "I'm sorry, Patrick," I said. "There's nothing you can do at this point. There's nothing I can do to help you."
"But you, you said—"
"I didn't know who we were up against. Trust me. I've come up against people like Michael Tailor before, and it ruined my career." My arms felt heavy as I reached down to pat Clarity's father on the shoulder. "I'm sorry, but anything you do now is only going to make things worse."
He buried his head in his hands again. "And not just for me. If I speak out or try to fight this, then they'll ruin things for Clarity too. Oh, god, what have I done?"
I looked at the ceiling, but the tug in my chest did not loosen. "You did this for Clarity, didn't you?" I asked.
"Of course I did. When I met Michael Tailor at the donors' dinner, it turned out his friend is the owner of Wire Communications," Patrick explained.
I sat back down as if pushed. "Yeah, I know him."
"So, I mentioned to Michael how interested Clarity was in the Wire Communications internship, and he promised to put in a good word for her." Clarity's father bolted to his feet and stomped around the coffee table. "I was trying to help her, and now I can't even help myself. Damn it!" He kicked the coffee table leg and continued to pace. "All I can do is sit here and suffocate while I wait for Clarity to come home. Oh, god, I hope she doesn't hear about it from someone on campus."
"I know exactly how you feel," I said. "Like a fish caught in a net. Let me guess, if you go ahead and fix that application, then this will all just go away."
Patrick growled and stomped the floor harder. "I can't do that. I'm not going to do that. It's one thing for Michael Tailor to trick me, but it's another to give in to his bullying. I just wish there was some way to get Clarity out of the line of fire."
I stood up to face him. "All you have to do is tell your daughter the truth. She's going to want to fight for you, and I can't think of a better person to be on your side."
The shadow of a smile appeared on the dean's face. "True. I'll tell her everything." His relief was short-lived as he thought about all the other fallout from his suspension. "Why did this have to happen now? There are so many little political fires going on all over campus, and the president used to trust my input."
I snorted. "Then he should take your side over the big money, don't you think?"
Patrick waved that thought away. "It's not so easy balancing everything a college administrator has thrown at them. He's doing the right thing, but now my hands are tied."
"You just worry about yourself and Clarity," I suggested.
"No," Patrick said. "I had been slated to make certain personnel recommendations that would affect a
large number of students. You are one of the professors in question. Without my recommendation, the college is just going to go ahead with across the board lay-offs. This is going to be awful for the students."
"The students need to see the way things are run. If they don't like it, they are the only ones that can change it," I said.
Patrick came over and squeezed my shoulder. "Ford, I'm so sorry, but this might directly affect your job in the School of Journalism."
I laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. "As if I don't know that Florence Macken has it in for me," I said. "Don't worry about me."
"But I could have helped you," Patrick lamented.
I shrugged off his hand. "I didn't ask for your help. That's not why I befriended you," I snapped.
The dean chuckled. "And here I thought I befriended you. I gotta say, that's the best thing I've heard all day. Thank you, Ford."
I didn't want to smile, but it broke through anyway. "Oh, to hell with it. What's the point in my fancy journalism degree and all my experience if I can't rattle a few cages?"
Patrick's eyes turned serious. "No. I'm not going to have you endangering your position at Landsman just to help me out. I got myself into this mess, and I'll figure a way out of it. Like you said, I've got Clarity to help me."
The mention of her name cemented my resolve. "Sorry, Patrick, but you wanted to be my friend, and now you're stuck with me. Besides, if I'm going to get fired anyway, I might as well do some good on my way out."
#
I left the dean in a much lighter mood and raced back towards campus. The fact that I had class soon was a far second to finding Clarity. Her father's news would spread fast all over campus, and I was sure she was going to hear about it from someone any second.
I charged towards the Language Department, where I knew Clarity was just finishing her required course. Landsman College required all students to master a foreign language, and she had become quite good at Spanish.
"Hola, Professor Bauer," a student called as I neared the building's front steps.
"Hi, Ben," I said as I slowed my pace.