Dean
February 8
ce crusts the window of the conference room. The sky is a sheet of gray. Students trudge through the dirty slush covering the quad.
I shift my gaze from the window to the other side of the table. Ben Stafford from the Office of Judicial Affairs is reviewing his notes. Frances Hunter is sitting beside me.
“I’m speaking with Miss Hamilton the week after next,” Stafford tells us. “She’s been out of town since the alleged incident, but will be back mid-month. After I interview her, we’ll try to schedule a mediation meeting in the hopes of coming to a resolution. In the meantime…” He clears his throat. “I am obliged to conduct a full investigation.”
Anger burns my chest.
“Why do you have to conduct an investigation when she hasn’t filed a formal charge?” I ask.
“Miss Hamilton’s father has contacted me with… concerns about ensuring that no stone is left unturned,” Stafford explains.
“You mean he wants you to follow his orders.”
Frances shoots me a look of warning. She’d told me not to bring in my lawyer yet, though I wish I hadn’t listened to her. Edward Hamilton is a lawyer, and he’ll know exactly how to fuck with me.
“No way can you keep this confidential if you’re doing an investigation,” I tell Stafford.
“I assure you we’ll do our best.”
“Dean, we don’t want this publicized any more than you do,” Frances says. “The university does take strong measures to ensure the privacy of everyone involved.”
“But there are some steps we must take in the interim, Professor West,” Stafford says. “Steps involving your contact with other students.”
A tense silence descends. I tug at the knot of my necktie. Frances puts her hand on my arm.
“Dean…”
Fuck. Her tone is both conciliatory and regretful. I don’t want to hear this.
“You can’t be at King’s while the investigation is ongoing,” she says.
“I have a lecture and a seminar to teach this semester, Frances.” I force my voice to stay level, though I’m ready to throw something at the wall. “I have five students working on their dissertations and theses.”
“You need to take a leave of absence.”
“No.”
Frances and Stafford exchange glances.
“Professor West, university policy dictates that you should be suspended during the course of the investigation,” Stafford says. “But at this point, you can excuse your absence as a semester’s leave.”
“Which will do no harm to your reputation, given the IHR grant,” Frances adds. “We’ll announce that your workload precludes you from teaching this semester.”
My jaw is locked tight. Pain radiates over my skull.
“I need to work, Frances.”
“You still can. Just… not at King’s.” Her voice falters, as if she knows what cold comfort that is. “It’s either a leave of absence or a suspension, Dean. I’m sorry.”
I swivel the chair around to stare out at the gunmetal sky. “What about my students?”
“I’ll ask Professors Worth and Collins to substitute until we can find an adequate replacement.” She pauses. “No changes will be made to your salary at this time.”
I couldn’t give a fuck about my salary, but her remark outlines one stark fact. This could all end badly. Even if I’m vindicated.
My career and reputation could be destroyed by the malignant lies of one girl. If this goes public—and it’s only a matter of time before it does—even if Maggie Hamilton is proved a liar, my name will be tainted with the sordid accusation of sexual harassment.
“Professor West, either way you’ll be required to stay away from the university campus,” Stafford says. “You’ll be allowed to continue advising your current graduate students on their work, but we ask that you limit your association to emails and that you BCC Professor Hunter and myself on your correspondence with them.”
“Christ.” The word escapes me on a hiss. “Want me to wear a fucking monitoring device too?”
“Dean, this is as much for your protection as anything else,” Frances says.
“Bullshit. There’s no way a suspension is standard procedure when a student lies about a professor.”
Frances and Stafford are both silent.
Anger scalds my insides. I know they’re doing this to ward off Edward Hamilton. If I’m out of the picture, they can assure him they’ve already taken disciplinary measures.
Edward Hamilton’s father has a university building named after him, and Edward has carried on the legacy of big donorship. The administration doesn’t want to lose that. If they could grant Maggie Hamilton a PhD just to appease Edward Hamilton, they would.
“What does she want?” I turn to look at Frances. “Does she want me to sign off on her thesis? Because I will, if it’ll shut her up.”
“Our goal is not to shut students up, Professor West,” Stafford says.