After the trustees sit down and confer, Chancellor Radcliffe calls the hearing to order and begins with an account of my arrest.
“As a member of this faculty, Professor West,” he says, “you are upheld to a code of conduct that you have publicly violated. You also stand accused of ethically questionable conduct which we will further investigate. You may deliver a preliminary statement in your defense, if you wish.”
I detach my hand from Liv’s and move to the microphone. Take a folded piece of paper from my pocket and open it.
“My name is Dean West, professor of Medieval Studies, PhD summa cum laude, Harvard University. I have…” My throat tightens. I pause and swallow hard.
“I have spent my adult life in the pursuit of knowledge and education. I believe strongly in academic freedom and hold both myself and my students to the highest standards of scholarship. I have never once violated the educational process or the trust and authority placed in me as a faculty member at any institution. It has been my honor to represent King’s University and to work with the outstanding students and faculty here. I would—”
“Excuse me, Professor West.”
We all turn. Frances Hunter strides down the center of the room from the main entrance. In a tailored, dark green suit, her hair steely gray, she looks like a general marching into battle. She stops beside me, shouldering me out of the way to reach the microphone.
“Chancellor Radcliffe, I apologize for interrupting,” she says, “but I must inform you that one of the scheduled witnesses will not be appearing at today’s proceedings.”
Radcliffe peers at her over the tops of his glasses. “Who, Professor Hunter?”
“Miss Hamilton’s father, Edward Hamilton.”
“What?” Maggie rises from her seat, paling. “How do you know? What happened?”
Frances shoots her a scathing look and returns her attention to the chancellor.
“We received word that Mr. Hamilton has left town and returned to Chicago,” Frances continues, “in light of our discovery that Miss Hamilton’s academic progress at King’s was severely compromised under the advisement of Professor Jeffrey Butler.”
Maggie gasps. The crowd stirs. Radcliffe frowns.
“To what are you referring, Professor Hunter?” he asks.
“Miss Hamilton allegedly had an affair with Professor Butler.” Frances sounds almost triumphant. “Given that he was her advisor, it was a breach of university regulations on both their parts. Miss Hamilton has very poor academic credentials, and appears to have attempted to find another way to graduate from King’s.”
“That’s not true!” Maggie cries, turning to point an accusing finger at me. “He’s the one who has stopped me from finishing my thesis because he wanted—”
“I wanted you to do your work,” I interrupt.
“Excuse me, Chancellor.”
We all turn again as there is another rustle from the crowd, one of the spectators standing. Ben Stafford pushes past a row of people to reach the microphone, nudging Frances aside.
“Ben Stafford, Office of Judicial Affairs,” he says. “I must unequivocally state that any case or claim from Miss Hamilton involving Professor West was determined by me personally to be entirely unfounded.”
“We know, Mr. Stafford,” Radcliffe replies. “Our purpose here is—”
“I understand that this hearing is intended for further investigation,” Stafford interrupts, “but given Miss Hamilton’s poor academic record and her relationship with Jeffrey Butler, it’s clear that she was motivated by revenge toward Professor West. Therefore, may I please request that the board dismiss and permanently close their investigation of such a case?”
Behind me, I hear Liv’s intake of breath. Under my locked defenses, a faint flicker of hope comes to life.
“I would further suggest,” Frances adds, slanting another narrow glance at Maggie, “that we no longer devalue King’s University by allowing Miss Hamilton to remain a student here. She is responsible for this entire fiasco. If she does not withdraw from the university herself, I strongly recommend that the board consider expelling her.”
Maggie takes a step back, her eyes darting from Frances to me to the board, as if she’s a trapped animal seeking escape. Radcliffe and the other board members exchange glances.
“And,” Frances adds, “I’m quite certain the faculty and students of the Department of History would provide statements about Miss Hamilton’s conduct and lack of academic ability. Perhaps Jeffrey Butler would too.”
Maggie goes sheet-white. “He was my advisor! He would never say anything against me. And my father has donated buckets of money to this university, so if you think—”
“What I think,” Frances replies tartly, “is that you are a spoiled little girl and a liar who never deserved to be admitted to King’s University.”
A stunned silence falls over the room. The board members shift in their seats and reach out to cover their microphones as they lean toward each other with low whispers.