The crowd stirs with murmurs of surprise.
“Professor West is guilty of blackmail when he insists his students turn in their best work before he’ll give them a good grade.
“Professor West is guilty of insider trading when he puts students in touch with his colleagues in the United States and Europe so they can expand their research skills and be considered for career positions.
“Professor West is guilty of plagiarism when he copies his personal articles and quotes critical papers to help his students with their research.
“Professor West is guilty of fraud when he expects his students to know all the facets of history, yet only tests us on some of the material.
“And all of Professor West’s students agree that he is most assuredly guilty of boring us to death when he gets started talking about the economic history of Cistercian monasteries,” Jessica adds.
Appreciative laughter rises from the crowd. I look at Liv, who is swiping her eyes with a tissue.
“But as far as we are concerned, all professors should be guilty of such crimes,” Jessica concludes. “Professor West is a true scholar, a supportive and innovative mentor whom we all admire and respect beyond measure. And if anyone… anyone… believes that Professor West is not an immense asset to this university and the community… that would be the real crime.”
Jessica steps back from the microphone. The group of students begins to applaud, a resounding noise that grows to a thunderous pitch when the rest of the crowd gets to their feet and joins in.
I close my fingers around the back of a chair. The room is a blur.
“Order!” Radcliffe shouts, banging his fist on the table. “Order, please!”
The crowd quiets down, people resuming their seats under Radcliffe’s glare.
“Thank you, Miss Burke,” Radcliffe says curtly. “Now I will confer with my colleagues in private before coming to a resolution.”
After he announces a short break, I approach my students to extend thanks that will never be enough and gratitude that is boundless. I shake Stafford’s hand and hug Kelsey. It’s a half hour later when the board members return, and Radcliffe orders everyone to be seated.
I sit down next to Liv, who has composed herself after a crying jag that left her red-eyed, blotchy-faced, and smiling from ear to ear.
“This hearing was convened in order to investigate Professor Dean West’s misconduct,” Radcliffe says, shooting me a glare. “In order to protect both our faculty and students, it is critical that we take accusations of wrongdoing very seriously and carry out thorough investigations.”
The room grows quiet.
“However,” Radcliffe continues, “Mr. Stafford of the Office of Judicial Affairs, a dedicated man who is approaching his fifteenth year of employment at King’s, has spent a great deal of time investigating the matter. And given the development with Miss Hamilton, the board of trustees is fully prepared to accept Mr. Stafford’s recommendation and permanently close any such case against Professor West.”
The tightness in my shoulders loosens. Applause begins to echo against the walls of the room. Radcliffe slams his hand on the table.
“Quiet, please,” he orders. “I am not finished. Professor West must account for his arrest by issuing a public apology and stating that the incident had nothing to do with King’s University.”
He shoots me a glare. I nod in agreement.
“Also,” Radcliffe continues, “in light of the students’ testimony… such as it was… and the fact that the members of the board were sorry to receive Professor West’s letter of resignation in the first place, we would ask that he reconsider leaving King’s University and remain in his position as professor of Medieval Studies in the Department of History.”
Disbelief fills me. Cheers erupt from the crowd. Radcliffe holds up his hand for silence again.
“With the understanding, Professor West,” he adds, still glaring at me, “that you will report to the board of trustees once a month for the next year so that we can supervise your conduct.”
Kelsey pushes the microphone at me. I stand and approach the table.
“Understood, Chancellor,” I say, my voice hoarse.
“You have two days to rescind your resignation, Professor West,” Radcliffe says. “This hearing is officially concluded. Thank you all for your time and… so-called attention.”
Noise fills the hall as the spectators push to their feet, voices rising in animated chatter. A wall of people closes between me and Liv. I spend the next hour thanking people and accepting their congratulations.
“We just heard about Jeffrey Butler and Maggie, with some unpleasant video evidence,” Frances murmurs to me when the crowd disperses. “Her father has declined to press assault charges against you because he’s scared shitless of the publicity. Pardon my French.”
“So it’s over?”
“It’s over.” She squeezes my arm. “Welcome back, Dean.”