“We understand that, Phil,” Muffy says in a soothing tone. “But you can’t blame the faculty, let alone the students, for objecting when they find out their shiny new classrooms have been paid for with money donated by murderers, misogynists, and anti-Semites.”
“Now hold on there,” a businessman in a yellow power tie cries, almost spilling his coffee in his haste to put it down. “That’s not what we’re doing.”
“Isn’t it?” Muffy asks sweetly. “Do you remember what all those college kids did back in the eighties when they found out their schools held financial investments in South Africa?”
Dr. Jessup dutifully holds up his hand as if we’re in a classroom, but Muffy doesn’t call on him.
“They set up little ol’ tent villages outside the administration buildings, demanding divestment and an end to apartheid,” she goes on. “I was only a little girl myself when that happened, but even I remember it was not a pretty sight.”
“But we’re not invested in Qalif,” Yellow Power Tie says in exasperation.
“Aren’t we?” I ask. “The heir to its throne is living in one of our residence halls. We’ve taken half a billion dollars from his father. I could see how that might be enough to anger some people.”
“Like that girl in the GSC,” Charlie says. “What was her name?”
“That’s not who I meant,” I say hastily. “Sarah’s our office’s grad student assistant, and while she’s no fan of Qalif, I can personally guarantee that she isn’t the leak.” At least, I hope I can. “Sarah loves New York College, just like she loves Fischer Hall and its residents. She would do anything to protect them. She’s the one who brought the piece in The Express on Prince Rashid to our attention this morning.”
“That doesn’t mean she didn’t write it,” Yellow Power Tie says with a bitter laugh. “If she showed it to you, it’s probably because she is the leak. Leaks can never wait to show off their handiwork.”
I glare at him. This is a classic example of how wars get started, I think, because some blowhard sitting in an ivory tower, high above the commoners, starts spouting off about something of which he knows nothing.
“No,” Muffy says, coming to my (and Sarah’s) defense. “Heather’s right. I know Sarah. She might not agree with the school’s politics, but she wouldn’t do anything to endanger her residents.”
“But we know the leak is coming from somewhere in your building!” Charlie cries. “Who else could it be? I thought only the freshman and transfer students had checked in this week. What would any of them care about where we’re getting our donations? They’re still feeling lucky to have been admitted here at all.”
He has a point.
“It’s possible it could be someone else on the staff,” I admit. “Someone besides Sarah. There are a lot of new resident assistants this year, and some of them haven’t exercised the best judgment. They were all at Prince Rashid’s party, for example. One of them died afterward, and the rest of them didn’t even admit to us that they’d been there themselves, or that they’d seen her there. We caught them on the video monitors. Lisa’s planning on putting them on probation to teach them a lesson.”
There are a few seconds of silence as the men—and Muffy and Gloria, who is just coming in with a plate of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies—digest this. Then Bill says, “Well, heck. Skip the probation. Why not fire them?”
Charlie closes his briefcase with a snap. “Sounds good to me.”
“The damage is already done,” Muffy says musingly, “but if one of them is the leak, termination would eliminate the problem. They’ve already violated their employment contract once, and proved they can’t be trusted.”
“Agreed.” Yellow Power Tie lifts his coffee cup again, clearly in a celebratory mood. “But before they move out, we’ll have to make sure they sign confidentiality agreements that they won’t discuss anything they’ve seen inside the building, or they’ll be expelled.”
A guy in a blue tie begins making a note on his smartphone. “I’ll have Legal write something up. Should have it ready to be placed in their mailboxes by five o’clock. That way,” he adds with a diabolical grin, “when their parents start calling our offices to bitch and moan about having to start paying their room and board, we’ll all have gone home.”
“I like it,” says the president, rubbing his hands together with glee. “How about one of those cookies, Gloria? They smell amazing.”
Gloria beams and walks toward him. “Fresh baked, the way you like them, Phil.”
“Wait,” I say. My heart is pounding in my chest. “I said it’s possible one of them might be the leak. You can’t kick all of them out of the building . . . especially not without any warning!”
“We just did,” says Charlie with a shrug.
I feel a rush of emotions . . . mainly concern and worry for Fischer Hall. What will happen to the building if we fire nine members of the student staff, then have to replace them all—and train their replacements—a week before classes start?
It’s going to be a nightmare . . . almost as bad as the nightmare of losing an RA to natural causes.
I’d known there’d be repercussions from what I’d seen on the security tape, but that this would be one of them had never occurred to me.
“Now, hold on here a minute.” Dr. Jessup looks uncomfortable. “I don’t mean to be the bad guy here, and I agree these RAs screwed up and need to be disciplined. But they’re still students. We can’t throw them out onto the street. They were promised room and board for the academic year.”
“They fucked up, Stan,” Bill says, munching on a cookie. “When you fuck up, shit gets real.”
“We don’t even know for sure any of them is the leak,” I say, grasping at straws. “We can’t punish all of them for what one of them may have done.”
“Really?” The guy in the blue tie presses send on his phone and smiles at me. “Seems to me they all bit from the forbidden fruit by going to the prince’s party. Now they gotta pay the price, like Adam and Eve.”
Lisa comes hurrying back into the room, looking flushed but much better than she had earlier, and takes her seat.