A whole shelf of his bookcase, positioned perfectly for Zoom appearances, is solid yellow withFalling Apart, one copy turned so its cover faces outward. He has precisely two dozen of them here—I’ve had ample time to count while I wait for him in this visitor’s chair in front of his desk. I bet he replenishes the supply each time he hands one out, no doubt offering to autograph it first.
I drove straight here from that whore’s apartment, and some kids lounging on the campus green were nice enough to point me the rest of the way. I was pleasantly surprised to find Curt’s door unlocked. It’ll make for a more dramatic opening, that’s for sure. He’s apparently in the midst of a lecture, which has given me forty-five minutes to pretend to care deeply about a Slack debate with Jordana and Taylor over which influencers should get comped overnight stays at The Bexley.
I left the office door open so I’d be able to hear Curt before he arrives. And I’m pretty sure that’s him coming down the corridor now, leather-bottomed dress shoes on high-polished hardwood, just like that day in Healy Hall. They get louder and louder, then stop.
“Oh, hello. I’m sorry, am I late for an appointment?”
My back is to the door, so he doesn’t realize it’s me yet. Like I said—dramatic.
I stand and turn to face him.
“What the fuck?” He staggers backward, looking frantically left to right. He’s thinking of yelling, or maybe running away. It’s hilarious.
“Calm down, Curt. You’re going to want to hear what I have to tell you—about Dottie Ross.”
Saying her name aloud in here sends a pleasant shiver up my spine. Curt goes sheet-white. He freezes, mouth gaping, considering his next move.
I help him along: “You should sit.”
His Adam’s apple bobs above the V-neck of his black sweater as he swallows. He slowly closes the door behind him and moves around me to the other side of his desk, lowering himself into the swivel chair. He stares straight ahead, waiting for me to speak.
“You should know I have the paper,” I say, sitting back down. “The one you plagiarized for the first chapter of your book.”
When I left West Virginia without it, I knew it was possible, even probable, that Dottie would never come through. But I’d siphoned enough details out of her to feel like I could still make this work. And judging by how Curt looks now—like he’s about to vomit all over his keyboard—I was right.
“Dottie gave it to me on the condition I don’t tell you where she is, or how to find her. She’s doing really well, by the way, considering how royally you fucked up her life.”
Curt’s eyes jump from my face to the exit behind me. As it dawns on him that he’s trapped himself, I flash him a smile.
He lets some silence settle between us, before clearing his throat.“I don’t know what you’re playing at, Margo, or what thisDottiehas told you, but I have no idea what paper you’re referring to.”
Ballsy choice.
“Really? You’re sure about that?”
He rests a hand atop the landline phone on his desk. “I’m calling campus security if you don’t leave immediately,” he says. His voice is calm, but I can see that his fingers are trembling.
“Go ahead, if that’s what you want to do.” I lean back in my chair, as if taking a little break from a scrumptious twelve-course prix fixe. “But I’m trying to do you a favor. I mean, if the wrong person got a hold of this information, it could really ruin things for you. For Jack and Penny, too.”
He lifts the receiver.
“The wire transfer from your dad is the part that’ll really fuck you, I think. I also have a copy of that.”
Curt sets the receiver back down. His gaze flits briefly to the door again.
“Paying someone off with fifty thousand bucks sure seems like bribery,” I continue, really hamming it up now, “but I guess I’m not a lawyer…”
He raises a hand, signaling that he’s heard enough. “You’ve made your point,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut, probably wishing he was anywhere else in the world. “I just, I don’t understand… How do you possibly know all this?”
“I already explained that. Dottie told me.”
He puts his elbows on the desk and cradles his face in his hands, massaging his temples.
I don’t think I’ve ever had this much fun.
“What do you want, then?” he asks, looking back up.
I scoff.
