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Toward the end, Mr. Evans stood at the front of the room, answering any last-minute questions. I took the opportunity to ask him a question of my own. "What made you interested in the psychology of breaking rules?"
Mr. Evans looked at me, his beautiful eyes piercing straight into my core, and said, "I've always been a bit of a rebel, Rory. I like to push boundaries and challenge the status quo. Psychology allowed me to explore this behavior on a deeper level."
Oh, my God.
9
Emory
“You can choose to believe whatever you want, Therese. But all I’m saying is, every position of influence comes with these hazards.”
I leaned back in my plush armchair, letting the fumes of the Cuban roll lazily around my nostrils. A small smile played on my lips as I inhaled the mix of musk and tobacco, two things that brought me huge comfort.
Every story had its evil character, but even we needed our little escapes.
I sat behind my desk, surveying the opulence of my surroundings. My office was a shrine to wealth and power, a testament to my own success and influence within the university.
The walls were lined with priceless works of art, paintings and sculptures that spoke of a long and illustrious history.
The air was heavy with the scents of old books and polished wood, and the plush armchair in which I sat was adorned with gold accents that glinted in the dim light.
The baroque influences were impossible to miss, from the ornate molding on the ceiling to the intricate carvings on the desk.
Every inch of the room spoke of an age of refinement and elegance, a time when men of my stature ruled over their domains with absolute authority.
The portraits of old leaders that hung on the walls stared down at me disapprovingly, as if to say that I had fallen short of their lofty standards.
But I knew better than to pay them any mind. I had achieved what they had only dreamed of, and I would not be cowed by their haughty glares.
I poured myself a glass of scotch from the crystal decanter on my desk, savoring the smoky aroma and the burn of the alcohol as it hit my tongue. It was a reminder of my own power, a symbol of the wealth and privilege that had been bestowed upon me by my position as head of administrative affairs of East Harbor.
Leaning back in my chair, I felt a surge of pride and satisfaction. This was my domain, my fiefdom, and no one could challenge my authority within these walls. I was the master of all I surveyed.
And I knew, deep down, that there was nothing I would not do to protect what was mine. The annoying voice of my wife, going on and on about how I’d endangered her family, did nothing to deter the great mood I was in.
Of course, she wasn’t completely wrong.
The rumor mill had been busy sharing stories about my alleged dark past. I was known to be ruthless in my pursuit of power and control. The world liked to call it problematic behavior. I preferred to view it as ambitious.
My mantra was simple. If someone dared cross me, they’d get what was coming for them. Take this wretched article in theCollege Watchmagazine.
The student reporter had tried, I’d give her that. She’d really nailed some things down. I should have been more careful when she came to me on the pretext of doing a paper on my subject— Archaeology. It was quite a pity, I thought to myself. She had a very lovely face. Those hips, those legs!
I flipped over the pages of the magazine to the offending article. It was a single page’s worth of information that was supposed to dethrone me from my kingdom.
I stifled a laugh. The kid should have known there were many before her who’d tried what she had. But no, what did she tell me?
“My vendetta is personal. You shouldn’t be here. Not after what you did to her.”
Ah, Emma. Beautiful, tragic Emma. I sighed as I remembered her once more. Pity she had to destroy her life like that. I was just having a bit of fun.
“This is a warning to all girl students who get invited to Mr. Abbot’s office. He will lure you in. He will show you dreams of getting published in a peer-reviewed journal and tell you you’ll catapult to academic heights the way no one has. It's not worth it.
I learned the hard way when one of my closest friends paid a terrible price just because she believed his words. And she isn’t the only one. For years, Emory Abbot has been abusing students at a whim.
His reputation as a master manipulator has preceded him. There are many who have whispered of his dealings. In fact, as I write this, I’m waiting on evidence pointing to a network of informants, all working for him.
Their apparent duty is to ensure every student attending college plays by his depraved rules.
