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These minions feed him information on everything from student movements, to new students of interest, to the secrets of the faculty.
I will come to my encounter with the Head of Administrative Affairs shortly. Before that, here is what else I know. A year ago, Mr. Abbot’s first wife filed charges of domestic violence against him.
The authorities hushed everything up, and two weeks after her filing charges, Mrs. Abbot disappeared from the face of the earth. The same has happened to female students who have dared question Mr. Abbot’s tactics.
One could wonder if he is a modern day Bluebeard with secret keys to a room where he holds women captive for his depravities.”
I paused at that point, unable to keep myself from chuckling. I had to admit, even for someone as cold as the journalist, she’d gotten the comparison down to the T. I could be a Bluebeard, if he were as cautious as me. But no, he got too careless in the end.
Villains could never afford to sleep too deeply.
“Despite his obvious and many transgressions over the years, from abusing female students to firing teachers who protested against his fiefdom, Dr. Abbot continues to be respected by the board of trustees. The lack of documented evidence, for one, is appalling. I hope to change that.
He has been seen as a capable administrator and a savvy navigator in the cutthroat world of academia. But a few of us know better, because we have seen the cold, calculating soul beneath the polished exterior.
And woe to anyone who dared to cross him, for they would surely pay the price for their folly. So, what do I stand to gain?
My aim going into this was to find out the real truth in Emma Moore’s case.
Dr. Adams’s office holds impossibly expensive artifacts, symbols of the cultural heritage of the university. He sits there in his chair, behind an expensive mahogany table.
As I walk over to him, he motions for me to sit down and says he has taken a keen interest in my work. Then, he leans over and places a smooth hand over mine. This palm has known no hard work, no toil. It feels like slime on my skin.
He tells me he will personally help me get published in an international peer-reviewed journal—one that would be a dream, were I really a research associate—if I spend some time getting to know him better.
Sickened to my stomach, I stand up and proceed toward the exit. He quickly gets up and strides over to me. Before I can reach the door, he whirls me around and looks into my eyes.
This man is a predator.
He tells me to be very careful about what decision I make now. I squeeze my eyes shut and bolt from there.”
I stopped reading at this point. The rest of the story was quite boring, honestly.
I found out about this issue by virtue of my network of spies (so eloquently said)—the day before it went to print. So, I was one of the lucky few people with a copy.
I used all my influence. Pulled all the strings I knew.
It was a waste of everyone's time, honestly, because this was one of those college publications young'uns used to air their innumerable issues with the status quo. They'd find reasons to complain even if they got what they wanted.
Now, I wasn't one to interfere with the First Amendment and tell our students they couldn't say the shit on their minds. I enjoyed their political banter on occasion. But this? This was sensational crap.
I did what any concerned head would and called the student's father.
Without going into suffocating details, he owed me big time. His woke daughter would have no school to go to if we let her go.
East Harbor's college-sponsored summer fest, Equinox, happened two days after my unfortunate encounter with her. Call it foresight, but I knew she was trouble.
So, I had my beloved network get her high and send some lovely pictures and videos my way. That was real documented evidence, stuff that could get her expelled and removed from any academic scene. That was doing a proper job. I could have taught her a lot.
When her father came groveling after receiving intimation of his daughter's behavior, I treated him kindly. It was more than what he deserved.
I just had one condition. His kid could stay, but she'd need to take her words back, put out an apology, and shut the fuck up.
Worked out pretty well.
Couldn’t leave any loose ends. Again, a point of difference between me and Bluebeard.
Life, if you asked me, was no different from a game of chess. Every move you’d make would have consequences rippling outward. In my game of chess, there were no winners or losers.
