Page 176 of Thorns of Malice

My gut churns. I text back.

Me: His father should be proud of him.

Dean Bramwell: This is an atrocity. Do you know the shit that his father's going to get over this? He can't even show his face in the country club right now.

A ball of anger grows within me.

Me: You just signed your resignation.

A moment passes.

Dean Bramwell: What the fuck are you talking about?

Me: You're used up, Bramwell. All this happened under your watch. You're done. Don't contact me again.

I put the TV on mute, then pull up my email and draft a new message. In the address line, I type inClifton Board. The subject line states:Dean Bramwell. Then, I construct a letter.

To all board members,

The disgrace currently tarnishing Clifton University occurred under Dean Bramwell's watch. Dozens of events happened over the span of a decade, all while he was in charge.

Clearly, he doesn't know how to supervise his staff or students. I demand that he step down as dean, or I will no longer donate any funds to Clifton University.

This is nonnegotiable.

Sincerely,

Dax Carrington

Isend the email and then sit back. I refocus on the TV and lean closer, turning the volume back on.

The view has switched to two photos, one of Avery and one of Dyer.

The news reporter states,"While both parties' representation has stated no comment, it looks like the police aren't wasting any time."

The screen splits into two videos. Avery's in one; Dyer's in the other. Both are in handcuffs and being escorted toward cop cars.

My phone rings, and more giddiness hits me. I mute the TV. Once again, I let the phone ring a few times before I pick it up. I rise and walk to the window, staring out at the ocean.

Bobby's father barks, "This is out of control, Dax. You caused this. I expect you to fix it."

"I'm not sure what you want me to do," I taunt.

He demands, "We need to meet.Now."

"Sorry. Can't do that."

"I'm not joking, son. We need to meet today," he repeats.

I state, "Sorry. I'm booked all day. It's not going to happen."

He roars, "I said I need a meeting with you!"

I wait a few extra seconds, staring at the waves. Then I finally offer, "We can meet tomorrow. I'll have my assistant let yours know what time." I hang up and then hit the intercom on my phone.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Carrington?" Michelle asks.

"Send a notice of an emergency meeting to our PR teams. I want a video conference in thirty minutes with all of them."

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