22. Erik
ERIK
Makari finishes reading the second shipping offer, squares it with the first, and leaves both purchase agreements in the center of my desk. "You're serious."
"I generally am when lawyers charge this much.
" I turn the first agreement back toward myself and check the signature page again.
Both buyers survived Liya's financial review, neither connects to Blackthorne, and the sale terms keep the legitimate routes operating under new ownership without leaving me a hidden lever to pull later.
Makari ignores the joke. He has been here since eight, first with route maps and now with contracts that remove two businesses he helped me build. "Two routes under offer. What happens after Orell?"
"I close the remaining exposure." I sign the routing sheet and put it beside the purchase agreements.
"That isn't what I asked." Makari picks up the first contract again, although he has already read every page. "What happens to you?"
I cap the pen and lean back. I could answer with university obligations, family assets, or the remaining security work. None addresses his question. "I propose to Rowan."
Makari stops turning the page, then lowers the agreement to the desk. "How long have you had the ring?"
"I don't." I watch him look around the office as if I might have hidden one among the contracts.
"That's poor planning."
"I have an appointment tonight." I reach for the second purchase agreement while he sits back again.
"You intend to wait until Orell is finished."
"Yes. I'm not asking her to marry me while someone is still trying to kill her family."
Makari closes the agreement. "The leak is still inside the university, Peter thinks restructuring is surrender, and Orell doesn't disappear because you want dinner at home with children in the hallway. I support what you're doing, but the old life will keep reaching for you."
I look at the contracts between us. A month ago, I would have answered by controlling more territory. I'm signing those routes away instead. "Rowan is worth restructuring everything."
Makari studies me, then gets to his feet and gathers the agreements. "Twenty years."
I look up from the contract. "What?"
"I've spent twenty years giving you strategic objections. That's the first time you've answered one with a person's name." He puts the contracts into the outgoing folder and leaves before I decide whether that deserves a response.
Richard arrives ten minutes later with Vanessa Reed and a communications-office access report. Vanessa takes the chair farthest from my desk, while Richard sits beside her only after I point to it. I leave the contracts where they are. "What happened?"
Richard puts the report in front of me. "Communications flagged repeated access to donor-event schedules from a student terminal. Reed's credentials appear on each session."
"I already told you why." Vanessa turns toward him, irritation sharpening the words.
"You told me after university security confronted you." Richard settles into the chair and crosses one leg. "That distinction matters."
I read the dates before looking at Vanessa. They line up with the donor reception, the foundation gala, and two smaller events Rowan attended with me. The records don't touch finance, security, or the files connected to Jeremy. "You accessed private donor schedules."
"Yes." Vanessa stays upright in the chair, more angry than afraid. "I wanted to know when Rowan would be with you."
Richard looks at her. "You understand how that sounds."
"I understand exactly how it sounds." Vanessa reaches into her bag and takes out a folded copy of the spirit schedule.
"I was building a file on favoritism. The program was suspended because of her father, then she started living with you.
She had access to private meetings, security, and donor events while the rest of us were waiting to learn whether we still had scholarships. "
"My recusal predates the reinstatement review." I leave the report open where she can see the filing date.
"I know." Vanessa looks at the date instead of me. "I was looking for proof that the recusal didn't matter, and I didn't find any."
I turn another page in the report. "Did you send photographs or schedules outside the university?"
"No." Vanessa puts her phone on the corner of my desk. "I didn't help Orell, and I didn't take money from anybody connected to Zaitsev. You can check it."
Richard looks at the phone. "Your attorney would probably advise against volunteering a device."
Vanessa's fingers stop beside it. "I don't have an attorney."
"You may want one before this week ends." Richard's warning finally puts a crack in Vanessa's anger.
I leave the phone where she put it. "Outside counsel can request it through the proper process. I'm recused from any matter touching Rowan or the spirit program, which includes deciding what happens to you over this."
Vanessa looks from the phone to me. "You really aren't going to take it."
"No. Student conduct can deal with the unauthorized access after independent counsel preserves the logs."
Richard pulls the report back toward himself. "That's already underway."
Vanessa stands, forgetting the phone until I point to it. She picks it up and shoulders her bag. "I didn't help Orell."
"I believe you. You still accessed restricted information to build a case against another student. Those are separate problems." I stay behind the desk while she absorbs the answer.
Her face hardens. "They aren't the same thing."
"No. That's why you're leaving through the front door instead of meeting security downstairs." Vanessa leaves without another word, and Richard watches the door close before reaching for the leather case beside his chair.
I keep my attention on Richard. "You brought her here yourself."
"She forced the issue." Richard removes a second folder and slides it across the desk. "There's more."
"There usually is." I open it.
Donor correspondence fills the first section, going back six weeks.
Three donors threaten to suspend pledged gifts unless athletics reopens.
Another offers to fund litigation by suspended athletes.
A fourth wants the trustees to replace me before enrollment suffers.
None of it is criminal, but every message belongs in the board record.
I close the folder halfway. "You concealed this."
"Yes." Richard doesn't bother with the administrator's version of the answer. "I was trying to stop a donor revolt before it became public."
He sits straighter when I turn the first message toward him. "You used presidential authority to keep six weeks of communications out of the trustees' record."
"Yes."
I rotate the folder back toward myself. "Why?"
Richard pushes it open again. "The university was already unstable. Aaron was dead, Jeremy had been publicly accused, athletics was suspended, and rumors about us were moving through donor circles. I wasn't adding a donor mutiny unless I had no choice."
"You always have a reason."
His composure finally slips. Richard gets up and crosses to the windows before turning back. "That doesn't make every reason corrupt. I protected Blackthorne. I didn't launder money for Orell Zaitsev."
I read the messages again while he stands near the glass. They explain his pressure on Rowan and his urgency to reopen athletics. They don't explain Aaron's death, Jeremy's copied folder, or the person feeding Orell information. "You should've disclosed them, and you should've told the board."
"Yes to both." Richard comes back to the desk and takes the folder when I release it. "If you think I spent thirty years running this university so I could become Orell Zaitsev's clerk, you have a remarkably low opinion of me."
"I have a documented opinion."
"That may be worse." He slides the folder into his case. "Outside counsel has the complete archive now."
I look at the case before he closes it. "That should've happened six weeks ago."
"I'm aware." Richard leaves with less ceremony than usual.
Peter is waiting outside my office when I open the door, which tells me Makari arranged the sequence. My uncle holds a folded piece of paper and his coat. "You may as well come in."
He closes the door behind himself and puts the paper beside the shipping agreements. The address belongs to a restaurant in Stamford, and I recognize the name from Zaitsev shipping surveillance. "You met an intermediary."
"Yes." Peter drapes his coat over the chair.
I unfold the paper and read the date beneath the address. "When?"
"Five weeks ago."
The meeting predates the gala. I stay behind the desk because standing will turn this into something else. "Why?"
"I wanted to know whether Orell would trade." Peter looks at the two sale agreements near my elbow.
I set the address down. "What did you offer?"
"Nothing." He sits. "Rival houses used to trade information or routes when both sides had more to lose from continuing."
"You went without authorization."
Peter settles against the chair. "Yes."
"You offered Danilov information."
"No. I offered to listen." His answer comes without hesitation. "Your father taught me the difference."
I push the restaurant address back across the desk. "What did Orell offer?"
"Nothing worth taking. He wanted Jeremy's originals and access to foundation accounts. I wanted to know whether he believed either was still available."
"You could've told me before you took the meeting."
Peter gives me the answer he knows I'll hate. "You would've refused it."
"Yes."
"That's why I didn't." He leans forward. "You've become more interested in permission than results."
"I've become interested in knowing when people near me create exposure."
Peter sits back again. "Your father would've taken the meeting."
"My father is dead." Peter stops, and I leave the words where they are. "He also left me a family where loyalty meant withholding whatever each person believed I couldn't handle. I'm changing that."
Peter's expression hardens. "For Rowan."
"For myself." I hold his stare until he looks toward the contracts instead.