Chapter 8 - The Confrontation at the Dean's Office
Two days later, with Lily stable and resting comfortably under heavy guard in a private recovery suite, I had one final stop to make before leaving Peoria.
Bradley University Administration Building.
I walked up the grand stone steps of Bradley Hall, pushing open the heavy oak doors. The interior was lined with polished mahogany trim, oil paintings of past university presidents, and thick oriental rugs that muffled my footsteps.
I bypassed the receptionist desk entirely, walking straight through the double doors marked OFFICE OF THE PRESIDENT.
Dr. Arthur Sterling—billionaire philanthropist, chairman of the board of trustees, and father of the coward who had tried to murder my daughter—was sitting behind an enormous mahogany desk, signing documents with a gold-plated fountain pen.
He didn't look up immediately. "I told my secretary I am not taking press inquiries today—"
"I'm not the press, Arthur," I said.
President Sterling stopped writing. He slowly raised his head, his cold, aristocratic eyes narrowing as he recognized me. He didn't flinch. Decades of unearned power had insulated him from consequences for so long that he probably thought he was untouchable.
"Mr. Mercer," Sterling said smoothly, leaning back in his leather chair and lacing his fingers together over his stomach. "I suppose you're here to demand some sort of financial settlement for your daughter's medical bills. Let me save you the trouble. The university's legal team is prepared to offer a substantial NDA-bound payout to ensure this unfortunate misunderstanding is resolved quietly."
I stared at him. The sheer arrogance of the man made my blood boil.
"You think this is about money?" I asked, walking slowly across the room until I was standing directly in front of his desk.
"Everything is about money, Mr. Mercer," Sterling replied with a chilling smile. "Your daughter wandered into a high-security research wing where she didn't belong. My son reacted impulsively to protect proprietary corporate data. It's a tragedy, yes, but boys will be boys, and accidents happen."
"An accident," I repeated softly.
I reached into my jacket pocket, pulled out a thick manila folder containing copies of the federal audit, the offshore wire transfers, and Chad’s signed confession, and dropped it heavily onto his desk.
"That's not an accident, Arthur. That's a RICO indictment," I said. "Your son is currently sitting in a county jail cell facing attempted murder charges. Your corporate lab has been seized by federal agents. And your board of trustees is holding an emergency vote to strip you of your chairmanship by sundown."
Sterling’s aristocratic composure finally fractured. His face turned an ashen gray as he opened the folder, scanning the first page of federal charges.
"You... you can't do this," Sterling stammered, standing up so fast his chair rolled back and crashed into the wood paneling behind him. "I built this university! I funded the science complex! The state attorney general won't touch me!"
"The Attorney General already signed the warrants," I said, turning toward the door. "And as for your legacy, Arthur? It's burning to the ground."
I stopped at the doorway, looking back over my shoulder one last time.
May you like
"If you ever try to contact my daughter, or if any of your corporate goons ever come near my family again, I won't call the police. I'll handle it myself. Do we understand each other?"
Sterling didn't answer. He just stood behind his desk, trembling with impotent rage, staring at the ruined empire spread out across his mahogany table.
