The Professor (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #1)(21)
Tom glared at Jameson. “Since when is helping a student get to her car in the rain some type of offense?” Tom asked, trying to keep his voice steady, as he put the photographs back in the envelope and slid them back to Jameson.
“It is my opinion and that of the Board that the conduct captured in those photographs and described by the Dean is inappropriate,” Jameson continued, his voice grave. “Out of respect for you and the memory of your deceased wife, Julie, the Board has decided, per my recommendation, that this allegation will not be included in your written reprimand, but you should know that it was a factor.”
That was it.
For the third time in the last fifteen minutes, Tom felt like he’d been punched in the gut, but this one was too much for him to take.
He took two swift steps towards Jameson and grabbed him by the collar, slammed his back against the wall and held him three feet off the ground.
“Professor, you’re choking me.”
Tom shook him, and got within an inch of his eyes. “Don’t you ever mention my wife’s name in front of me again. Don’t you ever refer to her as if you knew her. You address her as Mrs McMurtrie, you backstabbing sonofabitch.” Tom heard the Dean call security, and felt an arm on his shoulder. It was Rufus. “Let him down, Tom. It’s OK. I want to do it, too, but just let him down.”
Slowly, Tom lowered his former student and confidant to the ground. “How could you do this to me? You were my friend, Jameson. I trusted you. Why...”
“Thanks for proving my case,” Jameson whispered. Then, straightening his coat, he addressed the rest of the Board. “I think you should now see the wisdom in your decision today, and the reasoning behind my recommendation. What if he did that to a student? Or another teacher?”
“You baited him, you sonofabitch. You set him up.” Rufus Cole lunged for Jameson, but Tom caught Rufus’ arm. “That won’t be necessary, Rufus.”
“As University attorney, I hereby recommend that this Board change its action from reprimand to suspension,” Jameson said, his voice loud and authoritative. “The Professor is obviously not himself and needs some time to... get it together. Three months’ suspension. Then, if he comes back and agrees to the conditions referenced today, he can continue on the faculty. All in favor?”
“There won’t be need for a vote,” Tom said, hearing the fatigue in his voice. The adrenaline rush was gone.
He walked slowly down the table and stopped when he reached the door. Turning, he forced himself to smile at Jameson. “Thirty years you’ve been my friend. I hope that selling me out was worth it to you.”
“My client sought my advice and counsel, and I gave it. It would have been unethical to put loyalty to you over my client’s interests.”
“Unprofitable, more like it,” Tom spat. “Dean Lambert has wanted rid of me since the moment he took over. He asked your opinion, and you gave the one that allowed you to bill hours and make money.”
“I gave the one that was sound. You put your hands on two students. One in anger and the other in lust. There are grounds here for termination, but the Board, in my opinion, is being lenient for all of the reasons that Rufus mentioned.”
Tom shook his head, looking out over the Board members. “I congratulate you on your ambush. I’ll have you know that what the Dean witnessed and what is seen in the photographs were both simply harmless displays of affection by a young student glad to get a job and appreciative of an umbrella. I hope this Board won’t take any action against her and will keep her name in confidence.”
“No action against her is planned,” Dean Lambert said. “The Board sees you as the guilty party, Professor. As with Rick Drake, the student is an innocent and her name will remain confidential.”
Tom nodded, feeling the bitterness begin to invade his exhausted body. “This Board has given me no alternative but to step down. I won’t accept a suspension and I won’t work under your bullshit conditions.”
Jameson frowned disingenuously. “Professor, please know that no one here wants you to...”
“Shut up, Jameson,” Tom interrupted. “I’ve had enough bullshit today. I’ll have my things removed from the office this weekend.”
“Professor,” Dean Lambert said, his eyes and voice excited. “Perhaps as a show of gratitude and a way to bring closure to the situation, we could hold a banquet in your–”
“Not only no–” Tom cut him off “–but hell, no. No banquets, no ceremonies, no bullshit.” Tom paused, looking at all of them for a couple of seconds. “Just leave me the hell alone.” He grabbed the doorknob.
“Professor, please...”
But Lambert’s voice was lost in the sound of the mahogany door slamming shut.
16
Tom stood with his hands on his knees, staring down into the toilet bowl. He had walked straight to the bathroom after the meeting, and vomited up his breakfast. Now, ten minutes of dry heaving later, he still felt nauseated but he didn’t have the energy to puke anymore. He flushed the commode and leaned his hands against the concrete.
He couldn’t believe it. Jameson Tyler had eaten in his home numerous times over the past thirty years, first as a student, then as a young lawyer and, finally, as a trusted friend. When Julie had been dying, Jameson had come to the hospital a couple of times.