Pawn's Play, page 8
Whit leaned back. “Yes, I did fire you. And I’m glad you brought that up. You know, earlier today we questioned two of the students whose grades were changed.”
Eugene shifted in his chair. “Y-you did?”
“Mm-hmm.” Whit opened the folder and read from the top page. “Kenneth Ellis and Donald Pearce. Do you know what they told us?”
“No.”
Whit scanned the page. “They admitted they paid someone to change their grades . . . but it wasn’t you. As a matter of fact, neither of them had ever even heard of you. They said they paid someone named Richard Maxwell to do it. Quite a bit of money too.”
“Oh.”
Whit closed the folder. “Now, how about the truth.”
Eugene looked at the table and slowly shook his head. “I-I can’t, Mr. Whittaker.”
Whit leaned in, placed his hand on Eugene’s arm, and squeezed it gently. “Eugene, please. This is very serious. Your whole future is at stake.”
Eugene took a deep breath and looked at his former employer. “Not only mine,” he said softly. “Please, Mr. Whittaker, let me do what I have to do. I ruined your relationship with Connie. Let me try to do something right.”
Whit let go of Eugene’s arm and leaned back in his chair. Suddenly the front-entrance door burst open. Whit and Eugene both jumped up as Nicholas rushed in, red faced and breathing hard. “Eugene!”
“Nicholas? What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been . . . looking for you . . . all over the building,” he panted.
“You’re supposed to be in the computer security room.”
“I was, until Mr. Burglemeister told me what happened.” Nicholas stepped closer and grabbed Eugene’s shirt. “You can’t do this! I won’t let you do this!”
Eugene gently removed the boy’s hand. “Go back to work, Nicholas. It’s too late.”
“No! It can’t be!” Nicholas suddenly noticed Whit. “Who are you?”
“I’m John Avery Whittaker. Who are you?”
“Nicholas Adamsworth. Are you in charge of this kangaroo trial?”
Whit chuckled. “I might be.”
“Then you have to stop it! You’re making a mistake. I don’t care if they send me back.”
Eugene put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “It’s all right—”
Nicholas wrenched away. “He didn’t do it, Mr. Whittaker! Eugene had nothing to do with it. I’ll tell you everything. I promise. Just don’t let Eugene get in trouble. Please!”
Whit looked at Eugene and then back at the boy. He nodded slowly. “All right, Nicholas. Maybe you’d better start talking, then. Have a seat.”
The boy took a deep breath. “Well, it all started when they made Richard Maxwell my student-counselor—”
Chapter Fourteen
Once Nicholas had finished his testimony, Whit called in the other board-of-inquiry members and shared it with them. Upon hearing it, things immediately kicked into high gear.
Dr. Grayson contacted campus security. The guards found Maxwell in his dorm room and escorted him to President’s Hall. He sauntered in, as calm and unperturbed as ever, looking around absently at the room’s architecture and decor as he stood next to Eugene and Nicholas. The odd sense of familiarity again came over Eugene when Maxwell stepped up next to him—what was it?—but he put it out of his mind again. The board members conferred privately for several minutes on their rulings about the trio standing before them, then resumed their places at the table. Dr. Grayson pulled the microphone closer and said, clearly and sternly, “Richard Maxwell.”
Maxwell raised his hand and smiled. “Yo! What can I do for you, your highness?”
“On the recommendation of this board of inquiry and as president of the college, I hereby expel you from this institution for your participation in the grade-changing scheme.”
Maxwell put one hand to his chest and the back of the other hand to his brow. “Oh dear! Oh my! I’m crushed. I’m heartbroken.” He then chuckled at his fake anguish.
Grayson was not amused. “I’m also strongly recommending that you not get into any other college in this state.”
Maxwell shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me. I’ve got a better job lined up anyway.”
Grayson leaned forward. “Consider yourself fortunate that we aren’t pressing charges with the police.” He nodded toward Whit. “You have Mr. Whittaker to thank for that.”
Maxwell smiled at Whit. “Oh, I’m grateful, your holiness.”
Grayson scowled and then said, “Nicholas Adamsworth.”
The boy stepped forward. “Y-yes, sir?”
“For your participation in this illegal activity, the board recommends that you be placed on indefinite probation . . . here at the college.”
Nicholas’s eyes brightened. “You . . . you mean . . . you’re not sending me back to the group home?”
Grayson smiled slightly. “We’re not sending you back.”
For a moment the boy lost all intellectual composure. He smiled broadly, leaped in the air, and yelled, “Yippeee!” Then he caught himself and settled back into his reserved stance, though he still smiled broadly. “I-I mean thank you, sir. I am extremely grateful.”
Grayson and the other board members stifled their amusement, and Grayson’s stentorian tone returned. “Eugene Mel—ah, Melts—uh—”
Eugene stepped forward. “Meltsner, sir.”
Grayson nodded. “Exactly. Because of your participation in the grade-changing scheme, willingly or unwillingly, we are relieving you of your position here at the college and placing you under the supervision of a member of our board of trustees.”
Eugene’s brow furrowed. “I . . . I beg your pardon? I’m not sure I understand. You’re firing me?”
Grayson shook his head. “Not exactly. We’re transferring you. You will finish your graduate internship where it started.”
“But . . . that was at . . . Mr. Whittaker?”
Whit smiled. “Eugene, based on the sacrificial way I’ve seen you behave today, I would be pleased if you would come back to work at Whit’s End.”
Eugene glanced around the room, leaned in toward Whit, and said in a low voice, “But what about App—?”
Whit held up his hand. “I think you’ve learned your lesson. I think you’ve learned it very well.” He turned his hand over and held it out. “Will you come back?”
Eugene rose to his full height, straightened his shoulders, smiled broadly, and said, “Mr. Whittaker, I would be proud and honored to offer my meager ministrations as your most obsequious—”
“Just say yes, Eugene.”
“Yes, Eugene.”
Grayson looked from person to person and then nodded and said, “This meeting is adjourned.”
Nicholas cheered and clapped. The board members rose and shook hands, and Grayson and Harris departed through the back door. Whit rounded the table and walked up to Eugene and Nicholas, who had stopped clapping long enough to hug Eugene around the waist. “Yay! Thanks, Eugene!”
“You did it, Nicholas. Thank you.”
“Congratulations to you both,” said Whit. “Now maybe things can get back to normal!”
The three of them continued to talk happily, taking little note of Richard Maxwell, who had strolled toward the front door.
He smirked and muttered, “I wouldn’t count on it, Mr. Whittaker. I wouldn’t count on it at all.”
Preview of Book Three
Dr. Regis Blackgaard exploded with fury.
“Expelled, Richard? You got expelled from Campbell College over a lousy grade-changing scheme?” The speakerphone on Philip Glossman’s desk distorted with the volume of the outburst.
Maxwell winced at the sound and stared across the desk at Glossman, who leaned back in his office chair, his arms crossed over his potbelly, and smiled blissfully at the verbal lashing Maxwell was receiving.
“I thought you were smart, clever! But apparently you don’t even have any common sense! Why would you do something so idiotic?”
Maxwell shrugged. “Hey, you cut off my extra income from the retirement home, remember?”
“You’ve jeopardized this operation for a little extra income?”
“I didn’t jeopardize—”
“You could have been arrested! You could have attracted police attention—”
“But I wasn’t and I didn’t, thanks to Whittaker. I knew he’d convince them not to get the police involved.” Maxwell smirked. “He’s a goody two-shoes like the rest of them—the biggest one of all, in fact. He’s all about giving people second chances.”
Blackgaard’s voice turned deadly. “Well I am not about giving people second chances, Richard.”
Maxwell suppressed the chill that went down his spine. He opened his mouth to respond, when Glossman leaned forward and cut in. “Of course, the worst part in all of this is that you didn’t get Applesauce. You didn’t even try. And now you won’t be able to.” He leaned back and smiled once again.
You’re just loving this, aren’t you, Councilman? Maxwell thought. Well, see how much you love this. He sniffed and said aloud, “Actually, I did try.”
Glossman’s smile evaporated. The speakerphone sat silent. Maxwell tapped on it and said, “Hello? Did we lose you there, Doc?”
“You tried to download Applesauce?”
“Yep.”
“And? What happened?”
Maxwell shrugged again. “I couldn’t do it from that computer.”
Glossman leaned forward and put his hands on the desk. “Wait a minute. Back at the warehouse, you said you could do it on that computer.”
“Maybe,” Maxwell retorted. “I said maybe I could do it. Turns out Burglemeister may be a coot, but he’s no dope. He knows his stuff. He wrote in a subroutine that notifies him when the system is being used for purposes other than those for which it was designed. I had to cover my tracks, so I hid what I did under what Meltsner was doing. That’s how Burglemeister nailed him for changing the grades back.”
“But you still got caught.” Glossman sneered.
“Yeah, well, I thought I had better control over little Nicky,” Maxwell replied. “Who knew? The point is, I couldn’t have used that computer. I’m gonna need a dedicated computer with its own access, and a secure, private place to operate it from.” He stared at Glossman. “Assuming, that is, that we’ll actually get such a place. How’s the Gower’s Landing shopping complex acquisition coming, Glossy? Mansfield Computers still givin’ you fits?”
Glossman’s face reddened and contorted with rage. He popped out of his chair and started for Maxwell. “You slimy little sneak! I oughta—”
“Sit down, Philip!” Blackgaard said in a cold, hard voice.
Glossman stopped and gaped at the speakerphone, then slowly sank back into his chair. Maxwell was impressed. How did Blackgaard know Glossman had jumped up? Did he have a video camera in this office? Maxwell restrained himself from glancing around the room as Blackgaard continued.
“He’s right. We still don’t have the building secured. And now, apparently, we’re going to need it more than ever.”
Glossman tugged at his collar. “I’m meeting with Webster again tomorrow, sir. We’ll do everything we can.”
Maxwell chuckled. “So far that hasn’t been much.” Glossman started to rise again, but Maxwell put up his hands. “Sorry—cheap shot. Listen, boys, I think I can help you out here.”
Glossman scowled. “You think—”
“Quiet, Philip. Do go on, Richard.”
Maxwell grinned and winked at Glossman, whose face reddened again. Maxwell rose from his chair and paced the room. “Before I came here today, I stopped by Odyssey Retirement Home.”
“Stealing from them again?” said Glossman with a sneer.
Maxwell chuckled. “Oh, no, no. Nothing like that. I just wanted to say hi to some of the old folks there, particularly someone named Mary Hooper. Sad case, really. Her family put her in the home when her husband died. Easy to see why: she’s not a very nice person. She’s grouchy, snippy, and downright mean most of the time—even to kids like my sister’s friend Donna. The family put Mary in the home because they don’t want her living with them. I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t want her living with me, either. She sort of made up with her daughter a few weeks back, but I can tell you firsthand that Mary Hooper does not like her son-in-law, in the least.”
There was a low growl from the speakerphone. “Getting bored, Richard. Is this going somewhere?”
Maxwell slid back into his chair and smiled at Glossman. “While I was at the home, I checked the records. Y’know, they really need to improve their security on those things. I mean it’s private information, after all—”
“The point, Richard!”
Maxwell leaned in toward the speakerphone. “Mary Hooper’s son-in-law—the one who doesn’t want her living with him—is Bob Mansfield, owner of Mansfield Computers.”
Phil Lollar, Pawn's Play
