Page 40 of You Owe Me (21 Rumors #2)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Rumor has it, he owns the entire university.

Maverick

“Dad?” Carter’s voice cracks like he’s thirteen again and just got caught with his father’s credit card. “What’s he talking about? What deal?”

Dean Mills doesn’t answer immediately. Just stares at the IOU card like it’s a death sentence. Which, in a way, it is.

His shoulders sag slightly—the weight of three years of carefully buried secrets settling back onto his spine. When he finally looks up at his son, there’s something broken in his expression. Resignation mixed with the kind of paternal disappointment that cuts deeper than any blade.

“Carter, shut up.”

I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. “Smart man.”

Across the table, Ainsley’s eyes are wide with something between shock and fascination.

She’s putting the pieces together—the IOU, the dean’s reaction, the way Carter’s bravado has evaporated like smoke in the wind.

My brilliant girl, always three steps ahead, except this time, she’s the one being surprised.

Good. I like keeping her on her toes.

“You see, Carter,” I continue, my voice carrying that edge of conversational menace that makes grown men nervous, “your father came to me three years ago with a very interesting problem. Something about his son’s… academic irregularities.”

Carter’s mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air. “That’s not—you can’t?—“

“Can’t what?” I lean back in my chair, completely relaxed. “Tell the truth? Share a heartwarming story about family loyalty and institutional corruption?”

Dean Mills finally speaks, his voice carefully controlled. “Maverick. Perhaps we could discuss this privately.”

I tsk softly, the sound cutting through the ambient restaurant noise like a blade. “Richard, Richard. After all this time, you still don’t understand how this works.”

The truth is beautiful in its simplicity. Three years ago, Dean Mills came to me, desperate and panicked. His precious son was facing expulsion for plagiarism—caught red-handed copying an entire economics paper. The kind of academic fraud that doesn’t just disappear with apologies and extra credit.

But Daddy couldn’t let his golden boy face consequences. Not when his own reputation was tied so closely to his family’s perceived excellence. Not when board members were already questioning his judgment on other matters.

So he made a deal with the devil.

“My network runs deep, my sweet prince,” I say to Carter, my voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes smart people very, very careful. “Haven’t you heard? Everyone on this campus owes me.”

The color drains completely from Carter’s face now. I can practically see the calculations happening behind his eyes. If his father owes me, if the dean himself is part of my network, then what does that make Carter? What does that make his threats, his blackmail attempts, his pathetic power play?

It makes him nothing.

Less than nothing.

A joke.

Ainsley shifts slightly in her chair, and I catch her movement in my peripheral vision.

Her expression is a masterpiece of controlled shock—eyebrows slightly raised, lips parted just enough to suggest surprise without looking undignified.

She’s processing this revelation at light speed, recalibrating everything she thought she knew about how deep my influence runs.

“Everyone?” Her voice is carefully neutral.

I turn my attention to her, letting my expression soften just enough to remind her that she’s not the enemy here.

“Everyone who matters, baby. Presidents of student organizations. Department heads. Board members.” I pause, letting my gaze drift back to Dean Mills.

“Administrators who value their careers more than their principles.”

The beauty of Richard’s debt isn’t just that it exists; it’s that it’s so perfectly crafted.

I didn’t just make his son’s plagiarism charge disappear.

I made it disappear in a way that required ongoing cooperation.

Favorable treatment for my associates. Flexible interpretation of academic policies. Blind eyes turned at strategic moments.

One favor became dozens. One compromise became a system.

“The economics department,” I continue conversationally, “has been remarkably accommodating over the years. Grade disputes resolved quietly. Academic probation recommendations… reconsidered. Amazing how educational institutions can adapt when properly motivated.”

Carter looks like he might vomit. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” I reach into my jacket again, this time pulling out my phone.

A few swipes, and I turn the screen toward him.

“Care to see the email thread between your father and Professor Davidson about your corporate finance grades? Very illuminating discussion about ‘extenuating circumstances’ and ‘alternative assessment methods.’”

The silence that follows is deafening. Even the ambient restaurant chatter seems to fade as the weight of what I’m revealing settles over our little table like a shroud.

Dean Mills closes his eyes. “How long have you known?”

“About Carter’s renewed academic adventures?” I shrug. “Since the beginning. The moment he decided to play in my sandbox, I made it my business to understand exactly what kind of leverage his family was working with.”

That’s not entirely accurate. I’ve known about Carter’s continued cheating for months, but I let it continue because it served my purposes. Every forged exam, every ghostwritten paper, every covered-up incident added weight to the debt his father already owed me.

Sometimes the best way to control someone is to let them dig their own grave while you hold the shovel.

“You’ve been watching me.” There’s something almost plaintive in Carter’s voice now. Like a child realizing the adults have been talking about him behind his back.

“Watching you? No.” I lean forward slightly, just enough to make him flinch. “I’ve been managing you. There’s a difference.”

The truth is even more elegant than that. I haven’t just been managing Carter—I’ve been cultivating him. Every threat he made against Ainsley, every escalation, every move designed to force my hand was exactly what I needed him to do.

Because Carter Mills thinking he had power was infinitely more useful than Carter Mills knowing he had none.

Anonymous tips are rarely anonymous when you know the right people to ask. Amazing how quickly federal investigators share information when it serves their interests.

Carter thought he was weaponizing federal oversight against me. In reality, he was giving me an opportunity to demonstrate just how thoroughly I’ve protected my interests.

“So when you said it was manageable…” Ainsley begins.

“I meant it was already managed.” I turn my attention back to Dean Mills, who’s been sitting in silence while his world crumbles around him. “Richard, you look pale. Perhaps you need some air?”

He doesn’t respond immediately. Just stares at his hands, probably calculating how many laws he’s broken over the years, how many ethical violations he’s committed, how thoroughly his career would be destroyed if any of this came to light.

“What do you want?” he asks finally.

“Nothing dramatic,” I reply. “Just a return to our original agreement. Carter stops playing games he doesn’t understand. You continue to provide the occasional… administrative flexibility when needed. Everyone walks away from this unfortunate misunderstanding with their futures intact.”

It’s a generous offer, considering what Carter has put Ainsley through. Considering the threats, the intimidation, the federal investigation that could have destroyed my family’s business if I hadn’t already neutralized it.

But I’m not feeling generous.

I’m feeling surgical.

Carter’s head snaps up. “That’s it? That’s your big revenge? More of the same corrupt bullshit you’ve been running for years?”

The kid still doesn’t get it. Still thinks this is about power or money or academic influence. Still believes he understands the game being played at this table.

He doesn’t.

This was never about Carter Mills or his pathetic attempts at intimidation. This was about demonstrating to Ainsley—and to anyone else who might be watching—exactly what happens when someone threatens what’s mine.

“Oh, Carter,” I say softly, my voice carrying just enough pity to make him bristle. “You think this is the revenge?”

I stand slowly, deliberately, drawing out the moment. Every eye in the restaurant is on our table now, though they’re pretending not to stare. Rich people love drama as much as anyone else; they’re just better at being subtle about it.

“This isn’t revenge,” I continue, pulling out my phone again. “This is education.”

A few more swipes, and I’m in my email. The message is already drafted, ready to send with a single touch. Multiple recipients—the board of trustees, the university’s legal department, the student newspaper, and several faculty members who’ve been suspiciously quiet about academic integrity issues.

The subject line reads: RE: Systematic Academic Fraud and Administrative Corruption—Evidence Attached.

“The revenge,” I say, finger hovering over the send button, “is that you’re about to learn what happens when you don’t pay your debts.”

Carter’s eyes widen as he realizes what I’m holding. “You can’t. My father?—”

“Your father will survive this,” I interrupt. “Damaged, disgraced, probably forced into early retirement, but alive. You, on the other hand…”

I let the implication hang in the air. Because the beautiful thing about Carter’s situation is that he’s no longer protected by his father’s position. Dean Mills can’t cover up scandals when he’s facing his own investigation. Can’t make problems disappear when he’s the problem.

Carter will face the academic integrity board alone. He’ll face the complete destruction of his academic career and his family’s reputation with nothing but his own pathetic resources to protect him.