Chapter 47: Mark by secrets

Carl strolled into his office the next morning as if he owned the place.

He had his shoulders raised, a smug look plastered on his confident face and a calm demeanor radiating in his beautiful eyes. He flashed a genteel smile at Mr. Corson, who was clearly surprised to see him; Carl had never been to his office.

“Well, look who we have here. Never in this boring life of mine did I think I’d see you anywhere outside the fields and the classroom, Mr. Brimmer.”

“Cut it with the mister crap, Corson.” Carl said flatly and sat down without being invited to.

Mr. Corson’s eyes flickered with surprise, but his nervous smile didn’t deter. “Seems like someone is in a foul mood,” he remarked lightly, more to himself than Carl, as he took his seat. “Well then,” he cleared his throat and finished his glass of cheap whiskey. “What brings you to my office, Carl?”

Carl stared impassively at the bottle of whiskey and when Mr. Corson grabbed it to put it away, Carl stopped him by lifting his palm. He squinted at the name of the liquor and shook his head with a wry chuckle. “I did some findings, you know.” He said suddenly, “That is the cheapest bottle of whiskey in the entire Memphis, Mr. Corson.”

Mr. Corson’s eyes widened and his cheeks flushed instantly. He quickly put the bottle away and cleared his throat awkwardly. He laughed softly, but the way Carl’s fixed stare made his heart thump suddenly made him very anxious. “I am sure a drink of that price doesn’t really interest you, Carl. I like to try out different things from time to time.”

Carl scoffed and pushed his chair backwards. He raised both of his legs and kicked a few books off the small, mahogany desk and placed his feet there. He crossed one leg over the other, then stared at the appalled man across the table. Mr. Corson was speechless for a few seconds, what a brat Carl was! But that wasn’t what really had him upset and confused, Carl wasn’t one to flaunt the power and wealth he had. So, what exactly had warranted this behavior from him?

“You knocked my books over, Carl.” He said through clenched teeth, “that is very disrespectful, you know.”

Carl feigned a surprised look, “Your books? Fuck,” he purposely cussed, knowing Mr. Corson saw his office as some sacred space that didn’t permit cussing of any kind. “My bad. I deeply regret that.” He said flatly with no iota of remorse in his eyes, “You see, I was aiming for that cheap whiskey bottle of yours.”

Mr. Corson bolted to his feet, his anger had gotten to his head now and his veins bulged out of his temples. He glared down at an indifferent Carl and demanded, “What is the meaning of this insult, Carl? You cannot come into my office and exert this sort of insolence!”

“I can and I am already doing that,” Carl replied flatly, “I’d advise you to sit down, Mr. Corson. You do not want me to feel threatened by your figure towering over me, now do you?”

Mr. Corson’s hands squeezed into fists, he wasn’t used to being tossed around, but this was Carl Brimmer for fuck’s sake! The Brimmer family had sponsored Beale Crest at some point in time when the school was almost at rock bottom. Beale Crest was literally indebted to Carl’s father and Mr. Corson wasn’t oblivious to that.

He slowly sat down and managed the smile that stretched across his strained face. “What do you really want, Carl?”

Carl took a deep breath and slowly dropped his feet to the ground. “I thought it was the right thing to do by offering someone a drink before a meeting.”

“Oh, pardon me.” He replied and produced the whiskey once again with uncertainty.

“That’s what you have to offer? Even the gateman back at my house would laugh at you and give you a few cents to take home.” Carl suddenly remarked, staining Mr. Corson’s pride and stabbing his hardened heart, making it as soft as jelly. “The funny thing is, Mr. Corson, you’re actually a poor guy, drinking disgusting whiskey and smoking cheap cigarettes. So, explain something to me, will you? How does a poor guy look down on another poor guy, huh?”

Mr. Corson swallowed and stared at Carl in confusion, “I have no idea what you are talking about, Carl. I live a pretty comfortable life.”

“Do you?” Carl smirked, knowing he was about to drop a bombshell that could end Mr. Corson’s stay at Beale Crest. “If you're so comfortable, how come your daughter has an OnlyFans account then?”

“What the hell!” Mr. Corson yelled and jumped to his feet again, pointing a finger at Carl’s face. “You won't do this to my family or me, Carl!”

Carl shrugged, “Do what? I was just asking a question. And I am sure the Dean will be very interested in the answer I seek too.” He said and his eyes suddenly hardened, “sit the fuck down when I am talking to you, Mr. Corson.” He commanded in a voice that shook the room.

Mr. Corson’s face had gone pink and every ounce of confidence in him had been drained out by those manipulative eyes of Carl. He still couldn't believe it, what was his daughter doing on such an unwholesome page?

“Earlier, you gave a test.”

“Yes, yes,” Mr. Corson nodded vigorously with a frown, “and if I can recall clearly, you got an A. So, what the hell is this about? You wanted a perfect score?”

Carl shook his head, “No. I don't care about that. Anderson Wells, does the name ring a bell?”

Mr. Corson grimaced and squinted at him, “Who? The weird scholarship kid with glasses? Yeah? What about him?”

“That weird kid with glasses wrote his test perfectly well and if there's anyone that deserves the perfect score. It's him.” Carl stated.

Mr. Corson stared at him in amusement. He suddenly chuckled, his eyes wide with disbelief, “Carl Brimmer? Interceding on behalf of a common pauper? I'd love to see cows jump over the moon after this!” He remarked and only when he noticed that his aged humor was lost on Carl, did he clear his throat and frown.

He sighed, “Mr. Brimmer. What makes you so sure that Anderson wrote that test correctly? I don't make mistakes.”

Carl arched a judging brow at him, “You have a daughter with an OnlyFans account.”

The room went dead silent for a few seconds, Mr. Corson was rendered completely speechless.

“Anderson wrote well. You just failed him to favor the other richer kids and please our parents. Just like you always do.” Carl stated rather than asked. “The boot licking Mr. Corson.”

“You can't throw baseless accusations around! How do you even know he wrote that test correctly?”

Carl grinned, “Because I got an A, and I copied from him.”

Mr. Brimmer's eyes widened. “No fucking way! You just confessed to a crime here at Beale Crest. You do realize that, don't you?”

Carl rose to his feet calmly, “I lose my chance here at Beale Crest and I am still the heir of a consortium. You lose your job…what do you have again, Mr. Corson? Remind me? Oh yeah…nothing.” He said mockingly, “Mark Anderson’s scripts justly and give him the score he deserves. You think your daughter's OnlyFans account is crazy? Stay tuned for the lesbian sex tape I have on her if you fail to do the right thing.”

“A sex tape?” Mr. Corson’s jaw dropped as Carl walked to the door. “Carl, come back! You have to be kidding!”

Carl stopped at the door and smirked wickedly, “For a man of your age, you seem to have quite a good knowledge of the OnlyFans, huh? Didn’t even take you a second to think about it.” He scoffed mockingly, “Too bad you're not worth my time.”

He stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Anderson stood anxiously in the hallway and his body jolted when he saw Carl. He rubbed his palms together nervously and looked into Carl’s eyes.

“You'll get your accurate result soon,” Carl revealed.

“How did you do it?” Anderson exclaimed with excitement.

Carl shrugged and walked past him, “Just a few word play and bluffs he couldn't call.” He stopped and looked at Anderson, “You owe me one. We'll get even tonight.”

Anderson knew what that meant and in the midst of his excitement, he felt a warm rush of blood down his body and his dick grew fully erect.