Chapter 50 The High Table

Chapter 50 The High Table
"Put the gavel down, Dean," Knox said, throwing the heavy wooden boardroom doors open so hard the brass handles bounced off the drywall.
Twelve board members jumped in their leather seats. The dean stood at the head of the long mahogany table, his wooden mallet stopped three inches above the desk block. Next to him, an elderly attorney in a gray suit was already packing folders into a leather briefcase.
"What is the meaning of this?" the dean shouted, his face turning bright red. "Security is already on their way up here to remove you both. Leave this room immediately."
"You want to sign that team suspension order?" Knox asked, walking straight down the center carpet. His heavy winter boots left wet, gray slush marks on the expensive rug. "You might want to look at the evidence before the league commissioner reads it on the morning news."
The gray-suited attorney stepped into the aisle, blocking Knox from reaching the table. "Dean, these students are under investigation for property theft. Their presence here violates school code. Anything they say cannot be used in this meeting."
"It's not a statement," I said.
I stepped up next to Knox and dropped the black plastic USB drive right onto the polished wood. The white cotton gauze around my hands was frayed, showing the raw, puffy blisters across my palms. Two board members leaned back, staring at the thick bandages around my wrists.
"That's the dashcam footage from Mason Shaw's car last night," I told them, keeping my voice steady. "The camera was facing the basement door. It shows Richard Shaw pouring the lighter fluid. It shows him striking the match. And it shows exactly how my hands got burned trying to pull my father's original notebook out of the fire."
The dean froze. He looked down at the tiny black plastic stick, then up at the attorney. The lawyer's mouth was open, but no words came out.
"This is a school compliance hearing, not a criminal court," the attorney argued quickly, his voice shaking a little. "A video from an unverified source cannot overturn a legal injunction filed by our senior sponsor."
"Richard Shaw isn't a sponsor anymore," Knox said. He pulled his phone from his pocket and slid it across the table until it hit the dean’s leather desk block. The screen showed a live local news feed. "The state police logged the official arson and fraud charges ten minutes ago. Your primary donor is sitting in a cell downtown, and Coach Foley just forwarded the corporate waiver from the league's main office to cover the financial deficit."
The room went completely quiet. The only sound was the faint hum of the heating vents as the board members leaned forward to read the text on Knox's screen.
The dean picked up the phone. His eyes moved across the lines of text for a few seconds. His face turned pale, the red color draining completely from his cheeks. He lowered the phone, looked at the attorney, and pointed toward the door.
"Leave the room, Arthur," the dean said quietly.
"Dean, our firm still holds the legal rights to the athletic files—"
"I said leave the room," the dean repeated.
The attorney grabbed his briefcase, adjusted his collar, and walked quickly past us. The heavy oak doors swung shut behind him with a dull thud.
The dean picked up the USB drive and slid it into the side port of the wall monitor. The screen flickered to life, showing a grainy video of the snowy driveway behind the Shaw house. Through the basement window, a yellow flashlight beam flickered, followed by a sudden burst of blue fire. The footage clearly showed my dark silhouette reaching straight into the flames, before Knox hauled me backward toward the stairs.
The dean hit the stop button. He looked across the table at me, then at Knox, locking his fingers together.
"The digital signature you uploaded at midnight stands," the dean said flatly. "The injunction is dismissed. Ryder's eligibility is restored for the Friday scout game."
I let out a long breath, my shoulders dropping as the tight knot in my chest finally loosened. My hands throbbed with a sharp, stinging heat, but the panic was gone.
"However," the dean continued, his eyes narrowing as he looked straight at Knox. "The student blog posts are claiming this entire relationship was a scam to take down a board member. I cannot have the varsity roster associated with a public blackmail scandal three days before the national scouts arrive. The new sponsors are already asking questions."
Knox leaned his palms against the edge of the mahogany table, crowding the dean’s space. "What do you want, Dean?"
"I want compliance," the dean said, leaning back in his chair. "Tomorrow afternoon, there is a mandatory press conference in the main arena lobby. You two will stand at that microphone together. You will tell the press that your relationship is real, that it has been real for months, and that you discovered the fraud together as a couple."
My blood turned back to ice. I looked over at Knox, but his face was completely blank, his jaw locked tight.
"And if we refuse?" Knox asked.
The dean reached down, pulled two thick sheets of white paper from his desk drawer, and laid them flat on the wood.
"If you refuse, I sign these expulsion letters for academic misconduct and illegal entry," the dean whispered, his eyes moving between the two of us. "You saved the hockey season, Mr. Ryder. Now you have to decide if you're willing to live the lie to keep it."