Chapter 24 Being Hunted
The minutes leading up to the confrontation were filled with a strange, quiet civility. Dean Thompson, a man who usually commanded the room with a mere clearing of his throat, was now playing the role of a gracious host. He had personally poured Ethan a cup of the university's finest highland tea, his hands still possessing a slight, uncontrollable tremor whenever his eyes strayed back to the obsidian tablet resting on his desk.
Ethan leaned back in the velvet chair, sipping the tea with a calm that bordered on the unnatural. His Mind, operating at the peak of Level One, was running millions of simulations. He was mentally dissecting the power structures of the university, seeing the invisible threads of Julian's influence and how they tied into the faculty.
"Mr. McCain," Thompson began, his voice lowered as if they were co-conspirators in a grand coup, "before the lecturer arrives, I believe you should know the full extent of the allegations he logged against you. Mr. Smith was... quite thorough. He didn't just log a report of academic misconduct; he filed a formal petition for the immediate withdrawal of your scholarship."
Ethan's eyes didn't flicker. He thought of his life without the System. Without that sudden injection of wealth, a withdrawn scholarship would have meant the end. To cover his tuition out of pocket would have been an impossibility; he would have been forced to drop out of school, drifting back into the world as a failure. At that moment, Julian, his circle of crooks, and Smith would have won their petty game. This was the exact reason why Ethan had spent years never fighting back—why he had allowed every insult and embarrassment to be thrown his way without a word of protest. He had been protecting his only lifeline.
But the "Ghost" was no longer hiding.
"This is why the donation comes with conditions, Dean Thompson," Ethan said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, resonant frequency. "I am not just building laboratories. I am purchasing the right to clean this house. I want a total reshuffling of the staff. I want the 'bad eggs'—those who allow external interests to dictate academic integrity—removed immediately. If you leave a single rot in the basket, it will eventually spoil the good ones. Do you understand?"
Thompson nodded frantically. "I understand perfectly, Mr. McCain."
At that moment, the door was shoved open.
Mr. Smith marched in, the embodiment of petty authority. He was a man who looked exactly like the life he lived—compressed and bitter. He was in his late forties, with thinning hair combed over in a desperate attempt to hide a balding crown. He wore a tweed jacket that was a size too small, and his face was perpetually pinched. When he entered, his chest was puffed out, fueled by the $10,000 promise Julian had made him to ensure Ethan's scholarship was revoked.
He froze for a split second when he saw Ethan sitting and conversing comfortably with the Dean. The shock was quickly replaced by a flare of rage.
"McCain!" Smith barked, his face turning a mottled shade of red. "What are you doing here? You should be in class! Your blatant disregard for the rules of this institution has reached its limit! Stand up this instant and explain your presence in this office!"
He turned to Dean Thompson, his voice rising in an orchestrated display of indignation. "See what I've been telling you, sir? He's just wasting the school's scholarship funds. He treats the administration with the same contempt he shows the faculty. His scholarship should be put on a total hold until the school is cleared of the accusations I have placed on him. We cannot allow a student of this... caliber to represent our standards."
Smith was smiling in his mind. He was already thinking of how to spend that $10,000. Maybe a new car, or a down payment on a summer cottage. He was so lost in his greedy fantasies that he didn't even see the playful, predatory smile on Ethan's face or the darkening, angry expression on Dean Thompson's.
"Mr. Smith," Thompson called out, the sharpness of his voice snapping the lecturer back to reality.
"Yes, sir? I assume we are here to finalize the paperwork?" Smith asked eagerly.
"No," Thompson said, standing up slowly. "I want you to tell us the specific accusations against him. And I want to know the reasons why you believe his scholarship should be revoked without a single piece of physical evidence."
For a moment, Mr. Smith froze. This wasn't the conversation he expected. He had just spoken with the office this morning about the "inevitability" of the revocation. He looked at Thompson, confusion clouding his features. "Evidence, sir? I have provided my professional testimony. He is a ghost, an absentee, a—"
"Evidence, Smith," Thompson repeated, his voice like a hammer. "I am asking what proof you have. Because it seems to me that you have spent your morning attempting to sabotage the academic career of a student who is currently discussing a massive developmental endowment for this university."
Suddenly, the cold realization of the situation hit Smith. He looked at the way Ethan was sitting—relaxed, sipping tea, looking at him as if he were a bug under glass. A cold sweat began to form at the small of his back, soaking into his tweed jacket.
"Endowment?" Smith whispered, his heart hammering against his ribs.
He looked back at the Dean, but there was no support there. He remembered the comfortable silence between the two when he entered. He looked at Ethan, and for the first time, he saw the predator behind the hoodie. The "Ghost" wasn't just haunting the school anymore; he had come to claim it.