Page 123 of You Owe Me

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? Veryilluminating 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.”

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