I sit in a polished wood chair, folding my hands in my lap so my fingers cover my knuckles.
The gray-haired dean is average height with brown eyes that have a narrow shape naturally. This morning they’re slit-like as he studies me.
“Hello, Erik. How are you?”
“Fine. You?”
“A little troubled, actually. And surprised.”
I wait for him to continue. My poker face isn’t going to win me any tournaments, but I excel at staring people down and forcing them to carry the conversation.
“I understand you and Shane Moran are distant cousins?”
Distant isn’t the way I would characterize it, but I don’t correct him. My left thumb rubs the scabbed skin over the knuckle of my right index finger.
“Mr. Moran’s been involved in some business endeavors involving GU students. You’re not part of that operation, are you?”
“I don’t know anything about that,” I lie.
“So you’re not involved?”
“No.” A second lie.
“And you haven’t delivered crates of liquor or other contraband to him or to anyone on campus?”
“No.”
The dean frowns. “You didn’t oversee delivery of liquor to the Lambda Delta Kappa house for the Platinum Party?”
“I don’t recall that. No.”
He stares at me. “I’m not implying that you profited from or organized the distribution of the liquor. You probably didn’t realize that it was being illegally distributed. You might have done a favor for your cousin?”
He’s after Shane. Or at least that’s where he’s starting.
Nyball rubs a leatherbound calendar on his desk. “I have a report that those were your exact words. Moran was running late on the night of the Platinum Party and as a favor to him, you were there to supervise the unloading of the liquor he’d sent.”
My eyes bore into the dean. “I don’t recall that.”
“Erik, it’s important you understand we consider you a valuable part of the Granthorpe community. As a captain on the football team, you’re a leader. We expect you to set an unimpeachable example. Refusing to participate in anything illegal or immoral should be a given. And you should distance yourself from anyone engaged in those activities. Further, I expect your cooperation when we’re trying to put an end to them. We don’t want to involve law enforcement, but if we’re forced to, keep in mind they’ll be able to subpoena texts and phone calls. Records never really disappear. Now, let’s try again. Did Shane Moran ask for your help on the night of the LDK Platinum Party?”
Shrugging my shoulders, I lean back. “Not that I recall.”
“You might think this show of loyalty will protect him. It will not. It’ll only put your own future in jeopardy.” When I don’t speak, he says, “Well?”
“Was there a question?”
“Do you understand you’re putting your entire future at risk? One of the first things NFL recruiters ask about is any unprofessional or illegal behavior. They’ll ask the university, meaning me, and they’ll ask the coaches, meaning the men I hire and fire. None of us wants to damage your football career here or in the NFL. Help me to help you, by showing your loyalty to the university that gave you an athletic scholarship and other special opportunities.” He draws in a breath and flips his hand over as if imploring me to help him end the unpleasant business of threatening me. “One last time. Did you participate, however unknowingly, in Shane Moran’s business?”
Anger and frustration pour through me, heating my skin, but my voice is bland when I answer, “No.”
“Good luck to you then.” He gestures to the door, while pressing a button on his phone. “Mr. Sorensen and I are finished. Send Mr. Moran in.”
As I leave the office, I look Shane in the eye and say in a low voice, “Family first.”
“Always.” He claps me on the shoulder as he passes to walk into the line of fire.
38
