I have 48 hours before the suspension takes effect, she said. I know. Then we used them. She did not sleep again that night. She sat at her kitchen table with a cup of tea she didn't drink and a notepad she didn't write on.
And she thought about the next two days the way she had been trained to think about an operation. Not with anxiety, with sequence, step by step, what needed to happen, in what order, who needed to do what. By 5 in the morning, she had it clear. She showered, she dressed, she made breakfast. At 7:30, she was on campus.
She went to Bethany first. Bethany lived in a graduate residence hall on the north end of campus. Clare texted ahead so she wouldn't startle her. Bethany met her in the lobby, still in her coat from an early walk, looking like she hadn't slept well either. They sat in two chairs near the window.
Clare said, "I'm being suspended in less than 48 hours." Bethany's face fell. But before that happens, Clare said, "I want to make sure that what you saw has been formally recorded somewhere that can't be buried by Web or anyone else." Bethany looked at her hands. "You mean an official statement?" "Yes, to who?" Dean Owens, Clare said. "Not Web." "Owens? Bethany was quiet for a moment.
Owens signed the suspension order," she said. "She did," Clare said. "But Owens is not Web. She signed it because she was pressured and because she didn't have enough in front of her to push back. That can change.
Bethany looked at her. Will she actually listen? Clare said, "I think she might." If enough people put something in front of her that she can't look away from. Bethany was quiet for a long time. She looked out the window at the gray morning campus.
Students were moving along the paths. Just another Thursday. Just another ordinary day in an ordinary place where ordinary things happened and everything was fine. She said he threatened my financial aid. I know.
I screenshotted it. I know, Bethany. Clare leaned forward slightly. You are not the first person he's done this to. And if nothing changes, you will not be the last.
The question isn't whether you're scared. The question is whether the fear of what he might do is bigger than what you know is right. The lobby was quiet around them. Bethany pressed her lips together. She said, "No, just that one word, but she meant it." The second person Clare went to was a young man named Gregory Walsh.
He had been in the classroom that day. He had been one of the students who stood up when Dylan grabbed Clare's throat. She had seen his face clearly. He hadn't looked scared. He had looked furious.
She found him in the library. He listened to what she asked. He asked three questions. They were practical questions, good ones. She answered each one honestly, including the ones where the honest answer was that she wasn't certain.
He said yes. The third person was a woman named Carol Deon, who was 44, a returning student finishing her degree after 20 years in the workforce. She had been sitting in the back row that day with the specific stillness of an adult who has seen enough of the world to recognize when something is genuinely wrong. She didn't need much convincing. She said, "I've been thinking about calling someone since it happened.
I just didn't know who." Clare said, "You know now." By 11 that morning, she had three people willing to give formal statements to Dean Owens directly. Three was not 40, but three was enough to be something that couldn't be called a misunderstanding. She called Owens's office and asked for a meeting. Owens's assistant said the dean was fully booked. Clare said, "Please tell her it concerns the Dylan Holtt inquiry and that I have three students willing to give formal statements.
Tell her I'm asking for 20 minutes." There was a pause. The assistant said she would pass the message. Owens called back in 11 minutes. She would see Clare at 2:00. Patricia Owens was 58 years old.
She had been dean of the college for 6 years. Before that, she had been a professor of history for 20. And before that, she had grown up in rural North Carolina in a family that had very little money and very strong opinions about doing things the right way. She had been at Hardgrove long enough to know how things worked. She had been there long enough to have made compromises she wasn't entirely comfortable with.
She looked tired when Clare sat down across from her. Clare put three things on the desk. The first was a typed summary of what happened in room 214. Every detail dated signed by Clare. The second was a printed document with the names of the seven students on Margie's list, their complaint dates, the resolution codes Web had entered, and a note that the resolution documentation for each complaint was either missing or consisted of a single line with no follow-up record.
The third was a folder containing the screenshots Bethany had sent her, the threatening message, the date and timestamp, the account it came from. Owens looked at each document carefully. She did not speak for a while. Then she said, "Where did you get the complaint records?" Clare said, "A member of your administrative staff who has worked here for 22 years and who was present when those resolution codes were entered." Owens looked at her. "Marge," she said.
It wasn't a question. Clare didn't confirm or deny. She waited. Owens turned back to the documents. "I signed your suspension order," she said.
I know. Senator Holtt called the president. The president called me. I know that, too. Owens looked at her across the desk.
The look of someone taking a measure of something. She said, "Why are you bringing this to me instead of going outside the university?" Clare said, "Because going outside the university is the next step. I wanted to give you the chance to be part of the right side of it before that step happens." The room was very quiet. Owens looked at the documents on her desk for a long time. Then she picked up the folder with Bethany's screenshots and looked at it again.
She said quietly to herself more than to Clare. He threatened a student's financial aid. Yes. Owen set the folder down. She said, I'm going to need to speak with my own legal counsel tonight.
Of course, Clare said the suspension order stands for now. I want you to understand that I can't pull it without a formal process. I understand, but Owens looked at her directly. I'm also going to pull every complaint file Web has logged as resolved in the past four years. Tonight, before anyone has the chance to tell me not to.
Clare held her gaze. Thank you, she said. She stood up, picked up her bag, and walked to the door. She paused. She said without turning around, Patricia.