28. Gotta Rattle A Few Cages

Chapter 28

Gotta Rattle A Few Cages

HUNTER

T he instructor is a short, stocky woman with an outdated haircut who arrives within a few minutes of me making my threat. She looks wary as she looks between me and the dean, her eyes zeroing in on my face for a few seconds as if she finds me familiar.

"Mr. Middleton, this is Professor Wanda Hillsman. She's the one who chose the artwork which will go on display at the art gallery this month. Professor Hillsman, this is Hunter Middleton and one of the school's most generous donors."

Wanda's eyes glint when she understands who I am, and she steps forward to shake my hand. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Middleton."

I can smell the greed coming off of her. However, I don't let my feelings show when I return the handshake. "Likewise."

"Wanda, Mr. Middleton wants to understand the criteria you used when you chose the student artwork for the gallery display."

Wanda immediately brightens up, and her tone is a little pompous. "Well, having had work showcased in several gallery showings myself, I know what to look for in my students' work. It's all about brushwork, strokes, and the story the artist manages to get across. I chose my top five students. They have produced excellent work ever since they entered this college."

"Really?" I drawl. "I find that hard to believe, Miss Hillsman."

Her eyes narrow at the thinly veiled insult.

"I beg your pardon."

"What Mr. Middleton is trying to say is that he disagrees with a few of your choices." Mr. Darwin hurries to soothe the tension. "He was going through the rejected pile and he found a few pieces that he found much more eye-catching."

It only takes me a minute to come to the conclusion that Wanda Hillsman has an ego that blinds her to common sense. Her voice is tinged with disdain as she says, "No offense, Mr. Middleton, but as an artist, I'm better qualified to differentiate between what is good art and what is great art. I'm sure you might disagree, but you're hardly a professional."

"Wanda!" Mr. Darwin hisses, horrified at the tone she's using with one of his super donors.

I lift a hand, cutting his protest off. "No, no, let her continue. Why don't you explain the difference in the quality of these two pictures, then, Miss Hillsman? After all, you're such a professional."

My voice is dripping with sarcasm as I hold out Megan's painting, and I watch her face grow pale when I hold it next to Ashley's painting. She tries to hold on to her confidence by saying, "It's all about the brush strokes."

"The brush strokes, huh? You know," I drawl. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that there's another reason for your choice. The inferiority of this student's work is obvious to even me."

She grows red in the face and quickly darts a look towards Mr. Darwin, stammering all the while. "I – I don't know what you're trying to imply, but this student has a history of being tardy and –"

I hold up the charcoal sketch of me, which I had placed at the bottom of the pile in my hand. "And what do you think of this picture? Does this also have irregular brushstrokes?"

I enjoy witnessing the moment of realization in Wanda's eyes as she recognizes my face from the sketch.

"It's you."

"Well, clearly, there's nothing wrong with your eyes," I say sarcastically.

I can see the growing panic in her eyes as she realizes my intention for this whole scene.

"I'm not sure what's going on here."

She doesn't know what to say, and Mr. Darwin finally realizes that something is alarmingly wrong.

"I don't understand. Why is there a sketch of you in this stack, Mr. Middleton?"

"I was approached by one of your students to pose for it, and I allowed her to do so. She informed me that her work had been selected for the gallery showing based on the quality of her submissions. It was only later that I discovered she had been replaced in the showing by another student. I found the whole thing a little odd, especially because I have a habit of purchasing this particular student's artwork. I like her style."

I meet Wanda's eyes, which are terrified. "Now, I don't usually get involved in these things, but I would like an explanation. If this other student's work were of superior quality, I would have been fine with the decision change. But it seems like something has been happening behind closed doors. Would you like to tell me what you received in exchange for swapping the winners, Miss Hillsman? Especially when this can potentially affect the student's entire career?"

"Wanda?" Mr. Darwin sounds tense. "Is there any validity in what Mr. Middleton is saying? Did you pick this student's work first, then change your mind at the eleventh hour?"

"Th-that's not the case!" Wanda stammers, her eyes darting left to right. "I don't know what Miss Taylor said to you–"

"Miss Taylor didn't tell me anything," I say smoothly. "As a donor of the arts, I just looked into when the exhibition would be because I intended to purchase the sketch and perhaps a few others. It was only then that I found out about the switch, so I felt the need to come here and see for myself what phenomenal artwork was so good that it knocked Miss Taylor's pieces out of the showing."

"Are families paying you under the table for a spot at these showings every year? And is Professor Hillsman the qualified and tenured staff that you speak so highly of, Mr. Darwin?" I demand answers. "How many times has this happened? How many other deserving students have lost out on opportunities because of the greed of the instructors?"

Mr. Darwin looks white as a sheet as I shoot my questions at him like darts toward a dart board.

"I assure you, Mr. Middleton, that I'll get to the bottom of this matter."

"Don't bother," I snap. "This is something that you should have caught long ago as the leader of this university. Instead, I'm going to officially request a review of the entire staff of this place, including you."

"Mr. Middleton, let's think about this." The dean looks ready to throw himself at my feet. "A formal review will ruin the reputation of the school. Please let me handle this. I'll make sure to set everything right."

Wanda is shaking but remains quiet, probably pondering what lies she's going to say to absolve herself from any wrongdoing. I pause, letting the silence sink in. They need to feel the magnitude of this fuck up. There's no way in hell I'm going to allow the self-important assholes of this place to kick around my Megan like she's a piece of trash.

Wait, my Megan?

"Since I don't want to rip away the opportunity for the students who actually earned their spots in the showing, I'll give you an opportunity to fix this on one condition."

"And that is?"

"I'll be sending over my own impartial art critic to choose the work to be displayed. I want a report about how you handled it emailed to me by the end of the week."

"Yes, of course!" The relief on the dean's face is immense. "But I think it's safe to say that Megan's work will be put back in the show. It's clear that she is one of the more talented students in this class."

"Yes, well, we can let the critic help with that," I say, of course already knowing that Megan will not only be in that showing but her work will be prominently displayed in the front of the gallery and she will be highlighted in the New York Times piece.

I carefully set Megan's sketches down, satisfied with the outcome. Sometimes you've got a rattle a few cages to remind the animals that they don't actually run the goddamn zoo.

Parker finally shows up in the room with a man I can only assume is the head of accounting. Both the dean and Professor Hillsman look as if they want to puke.

"You've got a wonderful program here," I say to the room, smoothing the lapel of my suit jacket. "But I intend to take more of a hands-on approach from now on. You know, if you want any more of my money."

The look on everyone's face is fearful when I leave, especially Dean Darwin. It's a wonderful fucking thing.

"That was fun, eh?" Lars says as we walk back to the car. "What took you so long with the accountant, Parker? Were you tickling his balls or something in the washroom?"

I laugh out loud. Lars doesn't talk much, but when he does, he's got the timing of a dirty stand-up comedian.

"Very funny, idiotic viking. Those pencil pushers gave me the longest runaround. Pretty sure that dean sent a text or something telling them to stall."

"Every business is hiding something," I tell them. "And universities are some of the most gangster businesses out there. They charge these kids ridiculous amounts of money that they'll probably barely make back in their lifetime. It's insane."

"Then what did we do all that for back there?"

"Because Megan's only dream is to be an artist," I answer, asking myself what I'm doing all of this for.

"Then you're going to like this," Parker says, quite pleased with himself.

"What?"

He pulls out a manilla file folder he was hiding underneath his shirt. It's full of university spreadsheets and interoffice memos that Parker must have lifted from the accounting department.

"A fucking dreamcatcher for Megan."