The Last Good Girl (13 page)

He couldn't suppress a shift of discomfort as he said, “I doubt that.” Anna looked at him for a long moment, trying to figure out his angle. As a matter of law, she was in the right. As a matter of public relations, he should cooperate. And yet something outweighed all that.

“Your legal analysis is missing something,” said a deep familiar voice behind Anna. She twisted in her chair—and saw Jack walking into the office, as coolly and authoritatively as if he were the one who had called the meeting, rather than crashing it. He sat next to Anna, nodded at her, and turned to the GC. “You seem to have forgotten the Clery Act.”

“Hello, Jack. Nice to see you,” said Frink, although he did not seem happy to see Jack at all. “I didn't realize you were leading this investigation.”

“I'm not. But Ms. Curtis's subject matter and my task force share a lot of ground, as you know.”

“These issues aren't related at all.” Frink's voice was softer, Anna noticed, and he looked away now as he spoke. He was far more cowed by Jack than by Anna, although they shared the same power under the law.

“What an interesting perspective,” Jack said. “I'm not sure anyone else would agree. A missing woman was last seen being followed by a man against whom she brought rape charges. Charges that were, incidentally, not reported to the Department of Education as required by federal law under the Clery Act. Seems like it could be a big hot mess for your organization, Bryan.”

Even in the lower seat, Jack's eyes were level with the GC's. Jack pulled a paper from his briefcase and pretended to study it. “According to my records, your university reported to the Department of Education that zero rape charges were filed on campus last year. Or the year before that. Or the year before that. In fact, going back two decades, Tower University has a perfect record for zero rapes on campus. Incredible statistics.”

Frink pushed a pencil around his desk.

“I mean ‘incredible' in the literal sense of the word,” Jack continued. “They are not credible. They are outright lies. We know of at least one rape that was reported to you and which was not then reported to us—the one involving Emily Shapiro. And we all know the one-in-five statistic. I'm adding Tower University to a list of colleges being investigated by the Department of Justice. I'll also be investigating whether anyone in the university or general counsel's office made a false statement, which as you know, is a felony.”

Frink picked at the pencil's eraser.

“That's not negotiable,” Jack said. “But what's still in your control is how this spins out. I could announce it today. Bad timing for you, press-wise, not that that's any of my concern. Or I could hold off for a few weeks, concentrate on other facets of our investigation. I could also ask the Department of Education to levy fines instead of imposing jail time. Cooperation has its benefits. But you have to decide to cooperate. Today. This is when it counts. Now.”

Frink tore the entire eraser off. He looked at the pencil in one hand and the pink eraser in the other. He set them down and cleared his throat. “This is blackmail.”

“Not at all,” Jack said calmly. “A prosecutor has quite a bit of discretion in deciding how to proceed with a case. A cooperative university gets a lot more leniency than a reticent one. And you know what they say. The cover-up is always so much worse than the crime.”

“I'll have to check with some of my colleagues, then get back to you,” Frink said. He stood and gestured toward the door, indicating the meeting was over.

“Take your time,” Jack said. He didn't move from his chair. “I'll wait right here.”

Frink stared at him. Jack smiled back. Finally, Frink nodded and walked out of his office.

Anna turned and looked at Jack. Only a twitch at the corner of his lips revealed that he enjoyed bullying the GC into doing the right thing. Anna was torn between admiration at his effectiveness and annoyance at his taking over her meeting.

“Why are you here?” she whispered.

“You told me you had this meeting scheduled.”

“I didn't ask you to come.”

“I thought you might want some backup.”

“If I wanted ‘backup,' I would've asked for it.”

“Come on, Anna. He wasn't taking you seriously. Now he is.”

“No one's going to take me seriously if my boss barges into my meetings. I was about to get to the Clery Act.”

“Do you want a gold star for independence or do you want to find Emily Shapiro?”

She closed her mouth, because arguing with Jack wouldn't help their cause. But she was annoyed. Back when they first started working together, she appreciated his leadership. But she had become a much more seasoned lawyer since then. Their relationship hadn't changed, although she had.

Soon, Frink came back into the room. He handed a file full of papers to Jack.

“This is all the paperwork from the disciplinary file in the
Emily Shapiro versus Dylan Highsmith
matter. Unfortunately, I can't give you the rest of Dylan's files at this time. I'd like to be able to turn them over. But we could get in trouble for violating confidentiality. Dylan has lawyers too, you know—even more threatening than you are. Watch out for them. I'm cooperating as much as I can with you, but I still have to move to quash your subpoena tomorrow. We'll argue about it in court. That way, if the judge does order us to turn the documents over to you, the university will have legal cover. If you're right, it'll just be one day's delay.”

His tone was a thousand times more conciliatory than when he was talking to Anna. Then, he'd been a man in charge, condescending to a young whippersnapper. Now, he was a supplicant doing his best to please someone who could destroy him. Even as Jack handed the files to her, Anna felt a little bit smaller in her seat. She shook it off, consciously straightening her spine. She had what she'd come here for. At least part of it.

“Let's call the court now,” Anna said. “I'd like to ask the judge to hear us this afternoon.”

“I'll need more time to research the legal issue than that,” Frink said.

“Sounds like you've done all the research you needed before you came in today,” Jack said.

Frink sighed, then nodded his agreement. Anna called the duty magistrate she'd seen the night before. The judge agreed to hold an emergency hearing that afternoon at four
P.M.
in his chambers. “File any papers you wish for me to consider by two
P.M.
,” Judge Schwalbe said. “It's Sunday, so it might be difficult to find the court personnel. But this is urgent, and I'll make sure we're ready to hear this today.”

They bid Frink good-bye and headed out to get their briefs started. Things were finally going their way. As she and Jack walked out of Highsmith Hall, Anna clutched the file and, despite herself, grinned at Jack. He smiled back in that old way, the way that said they were a team, unstoppable. Her stomach dipped at the sight of that smile.

To:
Tower University Disciplinary Committee

From:
Dylan Highsmith, Class of 2015

Date:
November 2, 2014

Re:
Campus Disciplinary Case No. 14-073

I'm writing in response to the summons sent to me by the Disciplinary Committee. I have to say that I was shocked to get it. My mother taught me right from wrong, and I would never—let me repeat, never—treat a woman the way Emily Shapiro claims I treated her. With all due respect to Ms. Shapiro, I don't know why she would say what she said. I've spent the last week trying to figure it out, and all I can come up with is that she must have been very intoxicated and confused. I am sorry that she feels badly; it hurts me to think that she felt hurt as a result of our time together.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I guess first I should tell you a little about myself. I'm a senior, the class of '15, majoring in business and economics. I'm twenty-one years old. I have a 3.6 GPA. I am copresident of the Greek Council and pledge leader of my fraternity, Beta Psi.

I grew up in Grosse Pointe and was lucky to have the support of wonderful parents. My father led by his example of how to work hard and strive for your goals. My mother was the president of my school's PTA. Her example as a mom is one I respect so much, and it has instilled me with a respect for all women.

I respected Emily Shapiro when I met her on September 1. She came to my fraternity house for our annual Welcome Back to School fraternity party. As you may know, this party is a campus tradition dating back to 1922. The party is open to the public, on a first-come-first-serve basis. I did not invite her there but was happy to meet her at around eleven
P.M.
in the lower-level basement party room. She was there with a group of freshmen from her dorm. She was smiling and friendly. We started a conversation about how she liked her first week of college life. What I remember most about her was that she had a big smile and she laughed a lot. She might have been tipsy, but she certainly was flirting with me.

Someone was serving an alcoholic red fruit punch, and Emily kept getting more of it. I regret that I did not take steps to stop her from drinking. I did not, however, encourage her to get refills.

I was drinking whiskey and Coke. When I met Emily, I had probably had about three drinks. As the night continued, I continued to drink and became very intoxicated.

One of my frat brothers was acting as DJ, and an impromptu dance floor formed around him. Emily and I danced for a while. It was house dance music, not slow songs, but she danced close to me anyway and kept putting her hands on me. I did the same to her. Our interaction was friendly, close, and increasingly romantic.

At some point, we went back to the living room, and Emily found someone who gave her another glass of punch. I think this was her fourth cup. I had my sixth or seventh Coke and whiskey of the night. We were both laughing, slurring our words a bit, and both tipsy, but not to the extent that either of us were unable to give knowing consent. Drunk as we both were, I'm sure that she was more sober than I was.

We talked for a while more, and I mentioned that I have a big fish tank with sharks in my bedroom. She asked if we could go see it.

We went upstairs to my room, a single bedroom on the second floor. It has a bed, a desk, a dresser, and a three-hundred-gallon fish tank with six miniature sharks. I've always loved sea life. I showed Emily the tank and told her how I got into it. My dad taught me to scuba dive when I was thirteen. We didn't have much in common before he taught me how to dive, and we really bonded with diving. Some of my best memories are being underwater. Emily said that was really sweet. She put her cup of punch down on my desk and kissed me. I kissed her back. Things got more physical, quickly.

Let me take a break and tell you: I am not normally the type to kiss and tell. I've been raised to be a gentleman, and I'm intensely uncomfortable going into the details of what happened between Emily and me that night. But I understand that, in this situation, I have to tell you what really happened. So forgive me if I get into details that seem inappropriate. In normal circumstances, this would be private information.

She pulled off my shirt, and then her own. She brought my hand to her breast and I caressed it. I unclasped her bra, and she pulled off her own pants. We engaged in some heavy petting, and then she pulled my pants and underwear down. After that, she got up from the bed and searched around the room until she found where her pants had dropped. She got a condom out of the pocket of her jeans. The fact that she had brought protection, and went to find it, reinforced my understanding that she was a willing participant.

She pushed me back on the bed, so I was lying on my back. She put the condom on me, then straddled me and put me inside of her. She rode me vigorously. She grabbed on to the headboard in order to move herself even more energetically on me. Throughout the encounter, she gave verbal indications that she was enjoying herself. She said, “Oh, Dylan, you feel so good,” and “I love what you're doing to my clit, keep doing it,” and “Your dick is amazing.”

Again, I apologize for relating these details here. In any other circumstance, I would not reveal such intimate moments.

Emily never said “no,” or “stop,” or “I don't want to do this,” or anything indicating she didn't want to do what we were doing. After we were finished, we went to sleep in my bed. I thought we had had a good time together. Everything we did was consensual; moreover, Emily initiated each step in our sexual relations and expressed throughout that she was enjoying herself.

I woke to the sound of laughing. It was morning, and the room was light. Several of my frat brothers were looking in my door. One of them, Alan Lee, took a picture of me and Emily together and said he was sending it on Snapchat. That's when Emily woke up. When she heard what Alan said, she freaked out. She yelled at him not to do it, and as far as I know, he didn't. Then she got dressed, really quickly, and left. I was so tired, still probably a little drunk, and starting to feel the beginnings of a hangover, so I didn't chase after her. I went back to sleep.

I didn't call or text her later that day either. I thought we had just had a good time together—one fun night—not that this was the beginning of a long-term relationship. Over the next few days, she texted me two or three times. I was in a busy period of my life and didn't get around to texting back, although I meant to. I heard later that she was interested in dating me, and when I didn't text back, she was upset.

I believe her anger over my failure to call or text was a big part of her decision to report our night as a sexual assault. Several mutual friends have suggested that this is a case of “a woman scorned.”

Again, I'd like to offer my sympathy to Emily. Looking back, I shouldn't have allowed her to drink so much. I should have called her the next day, just to make sure she was doing okay, even if I wasn't going to pursue a long-term relationship. I'm sorry for these things. But I want to make this clear. I did not sexually assault Emily Shapiro.