Chapter 15
J.T. couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
Emmits Merriam University President David Matthau had earned himself a new nickname if you asked J.T.: Dr. Slimeball. Sure, the man might have a PhD and a bunch of academic awards, but he should have been wearing gold chains and an open shirt and hocking Pintos at a used car dealership.
How had he and Trevor not seen the man’s greasy demeanor before? Perhaps because they hadn’t interacted with him much. There had been an introductory phone call, sure, followed by a brief lunch when he’d arrived in Dare Valley two weeks ago, but that was it.
“I’m sure you understand our family is eager to share the wonderful news of the museum with the world,” Trev was saying, his ankle on his knee.
His brother looked casual, but a funny thing about Trev was that he looked the most relaxed when he was gathering energy for an attack. Yeah, they both knew they were being stonewalled. The university’s head of public relations had struggled to smile when they’d appeared in the doorway of her office. She’d immediate called up to the president’s office, saying he was the person to speak with.
J.T.’s stomach had started to churn the moment he saw the look on her face.
Dr. Slimeball had made them wait twenty minutes, which was totally rude, and then they’d started this bullshit dance.
“Let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we?” J.T. finally said.
The man had the audacity to smile at them from behind his massive desk. He had on a three-thousand-dollar suit, something that seemed out of the norm for a man in his position. It didn’t bode well.
“My ex-wife is in town with an axe to grind against me, and she tells me you took a meeting with her,” he said.
“She’s so unhinged she’s still calling him, if you can believe it.” Trev unbuttoned his suit jacket. “You can imagine our surprise, hearing such folderol. The board recognized the importance of bringing the Merriam art collection back to the university our great-grandfather founded. When J.T. spoke with you, he felt you were on the same page—that you recognized how the Merriam Art Museum would add to the university’s already impressive offerings. I mean, who isn’t impressed with Evan Michaels’ Artemis Institute?”
J.T. had to admire the way Trevor worked. They used to joke Trev had three levels of negotiation. Playing nice kicked things off. No need to make things hard or contentious. If that didn’t work, Trevor would remind the person sitting across from them of their common interests or friends. God help the person if that tactic didn’t soften them. Then the gloves were off, and he’d hit them hard with what the consequences would be. So far, they were still at level two.
“Of course, Evan’s institute is a feather in our cap, but I’m still new at this position and the details of his offering are more…complete than yours. I’m only doing my due diligence.”
Bullshit. “I provided your art experts and the board with everything they requested, including the provenance, which is why they approved it.”
He let the silence grow, locking eyes with Dr. Slimeball. Yeah, I know what kind of an ass you are.
“I’ve made a lot of changes in my professional life to make this my number one priority,” J.T. pressed. “I moved here, expecting to make the public announcement and get started on the museum right away. Now you not only want to delay what you and this university have agreed upon, but you also are meeting with my ex-wife, whose only intent is to stir up trouble and malign my character.”
Dr. Slimeball kicked back in his chair, mimicking Trev. “If your character is what you’ve said it is, J.T., there’s nothing to malign.”
He ground his teeth. “That sounds like an unpleasant characterization of this situation. You’re better versed in the law than I am, Trev. Meeting with my ex-wife seems like a conflict of interest, doesn’t it?”
“It does indeed,” Trev said. “President Matthau, like I alluded to earlier, Ms. Newhouse has displayed obsessive tendencies toward my brother. She isn’t the kind of person a new university president wants to be aquatinted with, least of all influenced by.”
Way to go, Trev, J.T. thought.
“Ms. Newhouse’s concern is for the university and the art community,” Dr. Slimeball volleyed back. “She’s a respected member of said community, from a fine family, and is in the best position to inform us of your character. It’s said behind every great man is an even greater woman.”
God help him if that was the saying. “That’s drivel, Dr. Matthau. Sometimes people simply make a mistake when they marry someone. That was my situation. Case closed. I would appreciate it if you’d keep my private business out of our dealings. If you must know, my ex-wife is bent on revenge because I had the gall to leave her. That’s it. She’s a bully.”
Trev leaned forward. “Our family name is on this university for a reason. We believe in what it was created to do and want to continue to support that.”
“Yet no one in your family has been affiliated with this university for some time,” Dr. Slimeball fired back. “Don’t threaten me or this university. Just because your name is Merriam doesn’t mean you can waltz in here and tell me how to do my job.”
Trevor’s mouth flattened. “Your job is to meet the commitments of the university board and be professional. You’re currently in breach of that. I don’t imagine the board will be very happy hearing about it.”
Dr. Slimeball’s eyebrows rose. “I’ve talked to some board members. They know I’m still realigning this university in compliance with my priorities.”
God, that sounded ominous. Who the hell did he think he was? A king?
“They also understand Ms. Newhouse’s concerns about the art you’re proposing to bring here,” he continued. “No one wants this university to be on the front page of The New York Times for housing stolen Nazi art in their museum.”
Ah, so they were finally to the crux of it. Good. “There was one instance of a painting like this some years ago, and the moment we discovered that fact, I had our lawyers find the family and return the piece. We have established the provenance of the rest of the collection, and it’s all completely above board.”
The man only smirked. “Of course you would say that.”
“Surely, Dr. Matthau,” Trev said, “you would recognize that a family who owns multiple billion-dollar companies would conduct the most thorough inspection. The collection is ready to be shown to the world. It’s time to put out the press release.”
And so they continued their dance. Circle around. Throw a few punches. Get back to the gist of it.
Thank God for Trev’s persistence.
“We want to rebuild some of the trust that has been lost with this situation,” J.T. said. “Sharing the press release and moving forward with the museum will be a solid first step.”
The man smiled—a fake one. He wasn’t going to capitulate. Shit.
“Trust goes both ways, and frankly, some of the things Ms. Newhouse shared about you are quite concerning, J.T. I’m not sure this university wants to have you represent it.”
An anger three years in the making flared through him, making him see red. “Cynthia would say just about anything to make my life difficult. That doesn’t make anything she says true.”
“So you don’t pay bribes to officials in various African and Middle Eastern countries to do business?” he asked, folding his hands on his desk.
Damn Cynthia. Sure, there were times when they were asked to give what officials called a gift or a donation. J.T. didn’t like it, but it was the way that part of the world did things. Otherwise there would be no business.
“We’re getting off point here,” Trevor said, “but to answer your question, there have never been any such allegations against J.T. or Merriam Oil & Gas. Be careful, Dr. Matthau. We’ve thought about suing Cynthia for defamation. We’d hate to see you fall into bad company. I can’t imagine that would be good for a new president.”
The man stood up and buttoned his suit jacket. “I don’t like where this conversation is headed. I know what the board decided, but the execution of all university plans ultimately falls to me. It’s called veto power. Look it up. Right now, I’d like some more time to look into this before we take any further steps. As you said, we all want to make sure the university’s reputation remains top-notch.”
What a dick. This was getting them nowhere. Frustration bloomed inside him, and suddenly he wanted more than anything to escape this room and its pompous occupant. “That’s your prerogative, I suppose.”
“But you won’t have the final say,” Trev said, standing as well. “Despite what you said about veto power, although that’s not exactly the word for it. You know, universities are funny institutions. Since the first one was founded in 859 A.D., I believe—the University of Karueein in Fez, Morocco—there have been assholes like you who thought you could play god in an academic playground. Progress won’t wait for you. I can promise you this: nothing will stop the truth from winning out. This museum will be built here as agreed upon by the university board. With or without your support.”
J.T. wanted to applaud as he stood from his chair, but that would be really unprofessional. He’d leave the bad cop bit to J.T. “Good day.”
The man only turned his back on them as they walked out.
He had to lengthen his stride to catch up to Trevor. They all but marched out of the university president’s main offices. When they left the building, Trevor took a deep breath.
“Sometimes I miss smoking,” he said, striding fast toward the parking lot. “He’s a huge problem.”
“He met with Cynthia,” J.T. said. “He’d already shown his spots.”
Trev stopped and turned to him. “Enough with the leopard analogy. I wonder how leopards feel about that indignity. I mean, it’s not their fault their spots don’t change.”
J.T. laughed. “Okay, so what do we do now?”
“We start wining and dining the board members,” he said. “Can we hire Chef T to cater private dinners?”
“I expect so. I’ll make sure we put out our best china.”
“Haha,” Trev said. “Cynthia has to have something else up her sleeve. That guy might be eating out of her hands, but she would know the board has already approved the museum. So would he. There has to be some inducement we don’t know about.”
Yes, she would have thought of that. “She has to have more cards to play. She told me she was several steps ahead of me on the chessboard.”
“You know what I always say about chessboards when the game isn’t going your way,” Trev said.
“Burn the board.”
“You got it,” Trev said, clapping him on the back. “Let’s find out what Uncle Arthur has scared up.”
The thought of Uncle Arthur led his mind straight to Caroline, and to how pale she’d looked after his call with Cynthia. He really needed to do something romantic for her. Today. Hell, he wanted to do something romantic for her. His grandparents’ letters couldn’t arrive fast enough.
Tendrils of depression tried to reach up and twine around his limbs. God, he was so tried of fighting for what he wanted. Of fighting to have a life.
“I need a blowtorch,” he mumbled.
Trev turned. “For what?”
“For the board,” he said. “Come on.” If a blowtorch didn’t work, he’d set fire to the whole goddamn room if it came down to it.
This endless battle had to end, one way or another.