THREE
Ryan’s Answers
“A MORALS CLAUSE?” Ryan wasn’t sure he’d heard the dean right, so he repeated it.
He’d waited nearly an hour to see her. The secretary had assured him it wasn’t a good day, but he’d assured her he didn’t mind waiting, so he’d sat his butt in a chair and waited.
And waited.
And eventually, maybe because she’d needed to use the bathroom, the dean had ventured out of her office, and he’d pounced.
After he’d introduced himself, she’d sighed and gestured toward her office, promising him she’d return in a moment. Thirty more minutes he’d waited before she came back smelling a little like curry and coconut.
The dean, who turned out to be a middle-aged woman with a friendly smile, nodded. “Do you remember the essay portion of your application?”
Most of the schools he’d applied to had similar essay questions, so he thought back, trying to remember what CCSL asked.
“We asked you,” she said helpfully, “to describe the importance of moral conviction and the law.”
“Yes.” Now he remembered.
“Your answer was well thought out, very insightful. And then at the end of your essay, we ask you to sign something; do you remember?”
He wanted to be sick. This was his worst fear realized. His relationship with Nora was the reason behind his status.
“It was brought to our attention, Mr. Valore, that in high school your testimony was responsible for putting an innocent man in prison.”
All thoughts of Nora disappeared from his mind. Instead, his best friend’s voice echoed through his head, begging Ryan to believe him.
His response had followed—cold, distant. Like he was speaking to a stranger. In that long-ago moment, they’d never had sleepovers, never played video games, never had each other’s back.
What was it he’d told his friend? “She died because of you.”
His fingers curled into the sides of the chair, gripping it tightly. “Yes. I did.” He took a deep breath. “And it was the reason I wanted to become a lawyer.”
The dean leaned back in her chair, folding her hands in front of her. “You lied.”
“I made a mistake,” he answered quickly.
She sighed. “Go on. I’m willing to listen.”
But he hesitated. After he’d told Nora his story, he’d hoped never to tell it again. Yet his entire future rested on this meeting. “You are aware the guy who went to prison was in a drunk driving accident?”
She nodded.
“I was at the party, and while I’d been drinking, I hadn’t believed I was drunk. My friend left. I thought I saw him drive away. Later on, when we learned about the accident and the police asked me what I’d seen, I told them. But what I saw and what I believed I saw were different.”
“Ah.” She rubbed her forehead.
“I sent my best friend to prison. I told the police he was driving, even though he swore he wasn't. He begged me to think harder. To believe him. But I didn't. And when I was asked to testify at his trial, I did. I took the stand, and I swore before God and the judge and my family he drove the car that killed his girlfriend.”
“I believe I know what happened next.”
Ryan looked down at his lap, clenching his hands together. “Every day I think about the time he lost. About what I stole from him.” The dean watched him with an expression of sympathy. “I would give anything to take back my mistake. I want to be a lawyer because I want to protect people. I want justice to be served, and I never want another innocent man to go to prison.”
“Mr. Valore,” she began. “Our school's mission may seem antiquated, but it has a purpose. We want to graduate lawyers who are truly guided by a moral and ethical code.”
“I understand.” He was not the kind of student they were looking for.
“Any student who may not meet this standard is immediately suspended or waitlisted while an investigation takes place.”
The irony of a school requiring their students to hold themselves to a higher standard, suspending—or in his case waitlisting—accused students before asking for evidence, was not lost on him.
“I've spoken to your professor, Erik Bismarck, and he assures me you would be a boon to our program.”
Some of his tension left him. Was there hope?
“He told me about your work with Legal Aid and your support of the accused school shooter, Nora Leslie. You apparently went above and beyond your role as intern. You let her live with you when she was evicted and lost her job?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Valore, we will be taking a closer look at your case, but until then, you remain on the waitlist. CCSL has a student committee who will have the final say on your admission. They put you on the waitlist.”
“Someone on the committee wanted me to be waitlisted?”
“Your name was brought to the attention of the committee, but the committee is not one person. It is not an entity out to get you, Mr. Valore. I promise.”
“Of course not... But so I understand, the student committee has the final say on all incoming students?”
“No,” she clarified. “The student committee is one part of the admissions process. However, they do have the final say on any student who has been waitlisted or might be expelled.”
“Dean Williams,” he ventured. “The thing I don't understand is, who would have brought me to the attention of the committee?”
“Vermont is a small state. It isn't hard to run into someone who knows your story. I can't go to the grocery store without meeting a cousin of a cousin of a cousin.”
His mind went a mile-a-minute, trying to think of someone who knew of his past, who believed he was a liar, and who knew of the requirements of CCSL.
Someone had it out for him; someone wanted him to get what he deserved. Because he did deserve to be waitlisted. What right did he have to move on with his life? No matter who he was now, he’d once stolen someone’s future.