“A million dollars,” I said coldly.
Sarah roared, then laughed. “You think I
care? We’re still married! Those are your
debts too! You’ve won nothing!”
“Ashley’s your daughter, isn’t she? You lied
to me all these years. How can you be so
brazen?” I asked. There had to be more to
this than just the inheritance.
<
“You found out? You had a DNA test done?
You’re despicable!” she spat. “But you’ll
never know who her real father is! How does
it feel, wearing that cuckold’s hat for all those
years?” She hung up, laughing.
I stared at the phone. “I already know who
her father is.” The man with Sarah and Ashley
at the scene of my suicide… David.
The next day at the university, whispers
followed me. My phone rang. It was the
president. “John, come to my office.”
I had a bad feeling.
“John, do you understand the damage this
has done to the university? If you can’t
resolve this, we’ll have to revoke your
tenure,” he said grimly, showing me a
#ProfessorAccusedOfAssaulting Daughter.
No names, but clicking on it revealed a video
of Ashley, wearing a mask, holding up her ID.
“I, Ashley Miller, accuse a professor at A
University of years of abuse. To silence me,
he had me and my mother arrested! Now he’s
suing her for a million dollars! We have
nowhere left to turn!” She sobbed
dramatically.
The comments were brutal. “Monster! Preying on his own daughter! She’s just a child!” “He stole her future! He should be hanged!” “Suing them after what he did? Disgusting!” “He teaches at my university! I never would
have guessed! Fire him!”
I was reliving my past life. This was how it
started, the online hate campaign, the threats,
く
“President Thompson, you were there. You
know what happened,” I said, my voice heavy.
He sighed. “I do, John. But this is damaging
the university’s reputation. I have to act.”
A knock on the door. David entered, holding a
tenure application. He sneered at me. “Still
showing your face here? Look at the mess
you’ve made! Everyone’s calling our faculty
monsters!”
I glanced at him. “Thanks in part to your
efforts.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I’ve had
enough of you! You’re incompetent, a
disgrace to the profession!” He grabbed my
collar.
Г
I grabbed his hair.
“Stop it! Both of you! Get out!” the president
roared. We let go of each other.
