The Valentines

XVI

Esmé leant back in the chair, only half listening. This was the last meeting she had to attend before resigning completely now that a suitable replacement had been found for her.

She'd worked until the end of the term and promised her third years that if they needed the extra help she would arrange a meet.

When the announcement was made that she was leaving, a lot of the faculty looked to her in surprise. She didn't bother to engage any but Dr Smyth, who's dirty eyes lit up at the knowledge she wouldn't be present to stop his actions.

Her head tilted as she met his eyes, an amused smile on her face. He thought he had the upper hand this whole time. For over a year nothing had happened to him. Nothing that he knew of, anyway.

For over a year, Esmé had been paying a private investigator to dig into George Smyth, to find out why he moved across the country to an upper class village in the back end of nowhere.

The reasons were damning enough, but Esmé wanted more, so she had the PI look into his work at the university, the women he interacted with, what was said behind his back and how much of it was true.

Emails, photos, videos, voice recordings and all sorts of other incriminating evidence had been compiled into a wonderful red folder, which had been handed to Esmé at the start of that week.

That folder now sat on the desk of the Vice-Chancellor, who happened to be a friend of Esmé's.

The whole time she had been quietly gathering everything she needed to take him down within the university, and now the Vice-Chancellor was on board with her.

Esmé wasn't just there for a stupid meeting.

"It's such a shame," George called to her from across the room. "I know a lot of the girls here will be upset that you've gone."

The room fell silent, knowing the two didn't get along. Esmé couldn't wait to rip the ground out from underneath him.

"Why would they be upset?" She asked, head tilting as she observed him.

"Because you won't be there."

"Why would that matter?"

"Hold on," a lecturer in Esmé's department started. "Why the girls specifically?"

"Because if I leave," Esmé began, "then that means nobody will stand between him and whichever young woman he decides to rape. At least, that is his theory."

The revelation sent a wave of reactions throughout the room, upending it into a chaotic fuss.

"How dare you!" He shouted at her over the tables separating them. "You have no proof to throw those accusations around!"

"No proof?" Esmé leant forward on the table. "I am not stupid enough to make drastic claims with nothing to support them."

"If there's no proof," the same lecturer called over the noise, "then why are you so defensive?"

Esmé nodded her head in agreement.

"Where is your evidence then?!" He sputtered, ignoring the man who had spoken.

"With Cordelia," she replied.

"Who the fuck is Cordelia?"

"The Vice-Chancellor," she paused for a moment, letting that sink in, enjoying how his face paled, "and the police."

A second later phones and laptops began emitting the email notification and Esmé almost grinned.

"And all of them," she tilted her head in the direction of everyone present, a pensive hush falling across the room as they opened the emails. "I was considerate enough to block out all the women because unlike some people I respect their privacy and wishes."