From Campus Pauper to Billionaire Campus King

Chapter 3

The security guards dragged Isaiah down the hall, their grip firm on his arms. They shoved him into Professor Lance's office, a sterile room dominated by a large, imposing desk. Professor Lance, a stern-faced man with thinning hair, looked up from his computer, a grim satisfaction on his face.

"Ah, Isaiah," Professor Lance said, his voice cold. "Just the man I was looking for. First, you skip my lecture. Then, Mr. Harold Grant called me and told me about how you attacked him. And now, Mr. Walter called to report you also assaulting him. It seems half the student body is reporting you." 

The professor stood up from his seat, placing both hands behind his back as he moved closer to Isaiah. He waved the guards to step aside. "I'll handle this."

Isaiah tried to explain. "Professor, it wasn't my fault! Today…today has just been a lot. I tried to attend your class but the other students wanted me to get them some food and I would have gotten them on time if I hadn’t bumped into Harold. His case was a mistake, I swear. I even apologized. And Walter... Walter is a jerk, he was stealing my girlfriend. I had to do something…!"

‘SMACK!’

Professor Lance's hand connected sharply with Isaiah's cheek. "Silence!" he roared, his face contorted with anger. 

The guards who were still on stand-by, chuckled at Isaiah getting disciplined. "Do you have any idea who Harold and Walter' parents are? Not only are both families millionaires with business empires you can only ever dream about. But they are also among the top sponsors of this university! Their yearly donations keep this institution afloat. It is because of donors like them that we get to keep scholarship students like you in this school!" 

He jabbed a finger at Isaiah's chest. "So how dare you offend their children?"

Isaiah's cheek stung; this was the third slap he had received this morning and yet the slaps didn’t feel like the worst part of the day for Isaiah. But instead, it was the injustice that burned hotter with the blatant bias. He knew the professor disliked him, but this was beyond anything he could have imagined.

"My verdict is final," Professor Lance declared, his voice dripping with self-importance. 

"I cannot allow trash like you to offend the school's top donors’ children. They sent their children here in hopes of a well-nurtured, conducive, and peaceful environment for their children to study. If they pull their donations, it affects every scholarship student. For that reason, I must make a decisive judgment they will be proud of. Isaiah, you are hereby expelled from this school. Never to return. Unless you do everything Harold and Walter demand of you."

"What? Expelled? You can't do that!" Isaiah protested, his voice cracking. "You can expel me from the faculty, but you can’t just expel me from the school. Only the Chancellor has that power!"

Professor Lance smirked, a cruel twist of his lips. "You are right, Isaiah. But where you are wrong is underestimating my influence. The Chancellor, Mr. Mark Baun, takes my words with great respect. I am going to call him right now. And report this matter." He pulled out his phone.

Isaiah watched, helpless, as the Professor dialed. 

"Mr. Baun? Yes, Professor Lance here. I have a rather urgent matter regarding a student, Isaiah... Yes, the one Harold Grant and Walter reported... He's here now... Yes, a serious disruption... Oh?" Professor Lance's eyebrows shot up. "You want me to bring him to your office? Now?" He paused, listening. "Understood, Mr. Baun. We'll be right there."

Professor Lance disconnected the call, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. "You're done for, Isaiah. The Chancellor himself has decided to handle your case. That means trouble. Security! Take him to the Chancellor's office!"

The guards grabbed Isaiah again, pulling him out of the office. As they walked through the campus, the news of his exploits had spread. Students pointed, whispered, and booed. 

"There he goes!" 

"Good riddance, Fetch-Boy!" 

"He got what he deserved what a loser!"

They reached the administration tower, a sleek, modern building that housed the Chancellor's office. The receptionist, a prim woman with severe glasses, led them down a hushed corridor. She opened a large, ornate door.

Inside, Chancellor Mark Baun, a distinguished man with silver hair, sat behind a large desk. But it was the other man in the room who truly commanded attention. A tall, imposing figure with kind eyes and an aura of quiet power. Professor Lance gasped, his eyes widening.

"Mr. Anthony Bradley!" Professor Lance exclaimed, dropping to his knees in an instant, prostrating himself. "It is an honor, sir! A profound privilege!"

The professor recognized the man as the founder and owner of the school, Mr. Anthony Bradley, who named the school after his lost son. Anthony Bradley was the richest man in the country, with a net worth of over $800 billion. He was a business genius with many Fortune 500 companies under his empire, the Brad Zay Group, which he also named after his lost son.

Professor Lance, still on his knees, began to stammer, "Sir, I apologize for this... this disrespectful presence. This student, Isaiah, has caused nothing but trouble for our esteemed donors, Mr. Harold Grant and Mr. Walter..."

"That will be all, Professor Lance," Chancellor Baun interrupted, his voice firm. "You may leave. I will take it from here."

Professor Lance looked like he wanted to argue, to properly brief the Chancellor on the gravity of Isaiah's offense, but the Chancellor's PA, standing discreetly by the door, gave him a sharp and dismissive hand gesture.

Professor Lance rose, bowed deeply to both men, and backed out of the office, shooting Isaiah a triumphant 'you're finished' look as he left. As soon as the door closed, Professor Lance pulled out his phone, dialing Harold and Walter into a conference call.

"Boys, good news," he practically crowed. "The Chancellor himself has taken over Isaiah's case, and Mr. Anthony Bradley, the founder, is here too. Knowing how much your parents donate, Isaiah is going straight to hell."

"Excellent, Professor," Harold's voice crackled through the phone. "We'll be sure to put in a good word for you with our parents."

"Thank you, Professor," Walter added.

Professor Lance beamed, already picturing the favors and promotions. He practically skipped back to his office.

Back in the Chancellor's office, the atmosphere had undergone a dramatic shift. Chancellor Baun gestured for Isaiah to come forward.

"Isaiah," Chancellor Baun said, his voice much softer than Professor Lance's. "This is Mr. Anthony Bradley."

Isaiah had read about Anthony Bradley. The business genius. The man who built the Brad Zay Group, which he named after his lost son. He was the most successful businessman in the country, a legend in the business administration department. And one of the men they had to learn about in business class. Isaiah's mind raced. 

“God, please help me. I can’t imagine what punishment they have in store for me.” He dropped to his knees.

"Mr. Bradley," Isaiah pleaded, his voice choked. "Please, sir, forgive me. I didn’t mean for all that to happen today. This scholarship is all I have; please have mercy."

Anthony Bradley moved quickly, gently raising Isaiah to his feet. "No need for that, son. Please, sit." He gestured to a comfortable armchair.

Isaiah was shocked; the richest man in the country just helped him up. His touch alone can probably buy and sell this school ten times over. Isaiah, still in a state of bewildered shock, sat.

"Isaiah," Mr. Bradley began, his eyes filled with vim. "How is your mother? Mary Hollins?"

Isaiah's head snapped up. "My mother? How... how do you know my mother?"

Mr. Bradley simply smiled a deep and knowing smile. "Do you have a birthmark, Isaiah? On your back, shaped like the map of Africa?"

Isaiah's heart hammered. He did have the mark in question and he was even more surprised by how he knew. He quickly unbuttoned his shirt and turned to show the mark on his back.

Anthony Bradley's eyes welled up. He pulled Isaiah into a crushing hug, so tight that Isaiah felt his bones crack. The sixty-two-year-old man had surprising strength.

When he finally released Isaiah, his eyes were wet, but his smile was radiant. "You are my son, Isaiah. My son." He choked back a sob. "I lost you six months after you were born. Your mother... she ran away with you."

Isaiah stared, speechless.

"My father," Mr. Bradley continued, his voice thick with emotion, "he threatened to exile me from the family if I married Mary. You see, she wasn't... born rich like us. She came from a modest family background and it made my father detest her. I tried… I tried everything to convince him, but it was no good. Mary…your mother feared for your safety. Your grandfather was ruthless and very resourceful. She ran away without informing me. No goodbyes, no notes, nothing.” Mr. Bradley said, his voice a mix of happiness and remorse as he recounted the tale.

“I searched for her, Isaiah; I searched for you. I looked everywhere from Asia to South America to Africa and even Australia. I spent the better years of the last decade searching every nook and cranny for you and your mother. But all to no avail." 

He took a deep breath. "I named this university after you. Brad Zay University. That is a shortened version of your name, Isaiah, Zay; it is your nickname. I named my company after you too, the Brad Zay Group. My empire, this school, I did it all for you."

Isaiah couldn't speak. His mother, before she died, had told him he came from a rich background. But she had never explained. Not like this.