THE HEIR THEY BURIED ALIVE

CHAPTER 3: THE CAMPUS TITAN

Leo asked for ten minutes. Catherine Cayman gave him fifteen, posting her sharpest junior attorney at the door to ensure the administration didn’t try to handle the situation through back channels while he was compromised.

He walked into the faculty bathroom on the third floor of the Harwick Administration Building. It was a clean, quiet space that smelled of lemon disinfectant—a stark contrast to the cramped communal restrooms in his undergraduate dormitory. 

Leo turned the chrome tap and ran freezing cold water directly over his wrists. It was a habit he had kept since he was twelve years old; whenever the world became too loud or a situation required absolute focus, the sudden shock of ice-cold water helped him freeze his emotions so he could think clearly.

He leaned forward, bracing his palms against the marble counter, and looked at himself in the mirror. He was wearing the exact same clothes as yesterday—the faded navy polo and the dark jeans. He had the same nineteen-hours-tired face, with deep purple shadows bruising the skin beneath his eyes. 

Physically, nothing about him had changed. The only thing that had altered was what other people now knew about him, which meant the only thing that had truly changed was how those people would behave from this moment forward.

He contemplated that reality for a long, silent moment. Then he turned off the tap, dried his hands thoroughly with a paper towel, and walked back into the disciplinary room.

The committee room had been subtly but fundamentally rearranged in the short time he was gone. The seven committee members who had been sitting in absolute judgment eleven minutes ago were now sitting entirely differently.

It wasn't a dramatic, theatrical show of deference; rather, it was the quiet, structural adjustment of bureaucrats who had suddenly recalibrated their understanding of the room's hierarchy. They were shifting their weight, adjusting their papers, and praying that nobody had noticed how aggressively they had been trying to ruin him twenty minutes prior.

Dean Parrish was standing near the large window, his hands clasped tightly behind his back in the manner of a man constructing a formal apology while simultaneously calculating whether an apology was his best strategic move or just something that’d make him look stupid before who he considered as a child.

Leo walked to the table. He did not return to the single, isolated chair across from the panel—the accused's chair. Instead, he pulled out the heavy leather seat at the absolute head of the table. He felt a bit more confident and decided to push just how far his weight carried.

Nobody objected. Nobody even breathed loudly. A thin smile spread across his lips.

Catherine Cayman opened her leather folio with a crisp click, initiating the formal summary. "The Hamilton Global Foundation Trust was established by your great-grandfather, Leo," she began, her voice steady and carrying across the silent room.

 "It was administered through three distinct generations of sequestered management. By design, the trust was structured to activate either upon the formal completion of your undergraduate degree or under a specific hostile intent clause added by your late grandmother in 1987."

She turned a page, her eyes scanning the legal text. "That clause dictates that the trust activates immediately upon any documented external action designed to terminate your academic standing through bad faith. The provision exists because, historically, an event like this has happened to an Hamilton before. This university committee's immediate expulsion proceeding constitutes a formal trigger. The trust is now fully liquid, and it is entirely under your direct control."

Leo listened, his face remaining entirely impassive. He let the silence stretch for a beat before he turned his gaze directly toward Dean Parrish. He felt something snap in his chest and a rumbling surge of confidence sizzled in his blood.

"The expulsion record," Leo said, his voice quiet but perfectly clear. "Clear it formally. Today. I want a written statement from this committee certifying that the evidence brought against me was circumstantially compromised."

Parrish cleared his throat, taking a step away from the window. "M-Mr. Hamilton, the administrative protocol for reversing a committee recommendation typically takes—"

One of Catherine’s corporate attorneys shifted his weight against the back wall, his dark suit rustling slightly in the quiet room. Parrish stopped speaking immediately, the words dying in his throat.

"Also," Leo continued, ignoring the dean's interruption entirely, "I want the full, unedited academic file on those examination papers. I want to know exactly who reported them missing from the faculty office, and exactly who filed the witness statement placing me near the faculty corridor on Tuesday afternoon. Furthermore, I want the electronic door access log for my dormitory building covering the past seventy-two hours."

 He paused, tapping his fingers once against the oak table. "That last one I can easily get from building security myself, but it will move significantly faster if it comes directly from your office."

The committee members nodded frantically, one of them already typing furiously on a laptop to compile the digital files before Leo could even finish his sentence. The power dynamic had shifted so violently that the room felt pressurized.

Leo stood up to leave, slinging his worn leather backpack over his right shoulder. The backpack still contained the stolen master examination papers, though they were now securely sealed inside a thick plastic evidence sleeve held by Catherine’s junior associate.

As Leo reached the heavy oak door, Dean Parrish took a step forward, desperately assembling what remained of his academic authority. "Mr. Hamilton—Leo—I want you to understand that this institution has always valued its students. We have always prioritized integrity and—"

Leo paused, turning around slowly. He was not angry. In fact, his face was entirely smooth, reflecting something far quieter, colder, and more durable than simple anger.

"My dormitory room has a broken radiator," Leo said softly, his eyes locking onto Parrish's. "I reported it to campus housing in October. I have been sleeping in a winter jacket since the first week of November. That is the exact priority level this institution assigns to a student it was fully prepared to expel this morning for a crime he didn't commit."

He adjusted the strap of his bag, his voice dropping another octave, cutting through the warm air of the administrative office like a razor.

"Fix the radiator," Leo said flatly. "We can discuss this institution’s values after that."

Without waiting for a response, he turned the handle and walked out into the corridor, leaving the Dean and the seven committee members frozen in the heavy silence of the room.