CHAPTER 87: CALCULUS OF POWER

The door opened with Pierce’s characteristic measured pace.

He entered like a man comfortable with authority, hands clasped behind his back, his silver hair perfectly groomed despite the afternoon’s activities.

"Well now, gentlemen," Pierce said, his voice carrying that familiar grandfatherly warmth that somehow made his authority feel inevitable rather than imposed.

"I trust you’re all prepared for this afternoon’s little theatrical performance?"

He moved to stand behind his desk, every gesture deliberate and reassuring. "Marcus, my boy, I need you and your friends to understand something crucial."

He let the words hang for a beat, his eyes sweeping the room, making sure no one dared to look away. Only when he was certain of their silence did he continue.

"Today, you’re observers. Silent, respectful observers."

Marcus’s jaw tightened slightly. "Sir, why aren’t we allowed..."

"Because," Pierce interrupted with the kind of gentle firmness reserved for explaining obvious truths to children,

"Miranda Whitman will be looking for any excuse... any appearance of impropriety or undue influence... to turn this entire proceeding into a circus with me as the main attraction."

His gaze swept across each young face with paternal concern. "Your family connections, your... previous difficulties with academic discipline, my past flexibility regarding your various adventures... all of it becomes ammunition in the wrong hands."

Pierce leaned closer, his voice dropping to that conspiratorial weight only meant for them.

"This inquiry is not justice. It’s strategy. And today..."

Then... he stopped. A faint shuffle in the hallway outside. The muted sound of approaching footsteps.

In an instant, his tone softened, reshaped into the careful diction of a man who wanted history to remember him as the guardian of principle.

"Remember," Pierce continued, louder now, his voice carrying with performative gravitas, "this isn’t merely about disciplining one troublesome student. This is about maintaining proper order, establishing precedent, ensuring that respect for authority remains the very foundation of this institution."

A sharp knock interrupted his lecture. Pierce’s mask of dignified composure held firm, every trace of his private lecture sealed away before the door opened.

"That will be all for now, boys. Wait in the conference room down the hall. I’ll join you shortly to review final details." Pierce’s expression shifted immediately from instructional to dismissive.

As the students filed out, Marcus hesitated at the door. "Sir, are you certain about the risks involved in... "

"Marcus," Pierce said with the kind of gentle authority that brooked no argument, "trust that I’ve been navigating these waters longer than you’ve been alive. Go."

The man who entered as the door closed carried himself with the quiet dignity of long institutional service.

Dr. Harold Brennan, Pierce’s contemporary and longtime colleague, settled into one of the chairs with obvious familiarity.

"Gerald," Brennan said without preamble, using Pierce’s first name with the privilege of old friendship. "What in God’s name are you doing?"

Pierce remained standing, his expression carefully neutral. "Conducting a disciplinary hearing for a serious assault case, Harold. Hardly revolutionary administrative procedure."

"Cut the diplomatic nonsense," Brennan replied sharply. "I’ve known you for fifteen years, watched you build your career on careful calculation and institutional wisdom. This obsession with the Hale boy... this isn’t about maintaining order. You’re playing a much more dangerous game."

Pierce’s facade cracked slightly, revealing something harder underneath. "I’m not sure what you mean, old friend."

"The siblings, Gerald. You’re making moves that directly oppose James and Catherine Blackwood’s interests, and anyone with half a brain can see it." Brennan leaned forward with genuine concern.

"As your friend... as someone who’s watched you navigate these political waters successfully for years... I’m telling you this path leads nowhere good."

"Should I not conduct fair proceedings when my students suffer assault?" Pierce’s voice carried practiced innocence, the tone of a man genuinely puzzled by such accusations.

"Fair proceedings?" Brennan snorted with bitter amusement.

"Since when have you ever concerned yourself with the ’well-being’ of students who couldn’t buy their way into your good graces? Except for a very select few, of course."

The silence stretched between them, years of shared history and unspoken knowledge hanging heavy in the air.

"Gerald," Brennan continued, his voice softer now, carrying the weight of genuine friendship, "whatever you think you’re going to gain from this... whatever promises Nathaniel Blackwood has whispered in your ear about advancement and resources... it’s not worth destroying everything you’ve built here."

Pierce finally sat down, some of the rigid authority leaving his posture. When he spoke, his voice carried a weariness that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside.

"Harold, if I asked for your support... if I needed you to stand with me in what’s coming... would you?"

Brennan studied his old friend’s face with the careful attention of someone trying to recognize a person they’d known for years.

"That depends entirely on where you’re really standing, Gerald. And right now, I’m not entirely sure you know anymore."

He stood to leave, pausing at the door with obvious reluctance. "I’ll make my decision based on what I see in that hearing room. I just hope... for both our sakes... that the truth prevails, whatever that might be."

After Brennan left, Pierce remained alone in his office, staring at the institutional awards and photographs that had once defined his entire world.

The grandfather clock in the corner ticked with mechanical precision, counting down moments toward something that felt increasingly inevitable.

Why was he doing this?

The answer came with crystalline clarity: because James Blackwood was finished, whether he admitted it or not.

The accident had stolen more than just his ability to advance... it had marked him as weak in a world where strength was the only currency that mattered.

Catherine was brilliant, perhaps more so than her brother, but brilliance without official authority was merely unrealized potential.

Nathaniel, however, was everything the family needed... youth at his back, power in his grasp, and momentum carrying him ever higher.

Aligning with the future head of the Blackwood family before others recognized the inevitable wasn’t opportunism... it was simple strategic thinking.

And the resources Nathaniel had promised... would justify every risk, every burned bridge, every moment of uncertainty.

Pierce had spent his entire career watching other men rise in power while he lagged behind, never having the resources to match their ascent. No more.

Today’s inquiry was more than a formality... it was an opening.

By uncovering why both siblings had taken such an interest in a nobody scholarship student, Pierce would deliver intelligence that Nathaniel alone could act upon.

And in doing so, he would no longer be the overlooked functionary of Blackwood politics, but the man who had chosen the winning side before anyone else dared.