The Confessions of Matthew Strong, page 10
Tommy Turner glanced away, as if contemplating. He shook his head slightly. “No, not that I remember. But in all honesty, I haven’t had a moment to spare in months. And, from what Janice told me, there haven’t been any missing girls from Birmingham, so it was never really under my purview.”
“That’s true, but—”
“Seems unlikely your grandmother would have asked me about it, then.” Turner shifted the conversation back to me. “You know, Mrs. Maddie mailed me your book. Who knew when we were kids you’d grow up to be a genius.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Who would have ever imagined how far you and I have come in one generation. We embody the progress our people fought for.”
“Are you practicing your speech?”
He smiled, leaning his forearms on the railing. “I guess so. But I confess, most people would never be willing to make the sacrifices I’ve made to get here.”
“I know something about that. Tell me, are you one of those socially moderate, fiscally conservative Republicans?” I asked.
“Honestly? I’m a Christian first. Businessman second. Republican third.”
“So, being Republican is a business strategy?”
“Not entirely. I guess you’d call it ‘pragmatism’? Our chains have been off for over a century and it’s about time we do what we need to do in order to exploit opportunities from those who respect grit and a strong work ethic.”
This sort of talk usually riled me, but I wanted to keep our conversation cordial, which meant I shifted the topic away from politics. Instead, I asked about his unusual ascension to mayor of a southern city. He told me about his stint in the Marines after high school, then his football scholarship to the University of Kansas, which led to a short-lived NFL career. Short-lived, he explained, because of a medical condition. Princeton Law School, then he returned to Kansas to marry his college sweetheart. He said he never thought too much about politics until his father-in-law—a Republican state representative in Kansas during the 1990s—pushed him. He was a huge Kansas Jayhawks fan and he’d admired Tommy since his days as a star football player. In fact, his wife liked to joke that if they hadn’t married, her father might have adopted him.
“Excuse me, Mayor?”
I turned and I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was Martha Jefferson’s nephew, Wallace, who accused me of plagiarism. My face burned as he grinned at me, sardonically. Wallace put his arm around Thomas like they were the best of friends.
“Wallace, meet Professor Allie Douglass.”
“We actually know each other quite well, Mayor. Don’t we, Professor?”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I said, seething.
“Me and the professor don’t see eye to eye.” Wallace smiled.
“That’s good.” Turner patted his shoulder. “I’ve always found it best to surround myself with critics. What’s that saying, ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer’?”
“I’m not familiar with that one,” Wallace remarked, his arms folded.
“Sun Tzu. The Art of War,” I said.
Turner nodded. “You never cease to impress me, Professor.”
“Now, Mayor, if you’re done with her, I’d like to have a word with the professor.”
“By all means.” Turner stepped back, probably sensing the tension now.
The mayor’s wife took his arm, leaving me with Wallace. I searched for my sister and he followed me.
“If you have a moment, there’s something I’d like to show you.”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” I said, spotting Janice.
“I’m certain you’ll find it quite interesting.”
I paused, thinking to myself that maybe it would feel good to confront him about this bullshit claim. Maybe the wine gave me an unusual cockiness.
“Fine.”
Wallace outstretched his hand toward the headmaster’s office. I glanced over at my sister and Robert chatting and laughing with the few other black couples. Looking back, I admit the stupidity of following Wallace into the headmaster’s office. Given his disdain for my work and my selection for the Jefferson Chair, he was one of the last people I should have been in a room alone with.
* * *
—
Wallace shut the door, then walked over to a huge painting of a distinguished southerner hanging on the wall behind the headmaster’s desk.
“You recognize him?”
I looked closer. I recognized that particular grimace—a face I’d come to know well, being from here. “Andrew Shields?”
“That’s right. He was one of the founders of this fine institution. In fact, this building was one of his many original properties. There are only a few other restored plantation homes like this one. Most are in disrepair. But I have a relative who’s made a hobby out of fixing these places up.”
“Speaking of relatives, wasn’t Andrew Shields’s son, William, arrested for assassinations and kidnappings after the Civil War? Doesn’t seem like such a noble family.”
“We all have relatives who disappoint us, Professor. Besides, William Shields was brought to justice. No need to condemn the father for the sins of his son.”
Maybe it was him, I thought. Not just the accusations against my book; he sent me those letters signed “William Shields.” To intimidate me. But how would Cynthia have gotten the first letter? Had he brought it there and run into her? I knew Wallace was in New York that day, and perhaps he got my apartment address from the university. But then was I to think he also had something to do with Cynthia’s disappearance?
“So, Andrew Shields’s reputation has withstood the disgrace of his wayward son? Are his descendants involved with the school?” I asked.
Wallace smiled. “You’re looking at one.”
What a bastard. His disdain for me made perfect sense. The student protests against Andrew Shields’s statue; his aunt selecting a black woman to hold a chair named after his family—not to mention my book’s criticism of his forefathers’ ideas. Things were changing, and he was watching his entire world fall apart. But why the hell would he kidnap Cynthia? Even if he despised me, how did Cynthia or any of the missing girls fit into this?
I needed to dig deeper. And seriously watch my back and look out for my family. I took a small step away from him. I should have left right then, but it occurred to me that if he was behind all of this, I might say something that would provoke him to tell me a clue, or puzzle piece, I could use to locate Cynthia and the other girls. I recalled Davon and the students who protested the statue.
“I’m sure you don’t appreciate the students’ protest against the Andrew Shields monument downtown?”
He guzzled his drink, set down the glass, and wiped his mouth.
“Our youth have lost their way. It’s as if they spit in the faces of men who built the hallowed institutions that saved this state. All this hooting and hollering is a symptom of a much greater problem that calls for creativity and a new approach.”
“Does Turner as governor fit into this ‘new approach’ somehow?”
“Indeed he does. With Tommy as our governor, we’ll return things to how they used to be.”
“Is that right?” I laughed. “I would think Tommy Turner would be more interested in the future than the past. Especially the past when people you glorify did all they could to keep black people from positions of power.”
Wallace crossed his arms and nodded, slowly. “Despite what you may think, I’m no racist, Professor. I’m talking about returning things to the 1980s, not the ’50s. Our greatness doesn’t depend on racism. My generation learned that. We accepted desegregation as a part of our state’s evolution.”
“So, you think Turner will return Alabama to the 1980s? I’m not sure many black people agree the Reagan era was one of national progress.”
“Perhaps they don’t, but I know from experience you can plug up a hole, but the water will run in circles until it finds a crack and floods in. My point is that this so-called open-minded culture of political correctness we see today has set our nation on course for its moral demise.”
“Protesting a monument is about civic engagement, not our nation’s moral demise.”
“Maybe not. However, we’ve descended from a superpower to a pauper nation. You must admit we’re no longer the world leaders we once were. The Russians own the White House, the Chinese, Wall Street—we sold our nation to those we once defeated.”
“Oh, so this is about our nation’s wealth? You seem to be doing just fine.”
He smiled. “Traditions are more important than money. And this is the reason it’s crucial we speak frankly about our dilemma.”
“Dilemma?”
“That’s right.”
“What, are you going to send me more threatening letters signed ‘William Shields’?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”
“I figured you wouldn’t admit it. Look, I’m not interested in your games. If you don’t approve of your aunt’s decision to award me the Jefferson Chair, take it up with her.”
“That’s another matter I’ll come to in a moment. I’m sure your sister mentioned the financial burden of sending Davon to this school. Am I right?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Turns out there’s a pretty simple solution.”
“Let me guess. It involves me turning down the Jefferson Chair?”
“No, actually, my associates and I have been expanding our property borders near where your grandma lived. Putting in nice homes. Your grandmother’s residence extends into the woods. We’d like to buy the entire property.”
“Her home?”
“That’s right. Now, your sister wasn’t all that excited by the idea. But only a fool would turn down our offer. I was hoping you’d be able to talk some sense into her.”
“How do you know I don’t want to keep the house, as well?”
“Professor, we both know you have no desire to live in Alabama. And with your new distinguished chair, you’re on an upward trajectory. Not to mention, it seems our families share a destiny.”
“Destiny?”
“I mean your career. You go on and do some more distinguished works with the money we’ve donated for your research. Don’t you feel that this is the least you can do?”
“Selling you our grandmother’s house?”
“The property, really. Our offer will improve your family’s financial situation, as well as assist Davon in his future academic pursuits.”
“Seems Davon’s doing just fine, and so is my sister.”
“My wife is an active board member and a big fan of Davon’s. But after the stunt he and some of his friends pulled downtown? Spray-painting the statues of one of our most distinguished citizens? You may want to reconsider my offer. There are board members who would like all those who knew about it but didn’t name the culprit expelled. Maybe selling the house is in Davon’s best interest as well.”
He was blackmailing me. I tried to keep my composure. I didn’t want to appear intimidated.
“I guess that’s up to my sister. But, excuse me, I should get back to the event,” I said, turning.
“Before you go I thought I’d show you something I brought with me, in case you need some coaxing.”
He put a folder down on the desk. Inside was some sort of computer-generated document with symbols and words organized like code.
“I had my research and development department analyze your book using software designed for counterterrorism. Notice the patterns where you used other scholars’ analyses.”
“So, this is the big evidence you have against me? Everyone does that. Academic scholarship depends on building upon previous scholars’ ideas.”
“But your word choice and the organization of the composition is identical to those you’ve cited.”
“That’s not plagiarism. Anyone who knows anything about research knows that.”
“I guess it depends on how you define the term.”
I had enough. I turned back to him. “Are you blackmailing me?”
“I’m not that crass. But I’m willing to do what’s necessary to help you see our shared interests.”
“Look, Wallace, it’s been interesting talking with you.”
I turned to leave and he called me back. “Remember, there are alternatives. This will kill three birds with one stone.”
“You can’t intimidate me. Maybe I’ll let Mayor Turner know about this bullshit.”
I stormed to the bathroom to get my bearings. The fucking nerve. I folded a paper towel and dabbed beneath my eyes where tears had started to leave streaks. I was intent on depriving Wallace of the satisfaction of knowing he upset me. Plagiarism? Patterns of words and sentence structure that resembled other philosophers’ writings? I had seen more blatant acts of intellectual theft ignored—especially if the book won a prestigious prize.
When I left the bathroom, I searched for Janice to get out of there. But everyone had gathered in another room. I followed applause into the main dining room. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Wallace was in front introducing Turner. I’d always considered myself ambitious, but now I realized how self-serving Thomas Turner really was to get caught up with a corrupt asshole like Wallace.
I found my sister seated in the first row close to the podium. She motioned for me to sit beside Thomas Turner’s wife. No way I was about to pass through the entire room, so I took an empty seat closest to the entry.
Wallace took the microphone. “When I first approached Tommy about this opportunity, he nearly spit his bourbon all over my feet.”
There was laughter.
“But soon what had begun as a casual conversation became one about our state, crumbling beneath the weight of political opportunism and corruption. It’s clear we need a man with Christian integrity more than ever.”
Applause.
“Now, before I get out of the way so he can speak for himself, let’s just take a moment to recall our progress in the great state of Alabama. No one can deny it’s been challenging. Yet, when me and Tommy entered the Oak Mountain Christian Academy we both accepted that the future of Alabama depended on unity rather than division. Almost thirty-five years later, we have an opportunity to unite this state in the same way we’ve united Birmingham. Not only through our shared past, but by our values. Christian values. American values. And Alabama’s values. Now, without any further ado, your next governor of Alabama, Mayor Thomas Turner.”
The room burst into applause.
“Thank you, Wallace. I’m not going to take up too much of your time. In fact, I’d like to echo the sentiments of my friend and classmate here. When this institution’s leaders voted to admit me and two other black teens, they acknowledged change had come. It wasn’t an easy decision, and there were some white families who pulled their sons. But this school is like the great state of Alabama and the South generally: its leaders focused on the road ahead rather than behind. While we hold our traditions sacred, we also are driven by Christ’s love. While we may allow fear to shroud our duty, when we open our heart to the Lord, we allow ourselves the opportunity for his wisdom. Our clenched fists and closed eyes become open to the light. We are children of this very light, which shines in all of our hearts regardless of race.
“Now, I know there are plenty of people—black and white—who are still bitter from the past. Generations of my black forebears tilled this soil, in some cases worked in some of your families’ homes. Yet, it’s time we focus less on past wrongs and more on future opportunities available to all who accept personal responsibility and abide by the teachings of Jesus Christ. We have a destiny that must be fulfilled. I’m humbled by your encouragement today. It’s time we come together, heal this state, and return America to its rightful position as a beacon of hope all around the world.
“With your blessings, tomorrow I will announce my run for governor of Alabama.”
People leapt to their feet, whistling and cheering.
Wallace gave Turner a bear hug and took the mic.
“Now, if you all will take your neighbor’s hand and bow your head in prayer.”
A young white woman, probably a student, took my hand and smiled.
“In the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior, we pray. Lord, bless Mayor Turner. Give him the strength to do what is right, be merciful, and walk humbly before God. Amen.”
The woman beside me shook her head, beaming. “He’s something else.”
“He sure is,” I said, trying to hide my gut feeling Wallace and Tommy’s performance masked something sinister. Wallace was not a person to be trusted.
* * *
—
On the drive back, I sat in the back seat brooding. I was flabbergasted that Wallace had the gall to try to blackmail me into selling Grandma’s house by accusing me of plagiarism. I still didn’t know how well my sister knew him, and why she hadn’t mentioned that Wallace approached her about buying Grandma’s house already. I wanted to ask, but it wasn’t a good time.
Janice was livid because the associate dean pulled her aside and said a student accused Davon of spray-painting “#blacklivesmatter” on the Andrew Shields statue. Given the intensity of the recent controversy around the statue, as well as the publicity surrounding Turner’s bid for governor, the school was under more scrutiny than usual. In order to prevent anything worse, the headmaster discussed with the board the possibility of expelling “troublemakers” who put personal politics before the reputation of the school.
* * *
—
We parked and Janice slammed the car door and raced into the house. When Robert and I came in, there was Davon sitting on the couch, arms folded, hood up.
