Some unidentifiable insects have died on the LED bulb, the thoraxes and abdomens had disintegrated but the antennaed heads and wings remained security plastered on the single light fixture in the windowless room. 

Must be the only room in the entirety of Louisiana State University College of Medicine that’s not covered in degrees, diplomas, certificates, awards, and other proofs of life well lived, matted in tasteful pastel and framed in richly stained wood, gesticulating the subdue austerity suitable for learned scholarship, the young man sitting in the aluminum chair thought.

The door behind him opened and shut. He did not look back, but remained entranced by the bug cadaver on the bulb, trying to recall his grandfather’s old saying about a light or flame, until the LED was blocked by a large head bracketed by protruding ears.

“Dan Gould, I am the head of security.”

“I am the head of security.” Dean Adler uttered, reposing on her Eames lounge chair, wrapped in two layers of fleece, as she was often cold since her chemo, despite the flamboyant sun just outside of her quaint Marigny Creole cottage. “That's how the first guy who interrogates you will describe himself. In fact he is a glorified security guard, a doorman of  miniscule responsibility. Convinced that he is executing his duty by interviewing you first, whereas in reality it would be one of the few opportunities he has in life to unfurl his ego before it was ripped to pieces.”

“I have phoned my contact in NOPD who will take you into custody. Kai Matsuda you said your name was?” Gould looked down at a roster sheet. “Says here you are a second year medical student here at LSU. Now, kindly tell me why you broke into Dean Hutchinson’s office. With a satisfactory answer, maybe I can call off the dogs. After all, I do have some pull with the police.” The security cracked a grin conjoining the flanking ears.

No you haven't called the police, the youth thought. If you had you would wait for the police to do the intake interview, to avoid getting a new one ripped into you when the New Orleans finest found out some wannabe cop had mucked around with their initial investigation.

“No break-in sir. Students come into the school after hours to study all the time, in the library, or empty classrooms. I simply found this unlocked office with this beautiful grand oak desk to study on.”

“Try again. I personally lock the doors to all the principal administrators’ offices each evening. You had to have broken in. It’s trespassing, a misdemeanor at least to be sure.”

“Broken in how? Was the window smashed? Lock broken? Door carried off the hinges?”

No

“Did I pick the lock with my fingernails?  Because your guy frisked me and did not find any lock pickers.”

It was indeed true no such devices were found on the youth as he had already disposed of his lock picking set in the nearest trash receptacle after the lock was defeated, anticipating such a search. The set can be retrieved later at an opportune moment, or if not, be dumped with the rest of the rubbish, avoiding evidence collection. 

“I think it’s quite alright sir. Even the best of us error in our duties some days. Don’t be too harsh on yourself for forgetting to lock all the doors earlier in the evening.”

Gould’s meaty palm struck the table and made it jump.

“Don’t you patronize me. For all I know you could be there to steal test questions or change your grades.” The head of security bellowed, which  worried the youth as the button holding together his collar could burst open anytime under the pressure of his bulging neck, imperiling his clip on tie.

“The tests are written and kept by individual professors. Grades are kept in the student affair’s office. You really have no idea what a dean of medical school does, do you?  He raises the awareness of the school and secures funding. In other words, his job is to make the school famous so people would donate money. Now, unless I want to alter the cocktail menu for the next fundraiser, there is nothing to be gained from being in that room.”

Tremblin, the large man pointed his thick finger and was about to let loose a torrent of fierce vociferation as someone opened the door and signaled him to step out. The youth went back and studied the insect wings on the bulb and listened to the heated exchange from the hallway, which ended with the voice of authority triumphing over the voice of passion, as it usually does.

Thank God. The pregame show was running a bit long.

The door opened again, bestowing the barren room with scent of sophisticated  cologne, brand unidentified.  A pair of fine-grained wingtip loafers first appeared low in the young man’s peripheral vision. No socks.

“Phil Mulligan, vice dean of student affairs.”  In a dress shirt, five o'clock shadow, and hurriedly moussed hair, the man reached over the table. They shook.

“Not really Kai Matsuda are you? Unless you have shrunk 5 inches, bulked up your jawline, and ceased the perpetual dispensation of the essence of cannabis.” Mulligan smirked.

“Picked up the name from the student photos in the hall.  Looks like Kai made the dean’s list for the last three semesters.”

“Keyser Soze shit - like it! So what name do we use at home?”

“A competent interrogator always leads with a question he already knows the answer to.” Adler reminded him, sipping from a mug of steaming Darjeeling.

“Funny. I don’t use my name much at home.” Replied, trying to determine if the vice dean was annoyed or worried.

“Well if that’s the way you want to play it.” The youthful school administrator opened a vanilla folder which he carried in and put on his reading glasses. “How does the name Dominique Tran suit you?”

“Suits me fine. I think I’ll go with it.”

So, a competent interrogator. Able to lift my fingerprint from Dean Hutchinson’s computer, entered it into a national database containing lifescan information of all medical students and hospital residents, and got a ping. Now back to the main question, is he pissed or concerned?

“Senior in Tulane Medical School. Took the national medical USMLE board exam part one with a passable score.” Mulligan read his print out, and snickered. “Took part two, failed, passed on the second attempt by the skin of your teeth.”

Focus! Focus! Don't get distracted, idiot. Dominique wanted to say to Mulligan, but remained mute.

“Mind explaining why you broke into Hutchinson’s office at 3 am, dragging me out of bed? Sir!” Pronouncing the sir as the tip of a dagger, Mulligan tossed the folder on the table, crossed his arms, and yawned.

He doesn't know! He really doesn’t know! He is piqued. Irritated by the fact Dean Hutchinson called him in the middle of his good dreams and yanked him away from his warm bed, perhaps even away from another warm body in the bed, without explaining why some random sneaking vagrant found in his office deserves such attention. 

“Terribly sorry about this Phil, but this is important.” Hutchinson’s apology would have been delivered over the phone with stentorian authority at 3 am.

“Resourceful, energetic, assume he is as smart as you are. And if he is young …” He is, Dominique noted, as Adler advice regarding the secondary interrogator resonated in his ear. “He would be craving for accomplishments to advance his career.”

“The only uncertainty is if he is privy to the truth, the crux of the big picture. ”Adler continued. “Does he have a seat at the high table, or is he a compartmentalized knight-errant.”

He doesn't know what’s on Dean Hutchinson’s computer, Dominique Tran thought. That’s why he is more incensed about needing to be here in the small hours rather than anxious about any leaking secrets. He has been sent here as a gofer to probe what I found without being told what I am looking for.

“The ambitious young ones often become irked when reminded that they are not in the inner circle.” Adler’s voice resonated.

“For seventy-five years Louisiana State University College of Medicine and Tulane University School of Medicine had an agreement to  share in the providing of care in local institutions. We admitted patients on alternate days in Charity Hospital, Hotel-Dieu, and Oshner clinic - an efficient arrangement that satisfied the needs of clinical education for both entities.”  Adler explained. “However, at the end of the last fiscal year the state announced the allocation of funds for building a new facility in New Orleans - a two thousand  bed state of the art hospital to be staffed exclusively by LSU.” Dominique Tran uttered, channeling Dean Adler.

“Well personally I thought it was a bit unfair myself but more feather on the cap of our school and kudos to Dean Hutchinson I guess. Frankly way above my paygrade.” Mulligan commented.

“On a separate note, LSU College of Medicine hired a new full time professor of biochemistry and human physiology last year, upon the strong recommendation from Dr. Hutchinson.” Dominique Tran continued.

“Professor Guthier, he is young and dynamic, popular with the students.”

“Professor Jayden Guthier, Ph.D.  Son of Alexander Guthier, lawyer, and Elizabeth Guthier, also a lawyer, maiden name Conway, who raised young Jayden as her own since she married his father four years after the passing of Jayden’s biological mother during childbirth - his birth, one Candice Guthier, maiden name Beaumont.”

Fleeting recognition flashed through Mulligan’s keen eyes.

“You would be correct sir if you recognized the surname, as the said Candice Beaumont was indeed the baby sister of Grant Beaumont, Louisiana state senator, the ranking member on the Ways and Means Committee, and the chairman of the Healthcare and Education committee. Yes. Your popular professor Guthier is the biological nephew of our state senator, a star issue by his long departed, beloved sister.”

Phil Mulligan’s youthful face, which had won all the battles against gravity over the past 45 years, appeared just being handed its first Waterloo. The deepening crevices ashened to match the shade of the walls in the windowless room under the bleaching LED.

“It may only be bad optics but it’s completely legal if the legislator offered LSU the exclusive access to their new state of the art hospital, as well as LSU’s hiring the family of a powerful lawmaker who made that decision. However, if there is any evidence to suggest that communication existed between the two entities to orchestrate a quid pro quo, it’s the bloody shark-feeding time for the US Attorney of the Eastern Louisiana District and FBI’s New Orleans Field Office, even if it’s just circumstantial.  All they have to do is convince the grand jury.” Dominique Tran continued with a steady tempo. “And you know these old-timers, they don’t really understand electronic footprints, they don't realize that deleted emails are easily retrievable, they don’t bother to use encryption, and in the case of Dean Hutchinson, he never even bothered to sign off from his email account from his work computer …”

Mulligan hurried into the hallway before Tran finished.  Apprehensive voice could be heard through the closed door. 

Oh I hope he is calling Hutchinson so we could get the finale on the road.  Have to be in the lab by 8 am.  He looked at his watch and then up at the insect carcass on the light bulb again. Something about power, fame, and lights? … he tried to recall his grandfather’s words once more unsuccessfully, gave up, and started typing on his cellphone.  

Just about when Dominique Tran finished his writings, the door behind him opened and shut once more. Hutchinson, the dean of Louisiana State University College of Medicine, walked around Dominique and sat opposite, legs crossed and leaning into the back of the aluminum chair.  Between his steely white hair and aquiline nose , a pair of deep setting eyes gazed into the medical student’s soul.

“So you are Duke Tran’s grandson?”

Nodded.

“We graduated from Ole Miss in the same class - Duke was the smartest man I have ever met.”

“Funny he said the same about you.”

“And how is Harriet doing nowadays?” Hutchinson inquired about his counterpart in Tulane University School of Medicine.

“Unfortunately Dean Adler succumbed to illness last week after a heroic struggle against cancer over the past two years. She was memorialized in a very small service by her immediate family. No public announcement was made in accordance with her wish.”

“Oh no! Sorry to hear that, really. Please pass on my condolences.”  Hutchinson frowned and paused as if contemplating his own mortality. After a suitable interval of silence, he leaned forward and spoke in a hushed tone. “So, from one smart guy to another, give it to me straight, what’s the score?” 

“The last interrogator will be the shot caller. Some salesmanship may be needed to show him all the checkmates.” Harriet Adler advised Dominique, stoking a fire under her red brick chimney. 

“Bribery, conspiracy, mail and wire fraud, racketeering if the US attorney’s office is feeling particularly frisky, although I do believe they will reserve their big guns for Senator Beaumont. A similar case in Los Angeles involving USC yielded the sentencing of three and half years, unless you turn federal witness against the senator, then you may be able to get away with just a stiff fine, probation, reputation as a turncoat, and the ire of Beaumont’s cronies up and down the state. Even then you will still be evicted from the dean’s office, tenure rescinded, pension revoked, oil portrait removed from the Hall of the Deans, leaving the space of bare wall as subtle as a missing front tooth, prompting  hushed inquiries of ‘Did you hear what happened to Dean Hutchinson?’ Your daughter in law may want to move to another state to minimize name recognition, nominally for the sake of your granddaughter but really for herself as well - which is easier than changing their last names, which they may do anyway after they move.” Dominique continues with monotoned enumerations. “You may be solaced by the fact that your trouble would be small fry compared to what will happen in Baton Rouge where entrails will be eviscerated, heads will roll, blood will cascade down the steps of the State Senate chamber and churn the Mississippi red for the foreseeable future.”

“And the alternative?”

The student pulled out his cellphone and handed it to the Dean. “I wrote an open letter announcing the decision by LSU College of Medicine, in consideration of our enduring partnership and in the spirit of collaboration between the two preeminent institutions who have traditionally been fully committed to educating the scions of art of medical science, and to abide by the honored ethos of inclusivity … blah blah blah, ergo enthusiastically invite the faculty and students of Tulane University School of Medicine to share in the opportunity and responsibility of providing high quality care for the deserving population of New Orleans, in keeping with the time honored symbiotic alliance between the two esteemed academies …, etc., etc. It will be emailed to the Senate Committee on Health and Education, Presidents of LSU and Tulane Universities, New Orleans Tribune, The Times Picayune, Clarion Herald, and Louisiana Weekly.”

Hutchinson read and approved Dominique’s announcement with capitulating ardor and, upon the student’s prompting, pressed the send icon with all the pomp and regret of flushing a dead goldfish down the toilet.

“Is that it?  ‘Your order of a pound of flesh is on the way and will arrive on Monday by 9 pm’, packed, wrapped, and topped with a bow?” Dean Hutchinson asked, proceeding to stand.

“Not quite, sir.” Dominique Tran replied as Hutchinson was halfway up. “There is still this small matter of Vice Dean Mulligan.”

“Phil? Why, he has nothing to do with this.”

“Nothing until tonight. You could have hurried here in your own black Mercedes yourself once you heard that your computer had been compromised. But no, you had to send an errand boy.  Now you have an errand boy who is fully informed of your shenanigans, who did not get a share of the loot, and therefore who is liable to snitch or blackmail. Even if you find this tolerable, I doubt Senator Beaumont would.”

“Are you suggesting we should bump him off?” Hutchinson inquired lugubriously.

“Oh my! No!”  Dominique laughed and pulled up another piece of writing on his phone for the educator to consider. “I also took the liberty of writing your resignation, effective immediately, citing health reasons, asking Phil Milligan to kindly step in as interim Dean, along with an enthusiastic recommendation for his eventual permanent promotion.”

Like hot wax on flame Hutchinson’s chiseled face melted between his palms and elegant fingers. Oh my God is he actually crying? Ok I give him plenty of time to get over this second shock of the night. Dominique looked at his watch again - maybe five minutes.

“Awfully sorry sir, but you know as well as I do it must be done. If it's any consolation, there will be a letter from Dean Adler, sent posthumously,  calling for naming the new hospital Robert E. Hutchinson Medical Center, in honor of your life-long service in medical education, followed by concurring opinions from the office of the president of Tulane University, Dean Mulligan, and The Senate Committee on Health and Education.” Dominique Tran declaimed, while hearing Harriet Adler humming A Spoonful of Sugar while boiling chicken soup in her kitchen.

Checking his watch, Dominique decided to give Hutchinson another two minutes to grieve. Looked up at the pest carcasses on the LED again and was satisfied with the fact that he was able to recall his grandfather’s words. “Power, fame, and fortune, are the flame into which we hurl our own corpses.”