Chapter 7

From out of nowhere, a hulking figure materialized in front of Peter. His heart jumped into his throat as he guessed the imposing man as one of Mr. Page’s hired thugs.

“Mr. Robinson?” The man asked, his voice gruff and void of any emotion.

Peter nodded, trying to keep his composure.

“Would you follow me? Mr. Page is waiting in the car.”

Peter’s mind raced as he tried to come up with a plan. He couldn’t afford to disappear from Vicky’s sight.

“If he wants to talk with me, he can share my table,” Peter said nonchalantly, fighting back the unease rising in his chest. “I haven’t eaten yet and I rather like the food here.”

The thug’s expression remained stone-cold. “I’m afraid I must insist,” he growled.

“And I’m afraid I won’t budge,” Peter retorted, mustering all the courage he could find. “We can talk here or not at all. It’s his choice.”

Without hesitation, the man spoke into a small microphone hidden in his lapel. After a brief pause, he declared, “I must check you for any listening devices.” He pulled out a detector wand and gestured for Peter to stand up.

Peter complied reluctantly, knowing he had no other choice at this point. “I was actually planning on using this,” he said, holding up his smartphone.

“That will need to be turned off,” the thug demanded. “And please don’t move.”

John turned off his phone and the man proceeded to scan Peter with the wand, which immediately beeped as it passed over his shirt pocket. With a swift movement, he produced a small blade from his pocket and cut off one of Peter’s buttons without warning. He held it up to examine it before tossing it to the ground and crushing it underfoot with a grin.

“You can sit now,” he said. “Mr. Page will be with you in a moment.” The thug moved to a corner of the pub and stood guard there.

John Page, a short and unremarkable figure, was not a happy man. He had envisioned using his niece Melissa as a bargaining chip for his business deals, but Michael Hughes had thrown a wrench in his plans. When Hughes caught wind of Melissa’s acceptance to St. Mary’s, he saw an opportunity to plant her as a spy within the school. Despite John’s protests, Hughes insisted on this course of action. One of his primary selling points was that, if he were to become the owner of St. Mary’s, John Page would be given a position there and would have access to plenty of young pussy for years to come. That was the carrot. The stick was that, financially, Michael Hughes had him by the short hairs. The man’s power was undeniable and John feared for his own safety if he dared to refuse.

However, things had not gone according to plan. Somehow, Melissa had been discovered, and instead of being expelled, she had been taken under the school’s protection and warned him off. Now, John felt like he had wasted all those years grooming and raising that little bitch for nothing. A strong, bitter taste of resentment simmered in his mouth and tightened his jaw. And now, instead of risking his own neck, Michael Hughes had sent him on this mission as a mere messenger, to meet with this seemingly unremarkable teacher. “Not a simple teacher,” he had to remind himself. Peter Robinson may have appeared ordinary, but he was the heir to Peter Hughes, meaning he would inherit not only a considerable fortune but also the ownership of St. Mary’s.

“Mr. Robinson,” John Page stated, his voice low and steady. “I’m John Page.” He didn’t offer to shake hands.

Peter looked up and saw a short, unremarkable man with a balding head. He gestured towards the small wooden chair in front of him. “Please sit down.”

As he took a seat, Mr. Page’s eyes scanned the room and nodded to his bodyguard.

“First of all, I’d like to know how my niece is,” Mr. Page began.

“She’s okay,” Peter replied, leaning forward. “She has adapted well and is happy.”

“Have you tried her?” Mr. Page prodded, his brow furrowing.

“That’s none of your business,” Peter answered firmly.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” the man said with a smirk. “I envy you, spending your days with all those young lovelies.”

Peter could read the envy in his tone. Judging by his appearance, it was clear that John Page had never been the object of girls’ desires, not even in his prime. No wonder he longed for access to St. Mary’s.

Peter remained composed, but internally he bristled at his words.

“You asked me to come here. What did you want to talk about?” His tone was polite yet firm.

John Page cleared his throat before speaking. “I have a message from Michael Hughes,” he announced, emphasizing each word. “The legitimate owner of St. Mary’s.”

Peter raised an eyebrow in challenge at the bold claim. “I would dispute that statement, but we both know it would be futile. So, what is this message?” he inquired coolly, crossing his arms over his chest in defiance.

Page leaned forward, his voice low and persuasive. “It’s very simple. You know that it’s just a matter of time before Michael takes over the school. Join us. You will have a prominent position on the management council, continued access to the students, and a share of the immense profits. Right now, St. Mary’s is only using a fraction of its potential, thanks to the misguided idealism of Robert Hughes. Under Michael’s administration, it will thrive and become a force to be reckoned with on the world stage.”

“And I’m sure there would be plenty of financial incentives as well,” Peter quipped sarcastically.

“Of course,” Page smiled cunningly.

“Why should I align myself with Michael when I am set to inherit St. Mary’s myself?” Peter challenged.

“My dear Mr. Robinson, you may be a talented teacher, but you are out of your depth here. Why struggle to survive in the big leagues when you could simply relax and enjoy the fruits of our work?”

“You’ll need to give me more than that. I’m not a man who settles for just looking from the sidelines.”

Wrinkles creased John Page’s face as he asked, “What else do you want?” His voice was gruff and held a hint of impatience.

“I want to know why. I know Michael Hughes is a very wealthy man, so why does he need a small finishing school in the middle of nowhere?” Peter’s brow furrowed as he posed the question, his tone challenging.

John Page’s expression darkened. “That’s not your concern,” he replied sharply.

Peter’s voice dripped with suspicion and defiance as he retorted, “On the contrary, I believe it is very much my business. You’re asking me to give up a massive inheritance in exchange for money, but not as much money as I will receive regardless, just to become a part of something that you refuse to explain. I’ve watched enough movies to know when someone is being set up, and I won’t be the pawn in your game.” His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched as he spoke, exuding a sense of determination and mistrust.

John Page couldn’t help but to be impressed. This was no mere teacher standing before him, that was now abundantly clear.

“Alright,” John sighed heavily. “Michael has a vision. A vision to become one of the richest, if not the richest, man of the world. A leader able to shape governments and make countries bow to his will. But for that, he needs access to many key leaders from all sectors. Political, financial, technological, even religious. And they all happen to be men.”

Peter nodded thoughtfully as if hearing this for the first time. However, from his conversations with Angela, he knew it was something along these lines.

“Do you know what’s more powerful than a powerful man?” John looked at Peter intently.

“The woman who holds the powerful man’s heart?” Peter ventured.

“Exactly!” the short man exclaimed triumphantly. “Madame Pompadour. Roxelana. Even Nancy Reagan. They are the power behind the throne, the hand that rocks the cradle. And what better way to control that hand than St. Mary’s?”

This time it was Peter’s turn to be impressed by the ingenious plan laid out before him. “But surely, such a grand scheme would take years, even decades to execute!” he exclaimed. “Michael Hughes could well be dead a long time before that!”

“That’s true,” John Page agreed calmly. “But that’s the thing with visions, they transcend the visionary.”

“And what about you?” Peter couldn’t help but ask. “Forgive me, but you don’t strike me as the visionary type.”

A sly grin appeared on John’s face as he chuckled. “Oh, my goals are much more simple than Michael’s lofty ambitions, believe me.”

He leaned in close and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I just want money and women.” His smile was predatory. “It will be a lot easier for a woman to convince her man to choose a certain business supplier, to scratch a tax, or to implement a policy, than convince him of changing the world.”

“I understand,” Peter said.

“So now you know. That’s why you must step aside and let us manage everything.” John Page concluded.

“What happens if I refuse?” Peter asked boldly.

Page’s smile faded slightly as he answered with a chilling tone, “That would be very unfortunate. Accidents happen, and I’ve been told you’re prone to having accidents.”

“I need some time to think about it,” Peter said calmly.

“Take your time, Mr. Robinson. Just don’t take too long.” With a final smug smirk, John Page rose from his seat and exited the room with his bodyguard following close behind. The lingering threat hung in the air, casting a shadow over Peter’s thoughts.

A few minutes later, Vicky closed her laptop and rose from her seat. She strode purposefully towards the exit, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor. As she passed by Peter’s table, she made a subtle gesture with her hand, a silent invitation to follow. He silently counted to one hundred in his head before standing and making his way out of the pub. Outside, the cool breeze tousled his hair. He didn’t look for Vicky, knowing that she would be waiting for him at the school. There would be plenty of time to talk once they were both there, away from prying eyes. Prying eyes that, coincidentally, reported that he had left alone.

Once again, the duo found themselves in Mrs. Duran’s office, together with Miss Dickinson. Angela sat on one side, her fingers tapping out a rhythm on her knee as she played the recorded conversation on speaker. The voice of his target filled the room, static crackling in the background.