“Hello?”

“Matthew Kearns?” The voice was rich, deep and cultured.

“Yes. Who’s speaking?” Matt asked, sipping again and waiting for the sales pitch.

“Edward Mercer.”

Matt sat forward, almost spraying beer across his room. Edward Mercer was the president of Harvard. Before he could even think about it, Matt was on his feet and smiling. He probably should even be saluting. “President Mercer, sir.”

This has got to be good news, he thought, his heart starting to race. During his interviews he had meet with several of the senior faculty members and the executive team, but not the president. The man wouldn’t call just to give him the kiss off – he’d leave that to one of the plebs. He went to sip his beer again, but instead put it down and walked to the window.

“What can I do for you, sir?” Joyful expectation welled up in his chest. He wiped his hand on his trousers.

“Matthew, do you know what Harvard requires?”

“Sure.” An easy one, thought Matt. “Veritas, or better said in the original and full Harvard motto: veritas, christo et ecclesiae – the Truth for Christ and the Church. Harvard requires the truth above all.” He smiled. Nailed it – next question?

“Yes, that’s the motto. But that is not the major requirement of a modern university the size of Harvard. That is not the lifeblood that nourishes it, and us.”

Oh-oh, he thought. Trick question: bummer. Matt sat down and reached for his beer. He tried again. “Good teaching staff?”

“Matthew, also correct, but sitting above them all is the most important substance to a modern teaching entity.” He paused. “Money, Matthew; it’s money. With it, we flourish, without it, we shrivel and die.”

“Money, of course. I was going to say that, but, you know.” Matt rolled his eyes and sipped.

“I knew you were,” Mercer said. “Last federal budget, the government allocated eighty billion dollars to health research and development. We need to ensure that a large portion of that funding heads toward our own department’s work right here. The more we get, the better it is for our…students. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes sir, I do. It’s vitally important for our students.” And for a late-model AMG Mercedes pulled up in the faculty parking bay, he thought and toasted the air.

“And as Harvard educators, we should do everything in our power to keep that lifeblood flowing, right?” Mercer said smoothly.

“Couldn’t agree more, sir.”

“Good, very good, because you can help. There is one reality, I’m afraid; the fact is, there is not really an opening at Harvard right now.”

Matt’s stomach sank.

Mercer went on. “And I’m sorry to be commercially brutal, but it seems you need us more than we need you right now. You’re a talented individual, but there are plenty of those who would kill for a professorship at Harvard.” He let that thought hang.

“Hm-hmm.” Matt sipped again, feeling his opportunity slipping away. He’d try really hard not to burn any bridges by telling Edward Mercer what he thought of him, and the lucre-green lifeblood running through his withered old veins.