Gemotions

"The evidence is irrefutable, Mr. Peterson," the head of the department announced, his voice tight. Mark merely raised an eyebrow. The room, filled with academic portraits, suddenly seemed ridiculously small.

He adjusted his glasses, a slow, deliberate movement. The accusation, he thought, was almost insulting. He had built this, crafted this, used it to showcase his skills.

He allowed a sigh to escape him. "I'm sure," he said, his voice laced with the weariness of a man burdened with the knowledge of his own superiority, "it's all a misunderstanding." He barely suppressed a yawn. He already knew how to respond.