It had been two days since we started asking questions at Ashford University, and I was beginning to think we’d hit a dead end. Most students were either too scared to talk about Professor Mitchell or simply brushed off our questions as idle curiosity. The frustration was mounting, and I was beginning to feel like we were running out of options.
Then, I got the call.
The number was blocked, and for a moment, I hesitated to answer. But something told me to pick up.
“Hello?” I said cautiously.
A woman’s voice came through, shaky but determined. “Is this Emma?”
“Yes,” I said, my heart racing. “Who is this?”
“You don’t know me,” she said quickly. “But I saw the card you left in the library. You said you were looking into Professor Mitchell?”
I straightened in my chair, gripping the phone tightly. “Yes, I am. Can we meet? I promise it’ll be safe, and you won’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and for a moment, I thought she might hang up.
“Okay,” she said finally. “There’s a café on Main Street, near the bookstore. Can you meet me there in an hour?”
“I’ll be there,” I promised.
When she walked in, I knew it was her. She was young, probably a sophomore or junior, with dark circles under her eyes and a nervous energy that made her seem smaller than she was.
“Hi,” I said, standing and offering her a reassuring smile. “Thank you for coming.”
She nodded, sliding into the chair across from me. “I don’t have a lot of time,” she said, glancing around nervously. “I just... I don’t know who else to talk to.”
“You’re safe here,” I said softly. “Whatever you want to share, I’ll listen. And I promise I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”
She hesitated, her hands trembling as she wrapped them around her coffee cup.
“It started last semester,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was failing his class, and I went to him during office hours to ask for extra credit.”
Her voice cracked, and she looked down at her coffee. “He told me he could help, but... he wanted something in return.”
My stomach twisted, but I stayed quiet, letting her continue at her own pace.
“He said if I sent him... pictures... he’d make sure I passed,” she said, her voice shaking. “I was so scared of failing, so I did it. I sent him the pictures.”
She looked up at me, her eyes filled with tears. “And then he kept asking for more. He said if I didn’t, he’d tell the school I was trying to bribe him for grades. He said no one would believe me.”
My hands clenched into fists under the table, my anger threatening to boil over. But I forced myself to stay calm.
“Do you still have the messages?” I asked gently.
She nodded. “I deleted some of them, but not all. I was too scared he’d do something, so I kept them... just in case.”
“Can you show me?” I asked.
She hesitated, then pulled out her phone. Her hands shook as she unlocked it and handed it to me.
The messages were there—cruel, manipulative, and undeniable. Mitchell’s words were blunt, his threats clear. My stomach churned as I scrolled through them, each message a reminder of how he had preyed on her fear and vulnerability.
“You’re so brave for keeping these,” I said, handing her phone back. “This is important. It’s evidence.”
Her eyes widened in panic. “I don’t want this to get out. I don’t want people to know.”
We’ll protect you. But this is enough to start building a case against him.”
That evening, I met with Jake and Sarah in the motel room, showing them screenshots of the messages the girl had shared with me.
“This is it,” Jake said, his jaw clenched. “This is what we needed.”
Sarah nodded, her expression grim. “But it’s not enough. If we go to the authorities with just this, Mitchell could claim it was consensual or doctored. We need more.”
I frowned, running a hand through my hair. “Like what?”
“Other students,” Sarah said. “If we can get more people to come forward, we can build a stronger case. He’s a predator. He didn’t stop with just her.”
“And what if no one else talks?” I asked.
Jake leaned forward, his eyes sharp. “Then we make them feel safe enough to. We give them a platform to share their stories anonymously. He can’t hurt them if they don’t know who they are.”
***
Over the next few days, we created an anonymous tip line, spreading the word through flyers and whispers around campus. Sarah and I left notes in the library, bathrooms, and common areas, urging anyone with information about Mitchell to come forward.
The response was slow at first, but then the stories began to trickle in.
One girl described a similar experience with photos, while another spoke of inappropriate comments and suggestive offers during office hours.
Each story added another piece to the puzzle, and soon, we had enough to take to the administration and the police.
The day we submitted the evidence, I felt a mix of relief and anticipation. It wasn’t over yet, but for the first time, it felt like we had a real chance at justice.
And Mitchell? His days of hiding behind his position were numbered.