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Meredith’s focus. She looked up to see Carl Snelling, her Executive Provost, lean his shock of red hair into her office.
    “Got a minute?” He walked toward her before she could answer. “There’s something I want you to be the first to see.”
    Meredith took a seat on the silk chenille sofa that flanked her office’s fireplace. She indicated an armchair and Snelling sat down. Meredith had little regard for her Executive Provost. He struck her as weak-willed, too easily rattled, and much too in love with the sound of his own voice. But he’d been at the center of university administration for nearly twenty years. He knew everyone and wasn’t hesitant to share. Meredith found his knowledge and low resistance to manipulation useful. She would have liked to have had a full partner in his position, but she could work with what she had in Carl Snelling.
    “You’re not going to like this.” Carl handed her one of two files he held in his lap. “Remember, shooting the messenger ended with a millennia ago.”
    Meredith opened the file and glanced at the title page. “Greek.” She flipped through the sheave of papers. Her brow furrowed as she read. “These are your final calculations?”
    “Please don’t consider them mine, President Thornton.” Snelling held a thin hand to the side of his pale cheek. “As you know, I’ve been looking for a viable option for months. I’ve long been capable of producing solutions to problems others couldn’t solve. My idea to expand the Continuing Education offerings to courses appealing to local retirees comes to mind. You’ll recall those programs netted over a hundred thousand dollars last year. But as to the Greek situation the numbers, as my friends in Accounting are fond of saying, don’t lie.”
    Meredith ignored his nervous smile. “I’m looking at the enrollment projections. Grim. Have you spoken to Popolapolus? What are his plans?”
    “I’m afraid no plans can work on the impossible.” Snelling crossed one thin leg over another. “I blame the public school system. They haven’t taught the classics for decades. Surely a handful of the private preparatory academies do the right thing and teach Greek and Latin. I found myself inspired by the ancients during my own prep years at Andover. But the few students who wish to continue their studies won’t attend a state university with three faculty members in the entire department. They prefer one of the Ivies.”
    “Those faculty members turn out important work. We could incorporate Greek as a sub-division into another department,” Meredith offered.
    “Please refer to tab five. You’ll find I’ve anticipated your idea and researched the possibilities.” Snelling flipped his own file to the spot he named. “Greek has not had a single student enrolled in eleven years. They are, quite frankly, pure overhead.” Snelling offered the smug little grin that inspired Meredith to fold her hands to avoid slapping him. “There’s no interest on the part of any department to take on three scholars who have no students and no interest in contributing to any work beyond their own. Nor would I want to be anywhere near Popolapolus when Greek being relegated to sub-division status was discussed.” He leaned forward and dropped his voice. “Would you be surprised to know he once threw a glass of ouzo in his dean’s face simply because the poor man said he preferred walnut to pistachio baklava?”
    Meredith pictured the passionate, barrel-chested Popolapolus’ response to Snelling suggesting his department be downsized and smiled. She’d pay a hundred dollars to watch that encounter.
    “Closing the department would have ramifications,” she said. “Beyond the livelihoods of three noted faculty. It’s the oldest department on campus. It’s really all that’s left of the classical character that established this university.”
    “Characters change, President Thornton.” Snelling closed his file. “Unless you have a