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Students at Palmetto University learn how the faculty operates from their first year onward. Most of this knowledge comes from the website Rate My Professor, long before they even choose their schedule for the semester.
For example, if you’re looking to study French, Professor Moreau has a rating of 3.7/5 with over fifty reviews and 85% of students agreeing they would take his course again, despite the difficulty level sitting at 4.0 and most reviews mentioning that Professor Moreau frequently yells at his students — though usually in a way that suggests he just genuinely wants them to succeed.
Professor Day, the history lecturer, has approximately two thousand reviews, a score of 2.2/5, and only 22% of students saying they would willingly return to his course. Its difficulty level hovers dangerously close to 5.0, especially if Kevin continues his habit of spending hours debating whether Atlantic slavery was racialized from its origin or became racialized over time.
For law students, however, two names stand out above all others.
Professor Josten of Legal Accounting and Professor Minyard of Criminal Law are considered both the most difficult courses and the most intimidating professors in the curriculum. Both are intelligent, respectful, fair in their grading, and notoriously demanding. Their RMP scores are unsurprisingly similar, though Neil’s inevitably ends up slightly higher for one specific reason.
There are different kinds of college professors, but most can usually be divided into two categories: those who share far too much about their personal lives until students start treating them more like friends than educators, and those who function like brick walls.
Brick wall professors never stray from the curriculum, never volunteer details about their private lives, and never tolerate idle chatter during class.
Don’t get them wrong — Professor Josten is still difficult when it comes to willingly offering information about himself, but he has always been more entertaining and far more inclined to choose chaos over peace in his classroom. As a result, the students learned that whenever he walks into the room and casually announces a surprise quiz, Neil becomes significantly more likely to answer questions about his personal life with alarming honesty.
That’s how they discovered he’s married, considers his two cats his children, and is the godfather of Kevin and Allison’s daughter — Allison being the Marketing professor.
Professor Minyard, on the other hand, is the complete opposite.
He’s a good professor. Too good, even.
He never deviates from the subject matter and explains Criminal Law exactly the way it should be explained. He never allows students to derail discussions with unrelated topics, and the most anyone has ever managed to get out of him are occasional anecdotes from when Andrew was still practicing law and taking too many cases to court at once.
This morning, Dr. Andrew Minyard enters the room without looking at his students. He’s wearing a dark blue suit with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing the toned arms of someone who spends a considerable amount of time at the gym. A watch rests around his wrist, and a wedding ring gleams on his left hand — something he has never once addressed.
He walks to the blackboard and writes MENS REA in irritatingly perfect handwriting, chalk scratching loudly enough for the students in the back row to hear.
“The worst thing Hollywood ever did to criminal law was convince you that intent is a simple thing.”
Silence in the classroom is not unusual; it’s expected whenever Professor Minyard teaches.
“Every homicide seems intentional when you summarize it in a headline: ‘Son kills mother in car accident.’ ‘Woman poisons husband.’ ‘Employee stabs boss’s son.’ Criminal law doesn’t work with sensationalism. We work with mental states, and mental states are inferences. There are no autopsies of consciousness.”
The students immediately begin taking notes across notebooks and laptops while Andrew gestures with a piece of chalk in his hand.
“In our country, you’ll hear four words before you start having nightmares about them. Purpose. Knowledge. Recklessness. Negligence.”
He writes each word onto the board as he recites them.
“And if you confuse any of them in a court of law, someone could spend the rest of their life in prison because of your incompetence.”
Student forums at PSU alternated between calling Andrew Minyard a legal genius and the antichrist.
“Purpose is easy. Or it should be. The agent wants the result. He points a gun at someone and pulls the trigger because he desires death. Congratulations. You survived the first step of criminal theory.”
He drops the chalk onto the tray.
“Now begins the part where the vast majority of my students start to break down.”
Andrew’s voice remains perfectly monotonous, which somehow makes the nervous laughter from one or two students even worse.
“Knowledge.” He raises a finger. “The agent may not specifically want the outcome, but knows, with a substantial degree of certainty, that it will occur.”
Andrew starts climbing the steps between the rows of seats, his hands clasped behind his back as he continues speaking.
“Imagine I place a bomb on a plane to kill a specific person — let’s say Kevin Day, for this scenario.”
Some students widen their eyes at the mention of the history professor, while others laugh after remembering they’ve seen the two of them walking together around campus several times.
“There are one hundred and twenty passengers on that flight. I can claim I didn’t want to kill the other one hundred and nineteen. Technically? Maybe. Legally? I knew it would happen. Criminal law isn’t fucking stupid.”
A girl in the second row raises her hand.
“So intention and knowledge end up being treated the same way?”
“Often, yes. And that has bothered philosophers for decades, which remains one of the profession’s few constant joys,” Andrew replies. “You can ask Professor Walker if you happen to see her on campus.”
The students laugh more genuinely this time.
Andrew descends the stairs again and rests his hip against the first empty desk.
“Recklessness is where the truly interesting people begin to appear.”
Before he can continue, the loud buzz of Andrew’s phone receiving a notification echoes through the room. He pauses mid-gesture, frowning slightly as he walks back toward his desk.
Whatever he sees on the screen clearly isn’t enough to interrupt class, because he immediately looks back at the students and continues.
“Recklessness means the conscious disregard of a substantial and unjustifiable risk. The agent knows the risk. He understands the risk. And he proceeds anyway.”
The phone buzzes again.
Andrew slips it into his pocket.
“A drunk driver going one hundred and forty kilometers per hour doesn’t wake up thinking, ‘Today I want to commit homicide.’ But he consciously ignores the very real probability of destroying someone’s life along the way.”
He steals a pen from a student’s desk without asking permission, and before he can continue, the classroom door bursts open.
Dr. Aaron Minyard stands in the doorway.
Andrew and the entire class stare at him while the second-year cardiovascular medicine professor glances around the room for only a moment before marching toward his twin brother.
“Since when do you ignore messages from your husband?” he asks loudly, immediately fueling the students’ curiosity.
They knew Professor Minyard was married because of the ring on his finger, but to a man? What does he look like? How did they meet? How long have they been married?
There are suddenly far too many questions.
“Andrew, when you don’t answer him, he gets on my fucking nerves! And I’m fucking busy! Teaching! I don’t even know how he got my number!”
Andrew doesn’t appear remotely affected, maintaining the same neutral expression as before.
The students watch the interaction carefully, comparing the similarities between the twins. Both are doctors in entirely different fields. Dr. Aaron has an average rating of 4.7/5 on Rate My Professor despite a maximum difficulty score, though unlike his brother, he seems considerably more forgiving about deadlines and exams. Similar to Andrew, however, he has very little patience for stupid students.
“I read the text that said, ‘If a brain transplant happens, who is responsible for the crimes?’ It didn’t seem to require an immediate answer.”
Several students laugh at the question while Aaron straightens, radiating irritation.
“Was that your question? He called me, Andrew! Claiming you weren’t answering an urgent matter!”
Aaron throws his hands into the air in exasperation.
“And I, the other fucking idiot, actually asked what it was! And he said, ‘If Frankenstein’s monster ended up in the hospital, would he be treated as one patient or several?’ Andrew, for fuck’s sake!”
The room erupts into loud laughter.
Whoever Professor Minyard’s husband is, apparently he has an excellent sense of humor.
Andrew pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales slowly.
“Dr. Minyard, I understand this is clearly not an emergency, so if you don’t mind, I need to finish my class.”
Aaron snorts, seemingly debating whether or not to argue further, but one glance at the nearly fifty students staring at him with open fascination appears to change his mind.
Without another word, he turns and leaves.
The moment the door slams shut behind him, Andrew looks back at the room.
“Negligence, on the other hand, is different. And that difference sends people to prison for twenty years.”
No one dares show frustration over the interruption, nor ask questions about Andrew’s newly revealed husband.
“In criminal negligence, the agent should perceive the risk, but does not. It’s a gross failure of the duty of care.” He pauses briefly. “And before anyone asks, no, stupidity is not a legal defense.”
He finally returns the stolen pen to the student.
“The problem is that jurors love moralizing outcomes. The worse the result, the greater the tendency to presume intent. And that’s where the danger begins.”
Andrew turns back toward the board and starts writing again while the students scramble to copy everything down.
“The criminal justice system has no obligation to satisfy primitive instincts of collective revenge. Prosecutors know this. Defense attorneys know this. Judges know this. Every criminal trial is, in part, a narrative war over what existed inside someone’s head during an unrepeatable moment.”
He studies the room briefly, gauging who is still keeping up.
“Do you want to know why homicide is such a brutal field of law?”
Nobody answers.
Before Andrew can continue, the classroom door creaks open once again.
This time, Professor Josten walks in.
He’s wearing black tailored trousers and a navy-blue shirt suspiciously similar to Andrew’s. Without wasting time acknowledging the class, he descends the stairs two at a time.
“Why didn’t you answer me? It could’ve been an emergency!”
“Ah, so my doppelgänger wasn’t enough to solve your profound crisis? Did you try bothering the other idiots?”
Andrew crosses his arms.
Neil smirks slightly but says nothing. Instead, he walks directly to the professor’s desk and sits in Andrew’s chair.
Sometimes this happens.
Professor Josten appears in the middle of class, stays for several minutes, counters Andrew’s questions with even more questions until Andrew threatens to kill him if he doesn’t leave the room, calls out students for playing online games during lectures, and reminds his accounting students to prepare for surprise quizzes.
Today, however, the only thing he says is:
“Lunch?”
Andrew points the chalk at him in silent instruction to wait.
“Answering the question I asked — the one none of you had the courage to answer — homicide is a brutal field because the victim is dead, the defendant usually lies, and the mental state has to be reconstructed through imperfect fragments: text messages, blurry security footage, alcohol in the bloodstream, traumatized witnesses, histories of violence, silence after the crime.”
He uncrosses his arms.
“It’s psychological archaeology with constitutional consequences.”
“Buy burner phones, change your identity, never stay in the same city for more than two weeks, alter your appearance — buy contact lenses, dye your hair, wear clothes that help you blend into crowds.”
Neil interjects casually, sounding exhausted while explaining how to commit murder.
“Get an unregistered gun or learn how to use knives. Choose your victim and kill them somewhere isolated. Learn how to dig. Oh, and wear gloves.”
A student in the back raises his hand.
“Do you believe the perfect crime exists?”
“Yes,” Andrew and Neil answer simultaneously.
Andrew starts organizing the papers scattered across his desk.
“Let’s end here,” he says. “Read People v. Hall for Wednesday. And, for fuck’s sake, stop using ‘premeditated’ as if it means ‘planned for months.’ In some states, seconds are enough.”
Neil nods solemnly before winking at the room, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He doesn’t sympathize with the students. He’s on Andrew’s side.
He wants to watch them suffer.
The students begin packing their things: laptops snapping shut, backpack zippers rasping closed, sneakers scraping across the floor.
“And one more thing.”
The room stills again.
“If you’re going into Criminal Law looking for moral comfort, change departments now. Criminal law offers none. And I’m not your babysitter. I’m not going to coddle anyone. Either you learn how to swallow your tears, or you start investing in a therapist.”
The students remain silent as Neil mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “Dramatic enough, Drew?”
A second later, the two of them are already arguing about whether to get Thai food or Chinese for lunch, their voices gradually swallowed by the noise flooding the hallway.
Neil enters the room ten minutes late carrying a paper cup of nearly cold coffee, his briefcase stuffed with papers, a tablet tucked beneath his arm, and his glasses perched on top of his head, pushing his bangs back.
“I apologize for the delay. My husband didn’t want to get up today, which delayed taking the kids to school, and I also had to give Kevin a ride so he could drop Cecilia off because he got a flat tire, and Allison refused to help her own husband, which turned into another disaster, and it’s only nine in the morning.”
The students laugh, already accustomed to their professor’s chaos. Last week, he canceled class because he lost a bet to Professor Moreau and was forced to teach French in his place.
“Because of this, we’re having a surprise quiz.”
A collective sound of suffering echoes through the room.
“I know, I know, but unfortunately for you, I’m the one in charge here. And all of you look like you read a terrible summary five minutes before class. The quiz will be oral.”
He surveys the amphitheater with the exhausted expression of someone who had already given up on everyone there before the semester even started.
“If you don’t like it, I can make it a written quiz with only open-ended and equations questions.”
The complaints die immediately.
Neil rests his hip against the edge of the desk, takes a sip of coffee, and props the tablet against his thigh.
“No consulting your classmates. No staring at each other like abandoned puppies. If I point at you, I expect an answer. And if someone quotes Ozark to me as an argument, I will deduct one point from your final grade.”
One of the students raises her hand.
“Yes, Ms. Smalls?”
“And were your kids feeling well enough to go back to school?”
Neil seems delighted by the question.
“Coincidentally, King didn’t cry when she got her vaccine, but Sir threw a tantrum in my husband’s lap and ended up sleeping in our bed, so I woke up with cat hair in places I didn’t even know existed on my body,” Neil replies. “But daycare said they didn’t scratch anyone, so cheers to that, I guess.”
He slips one hand into his pocket and scans the rows in search of his first victim.
“You. Blue shirt. Drinking what I hope is water. Difference between placement, layering, and integration.”
The boy nearly chokes on his bottle.
“Placement is when money enters the financial system. Layering… uh, it hides the origin through multiple transactions. And integration is when the money comes back looking legitimate.”
Neil tilts his head slightly.
“Good to know the vodka in your bottle hasn’t completely fried your brain yet.”
He starts walking between the rows.
“Placement is the most vulnerable stage because there’s still a large amount of physical cash involved. A lot of risk. A lot of idiots carrying suitcases full of money while thinking they’re being discreet.”
A girl raises her hand hesitantly.
“Professor Josten, does this actually happen?”
Neil looks at her.
“Have you ever seen Professor Minyard walking around campus with a gigantic suitcase? Okay, that might be because of his height, now that I’m thinking about it—”
“Andrew?” one of the students asks, visibly confused.
“He could sue you for that question,” Neil replies immediately. “But no. I’m talking about Aaron.”
Several students who had attended Andrew’s class the previous day laugh as they remember the text-message incident between the two brothers.
“Why does Dr. Minyard hate you?”
“He’s still bitter that we got married before him.” Neil shrugs. “You. Name?”
“Robin.”
“Ah, Miss Cross. Andrew speaks very highly of you.”
Robin feels her cheeks warm instantly.
“Don’t disappoint us. Explain structuring.”
“Also called smurfing, it’s when large deposits are broken into smaller ones to avoid triggering bank alerts.”
Neil grabs a piece of chalk from the board.
“Exactly. The government establishes automatic financial reporting thresholds, so criminals respond by making dozens of smaller deposits to avoid mandatory reporting.”
He writes $10,000 CTR across the board.
“In our country, financial institutions are legally required to report transactions above certain amounts. So the criminal thinks: ‘What if I make forty smaller deposits instead?’ The problem is that this also draws attention, because criminals are often significantly less intelligent than they imagine themselves to be.”
A few students let out muffled laughs.
“Just like some of my sophomore students.”
The laughter dies instantly.
Another student raises his hand, and before Neil can even acknowledge him, he blurts out:
“And what does your husband do?”
“He teaches here,” Neil replies, immediately reigniting the room’s curiosity. “And I didn’t realize this had become a group therapy quiz. Am I passing your evaluation? Because I can already tell you Miss Alvarez is probably failing if she keeps staring at Miss Dermott for half the lecture.”
“Oh, come on, professor!” one of the girls exclaims, laughing.
“Miss Alvarez, why are casinos frequently associated with money laundering?”
“Because they use a lot of cash.”
“Yes, but you could’ve elaborated more. God forbid I educate lawyers who answer in single sentences. I certainly hope your text messages to Ms. Dermott are more eloquent than that.”
More laughter spreads across the room.
“The person buys chips using illegal money, gambles a little, then exchanges the chips and receives clean money.”
“Much better.”
Neil spins the marker between his fingers.
“The entire logic of money laundering is creating distance between the original crime and the money. If the money can successfully appear to come from legitimate activity, the financial system stops asking questions.”
He pauses, scanning the room.
“Which, honestly, describes half of Wall Street in 2007.”
That earns another wave of nervous laughter.
“Professor, what’s the most absurd case you’ve ever encountered?”
Neil stops walking.
“Encountered academically or witnessed personally?” He pauses thoughtfully. “My lawyer forbids me from discussing this. So does the NDA I signed with the FBI.”
Silence immediately falls over the room.
“When I handled the books for a shell company run by the Japanese mafia, one of the owner’s sons attempted to justify multi-million-dollar transactions by claiming he had exceptional luck with horse racing. The problem was that the betting dates happened after the races.”
Another beat of silence.
Then the room explodes into laughter.
“If any of you spread this information and the FBI agent assigned to my case knocks on my door again, you will all fail this course.”
“So tell us what your husband teaches.”
“Are you all taking Legal Manipulation this year?” Neil asks dryly, though he’s smiling when he adds, “He teaches Criminal Law.”
The entire room freezes.
There is only one Criminal Law professor at Palmetto.
“Professor Minyard?!” someone shouts from the back.
The resulting wave of horrified excitement almost makes Neil look regretful for answering.
“Professor, Dr. Minyard literally never mentions you in class,” one girl says, stunned. “Except to say he hates you and threatens to kill you every time you walk into his classroom.”
Neil frowns slightly, then shrugs as though this is perfectly normal.
“Andrew also never mentions he has lungs. He considers some information self-explanatory.”
The students burst into loud laughter again. This is the first real glimpse they’ve ever had into the other law professor’s personal life.
Neil glances at his watch before turning his attention back to the room.
“Why do criminal organizations invest in legitimate businesses even when those businesses are less profitable than illegal operations? For example, an organization might place a soccer player they purchased onto a mediocre team and collect seventy percent of his salary through laundering schemes.”
Robin raises her hand.
“Stability?”
Neil gestures for her to continue.
“And social legitimacy?”
“That’s correct, Miss Cross.” He crosses his arms. “Clean money buys permanence. It buys influence. It buys appearances. A failing team that’s existed for fifteen years can become far more valuable to a criminal organization than an extremely profitable illegal operation.”
Neil walks back to his desk and sits on top of it.
“And before anyone asks: yes, several schemes use both simultaneously because organized criminals, unfortunately, also know how to work as a team. Unlike all of you during group projects.”
The students collectively roll their eyes.
“I know you’re tired, but we’re almost done. Someone answer this for me: if a company creates shell subsidiaries to disguise illicit international transactions, what becomes the primary evidentiary challenge for the Public Prosecutor’s Office? Mr. Winter?”
“Follow the money.”
“I expected a more elaborate answer as well, Cody,” Neil counters. “For example, let’s say my husband — hypothetically, of course — decides to launder money.”
That instantly recaptures the room’s attention.
“That sounds incredibly specific, professor,” Cody says.
“Impossible,” Neil replies without hesitation. “Money laundering requires speaking to banks, and Andrew hates speaking to people in general.”
“He’s literally a lawyer and a professor.”
“The day he starts making sense to you, please let me know too.”
That earns another round of laughter.
“Let’s assume Andrew creates three subsidiaries in different countries. None of them produce anything. They sell nothing, yet millions still pass through them under ‘strategic consulting’ and ‘licensing.’”
Neil makes quotation marks with his fingers before turning toward the board and drawing three circles connected by arrows.
“The problem for prosecutors isn’t simply proving the money exists. It’s proving criminal intent.”
“Because companies can legally transfer money,” someone from the back adds.
“Exactly.” Neil points the chalk toward the voice. “And that’s where the real evidentiary nightmare begins. You need to connect an apparently legitimate structure to an illegal act. You need to prove Andrew knew exactly what he was doing.”
“He would know,” Cody mutters.
“Of course he would know,” Neil replies immediately. “Andrew reads banking terminology the same way he reads the grocery list attached to our fridge.”
Another wave of laughter ripples through the room.
“Do you have a picture of him with the cats?”
“Dr. Minyard charges four thousand dollars an hour. I’m not interested in losing money today,” Neil replies. “Enough questions about my personal life.”
He picks up the tablet from the desk.
“Last question. What is the most common mistake made by high-level financial criminals?”
A student answers without raising their hand.
“They underestimate investigators.”
“That’s correct.” Neil nods approvingly. “Today you have all proven that my academic career still serves a purpose.”
He pauses briefly.
“You all know that every year I invite the best students in my class to a dinner party, and this year I’ll be hosting it at my own house. Check your emails over the next few days. Except for you, Jack. You don’t need to check.”
Neil pauses again before adding:
“Class dismissed.”
The PSU faculty lounge had two coffee makers, three enormous sofas, and a long history of psychological warfare among the faculty.
This was never mentioned in any of the university brochures distributed to first-year students, probably because the administration understood that a group of brilliant academics functionally incapable of behaving like adults was not exactly an effective marketing slogan.
The atmosphere was cozy enough.
The sofas were dark leather, and a handful of plants were scattered around the corners — plants Jean and Renee tended during breaks as a form of stress relief. One of the coffee machines no longer worked, while the other had been purchased by Allison after threatening the entire department by saying she would throw herself out the window if they cut caffeine costs.
The windows were old and massive, overlooking most of campus, and Neil had once bet she would only break an arm if she actually jumped, which irritated Kevin and sparked an aggressive argument about how Neil would feel if Andrew jumped instead. Neil had responded by saying Andrew wasn’t that stupid.
At the very least, the room had a television mounted on the wall, usually tuned to some news channel the professors used for betting pools or, on rarer occasions, switched to Cartoon Network whenever Andrew stole and hid the remote for several days.
That Tuesday afternoon, when Neil finally stopped long enough to eat lunch, Jeremy Knox was sitting cross-legged in one of the armchairs with a container of yogurt in his hands and an academic paper spread open across his lap, smiling faintly at his phone screen.
“I think I accidentally told my students that I’m married to Andrew.”
Nobody reacts immediately.
Allison keeps typing on her laptop.
Kevin turns another page of the article he’s reading, glasses balanced precariously on the bridge of his nose.
Renee takes a sip from the tea she’s making.
Aaron, sitting in the corner grading papers, closes his eyes and takes a long breath before speaking.
“Accidentally?”
“You don’t do anything accidentally,” Jean says flatly. At the moment, he’s holding Jeremy’s phone and scrolling through what appears to be pictures of their dog.
Neil drops his briefcase onto the table, opens the department fridge, and retrieves the container of strawberries he brought from home.
“They asked what my husband did.”
“And you answered Criminal Law?” Allison asks without looking up.
“Well, yes.”
Kevin slowly lifts his head, slides his glasses onto the top of his head, and folds the corner of his article.
“Andrew is the only Criminal Law professor at the entire university.”
“I know that, Kevin. Thank you for the historical clarification.”
“Are you an idiot?”
Neil responds by throwing a strawberry at Aaron.
Aaron knocks it away before it can hit him in the face.
Jeremy starts laughing from his chair.
“Stop laughing,” Jean says. “Nothing involving Andrew Minyard is funny.”
“Some of you owe me fifty dollars.”
A chorus of complaints immediately erupts throughout the room.
Neil watches the money being exchanged while casually eating strawberries. Renee appears to have made the least amount of money, which is so unlike her that Neil immediately suspects she and Andrew made some kind of separate agreement.
“Why did Jeremy win the most?”
“Because I said you would accidentally tell your students this semester that you were married to Andrew,” the economics professor replies. “And some people here were apparently brave enough to bet against it.”
Allison raises her middle finger.
“I thought Andrew would crack first.”
“You really don’t know him.”
“I didn’t think Josten was stupid enough,” Aaron mutters, still grading papers.
“And he isn’t.”
Andrew’s voice reaches the room before the rest of him does.
He walks in carrying his blazer folded over one forearm and a takeout bag dangling beside his briefcase.
“He didn’t do it accidentally, did he?” Kevin asks immediately.
“Of course I wouldn’t tell people about our marriage without consulting Andrew first,” Neil replies while pulling a lunch container from the bag.
Andrew sits beside him at the table, removes his own food container, and calmly takes a bite of fried chicken.
Money changes hands again.
Allison immediately starts cursing at Dan and Matt, who are apparently on vacation but somehow still participated in the bet and won.
Jeremy complains loudly before laughing and surrendering all his dollar bills to Renee.
That makes more sense.
“How long until this ends up on the student forums?” Kevin asks.
As usual, he was the only person who refused to participate in the betting. According to Kevin, it was childish and pointless, though Allison and six-year-old Cecilia more than compensated for that lack of chaos.
“Oh, honey,” Allison replies without hesitation, “it’s already on the student forum.”
She spins the laptop toward the rest of the room. Open on the screen is the PSU Reddit tag.
In bold letters, the post reads:
IS PROFESSOR JOSTEN MARRIED TO PROFESSOR MINYARD? (THE LAW PROFESSOR, NOT THE DOCTOR. APPARENTLY THESE TWO HATE EACH OTHER.)
Below that is an extremely detailed post cataloguing everything students know about the two professors and reinterpreting all of it with horrifying new context.
“Ah,” Neil says. “That was fast.”
Jeremy gets up from the sofa, drops into the seat beside Allison and Kevin, glances at the screen, and immediately bursts out laughing.
“The first comment says: ‘I always knew there was strange sexual tension between them.’”
Neil shrugs.
Andrew frowns.
“There is no sexual tension.”
Jean stares at him for a very long second.
“Andrew, you are literally married.”
“That eliminates the tension. Now it’s just routine.”
Renee nearly chokes on her tea because she starts laughing before the cup even fully reaches her mouth.
Aaron mutters something in German that is almost certainly an insult, judging by Neil’s deeply satisfied expression.
Jeremy scrolls farther.
“Another comment says this explains why Professor Minyard appears to consider Neil the only tolerable human being on campus, despite him looking like a red-haired gremlin who became an accountant.”
Allison is wiping tears from the corners of her eyes from laughing so hard.
“That’s false,” Andrew replies calmly. “I walk around campus with Kevin too.”
“Do not involve me in this.”
“Renee.”
Renee smiles pleasantly over the rim of her tea.
“Ah, I also find you tolerable, Andrew.”
“The university forums are going to collapse tonight,” Allison says excitedly.
Neil steals a piece of chicken from Andrew’s plate without asking permission. Without even looking at him, Andrew automatically pushes the rest of the container toward Neil.
“There are dozens of posts here,” Jeremy says, now scrolling through his own phone. “People are digging up posts from years ago from the marketing department talking about this.”
Everyone slowly turns to look at Allison.
“What?” she asks defensively. “A woman needs hobbies.”
She starts standing up.
“On another entirely unrelated note, I need to go meet with some students about a project.” She says smirking “Kevi, Abby will pick Cece up from school today, ok? For fuck’s sake, go to the mechanics.”
Allison kisses Kevin quickly, confirms dinner plans with Renee, says goodbye to everyone else, and promises to call Neil later before disappearing out the door.
“You all urgently need hobbies,” Neil says.
“You’re being accused of spousal favoritism,” Jean says, taking Jeremy’s phone from him.
“I’m a criminal defense lawyer,” Andrew replies before taking a sip of water. “Favoritism is one of the lighter accusations I’ve faced.”
“Someone here says that individually you’re both terrifying professors, but discovering you’re together makes the apocalypse sound comforting.” Jean wrinkles his nose. “Oh, and there’s also a list of people asking if they can watch or participate in your sex life.”
“I don’t share.”
“You’re all disgusting,” Aaron says.
Neil flips him off.
Aaron immediately returns the gesture.
“If anyone in my next class mentions this subject, I’ll personally show up at your house in the middle of the night with a scalpel and slit your throats.”
“If I were you, I would actually start worrying if people are gonna mistake me for Neil’s husband,” Jean replies.
Both Aaron and Neil look deeply offended.
“Never say that again!”
“As if I could ever like…” Neil gestures vaguely at Aaron’s face. “That.”
Aaron takes a long breath.
“For the thousandth time,” he says angrily, “we are identical.”
“Never say that again,” Andrew says.
“I’m doing what Allison did.” Aaron stuffs the papers into his bag, stands up, and throws his coffee cup into the trash. “I don’t need this right now.”
“Tell Kate we’re having dinner at your place tonight,” Neil calls as Aaron reaches the door.
Aaron pretends not to hear him, though he slams the door slightly harder than necessary on his way out.
“Another comment says people thought they were divorced, not married,” Jeremy continues reading.
Kevin lets out such a sudden laugh that even Andrew looks at him.
“That one was good.”
“You also have multiple comments claiming people thought Andrew and Kevin were having an affair.”
Neil is openly laughing now.
“Well, that’s creative.”
“Allison once had a dream about it,” Kevin says.
“Keep your hands off my husband,” Neil bites back.
“Don’t you think you’re all investing too much energy into this?” Renee asks mildly. “Neil, how are the preparations for the student dinner going?”
Neil leans back into the chair beside Andrew, stealing another piece of chicken before answering.
“The invitations went out this morning,” he says. “Andrew has already threatened to kill half the guest list because I mentioned we’ll probably have to lock King and Sir in our bedroom.”
“I should not have to worry about allergies inside my own house.”
“If only allergies were the issue,” Neil replies. “You know how King reacts to strangers.”
“You want to invite a dozen strangers into our house and somehow expect nobody to get scratched?” Andrew asks flatly.
When Neil rolls his eyes, he adds:
“This sounds like the beginning of a crime documentary.”
“How many people are coming?” Jeremy asks, laughing.
“Twelve,” Neil answers. “Thirteen if Cody Winter learns how to forge a digital invitation without leaving evidence.”
“And would he succeed?” Kevin asks, sounding genuinely concerned. “Do you think encouraging that behavior is wise?”
“If he succeeds, he deserves to attend. We’re educating future lawyers.”
“Are you suggesting the law should be broken?”
Neil and Andrew exchange a glance before shrugging simultaneously.
“Probably.”
Jean sighs heavily but wisely says nothing.
“At least Bentham will leave the house clean for us.”
“Bentham?”
“The robot vacuum.”
Renee looks delighted.
“You named your vacuum cleaner after Jeremy Bentham?”
Andrew nods once.
“I would personally prefer it if it were named Jeremy,” Jeremy replies.
“Are you cooking?” Jean asks.
“No,” Neil says immediately. “The last time we attempted a dinner party at home, Nicky tried to help and almost burned the kitchen down.”
“Technically,” Andrew says in a perfectly monotone voice, “the fire remained contained within the pot.”
“The firefighters disagreed,” Jean replies.
“We ordered food from an Italian restaurant near campus,” Neil explains. “And there should be enough wine for the evening.”
Kevin stands, collects his things from the sofa, and adjusts his glasses.
“You realize none of your students are going to look at either of you normally for a very long time, right?”
“Kevin,” Neil says while drinking from Andrew’s water bottle, “I worked for the yakuza for years. A bunch of college students gossiping about my marriage is not going to destroy me.”
“We should start a betting pool about how long it’ll take Andrew’s students to emotionally collapse and start harassing him for personal information,” Jeremy says.
“Oh, that’s a good one,” Jean agrees, patting Jeremy lightly on the thigh. “I’m texting the group chat.”
“They may simply start disappearing,” Andrew says with a shrug.
“That is exactly the kind of horrifying statement responsible for your Rate My Professor reviews,” Renee points out.
“And yet the university keeps renewing my contract.”
“That’s because you and my father have an incredibly strange relationship,” Kevin replies. He slings his backpack over one shoulder, grabs another coffee, and says, “See you later.”
After that, the room slowly grows quieter.
Jean goes back to scrolling through Jeremy’s phone, looking at pictures the Jabberwocky nanny sent them.
Renee finishes her tea, reminds Andrew she’ll stop by his office later, and leaves for her next lecture.
The television is now playing some home renovation show nobody remembers turning on.
Absentmindedly, Neil leans his shoulder against Andrew’s while running his fingers through his husband’s blond hair, trying unsuccessfully to tame it.
Andrew doesn’t complain.
He exhales slowly, relaxed and secure.
The Minyard-Josten household was located on a quiet suburban street in Columbia, a few hours from Palmetto. The kind of tree-lined neighborhood where people left bicycles on their porches and didn’t bother installing security cameras at every possible angle of the house.
The students, standing on the sidewalk while the night cold seeped through their coats, immediately spotted five cameras pointed outward and two aimed directly at neighboring houses.
The house itself was beautiful without looking excessively extravagant for the salary of a criminal lawyer and a legal accountant. Two stories. White walls. Warm yellow light glowing through the windows. Plants scattered across the balcony beside two lounge chairs and a table with an empty ashtray resting on top.
Robin held the bottle of wine tighter against her chest and inhaled slowly, trying to calm herself.
Cody Winter already had his phone open to his inbox, asking the others whether the fake invitation email looked convincing enough for him to risk knocking on the door.
The other eleven invited students alternated between wondering whether they should’ve brought something and indulging their morbid curiosity about their professors.
“Do you really think you can fool Professors Minyard-Josten?” a sophomore girl asks.
“They expect this kind of thing from me,” Cody replies with a grin. “Andrew knows I want to pursue criminal law, and Neil literally encourages us to bend the law.”
Before he could ring the bell, a chorus of loud meows echoed from inside the house.
The sound immediately relaxed everyone a little.
The front door opened before anyone could comment.
Neil appeared wearing only white socks, gray sweatpants, and a black long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His red curls were messy and sticking out in every direction, as though someone had repeatedly run their hands through them.
“Oh my god,” someone whispers somewhere in the back.
“Ah, great, you’re early.” Neil glances behind himself toward the clock on the wall. “Mr. Winter, I wasn’t expecting you.”
Cody steps forward, pulling his phone from his pocket and turning the screen toward Neil.
“I think you forgot that you sent me an invitation, sir.”
Silence falls over the group while Neil studies the phone with complete seriousness.
One second passes.
Someone visibly stops breathing.
“Very well,” Neil says finally, a hidden smile tugging faintly at the corner of his mouth. “Close the door. Sir likes escaping.”
Cody looks deeply satisfied with himself as he walks inside, the rest of the group slowly following after him.
The first thing they notice is the enormous bookshelf lining the wall beside the staircase. There isn’t a single empty space anywhere. Every shelf is overflowing with books.
In fact, books are scattered across almost every available surface in the living room.
A massive television plays a shark documentary at low volume.
“The cats like it,” Neil says with a shrug.
There are mugs abandoned across the coffee table. More books stacked underneath them. A full ashtray beside what looks like a half-extinguished cigarette hastily put out before the students arrived.
A huge cat tree stands beside the window.
And photographs.
That’s what truly catches the students’ attention.
Pictures of Neil and Andrew traveling. Pictures of Neil and Kevin skiing, probably taken by Andrew considering Allison appears blurry in the background. A photo of Neil and Andrew leaning against Professor Minyard’s old Maserati. Pictures of the cats.
One framed photograph beneath the television stand shows Neil smiling while Andrew pouts beside Matt and Dan, clearly taken on their wedding day.
Another blurry picture captures Andrew asleep in a hammock with a cat sprawled across his chest.
A photograph of Andrew and Aaron standing side-by-side in suits hangs on one wall. Next to it is a picture of Neil and Jean each holding a cat and a dog respectively.
Neil watches the students mentally short-circuit in real time.
“Thank you for the wine, Miss Cross.”
Robin hands him the bottle as Neil walks toward the kitchen.
“Are any of you allergic to cats? I originally tried locking them upstairs, but Andrew and I reached a compromise, so now they have full access to the house tonight.”
As if summoned by name alone, a large orange cat appears in the hallway.
“Ah,” Neil says, “everyone, this is King.”
The cat walks directly to Neil, winding herself lazily around his legs with a soft meow before turning her attention toward the group.
Then she slowly approaches Cody.
“Why is she looking at me like that?”
“She’s very good at identifying liars.”
Andrew’s voice comes from somewhere behind them.
The students immediately turn.
Andrew stands in the kitchen doorway holding a glass of red wine. His wedding ring glints beneath the light. For the first time any of them have ever seen, he isn’t wearing a blazer.
Instead, he’s dressed in a black dress shirt and jeans.
He looks comfortable.
Well — comfortable by Andrew Minyard standards, which still includes the permanent expression of someone who would rather remove his own teeth than socialize.
“Good evening to you too, sir,” Cody replies automatically.
Andrew narrows his eyes.
“Well,” Neil says brightly, “make yourselves comfortable. Dinner should be ready in a few minutes. How many of us aren’t drinking tonight?”
Nobody raises a hand.
Andrew says nothing before disappearing back into the kitchen, Neil following after him.
A few minutes later they return, Neil distributing empty wine glasses while Andrew carries two bottles beneath one arm.
“You have exactly three seconds to start moving before Professor Minyard begins throwing people out,” Neil warns.
“You are significantly more feral than I am.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Drew.”
Some students settle onto the couches while others drift toward the photo wall to carefully investigate the personal lives of their professors. Cody and another girl immediately become distracted by the bookshelf and begin debating cyber fraud.
Robin notices the books stacked beside the television first.
Criminal Procedure. Criminology. Forensic Accounting. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.
She smiles.
Two Sherlock Holmes novels are wedged between books on history and a publication by Professor Walker about Legal Philosophy.
Then she spots a title called How to Train Your Cat Not to Commit War Crimes.
She picks it up at the same moment Andrew approaches carrying the wine bottles.
“Is this real?”
“If you’d met King when we adopted her, you would understand,” he replies. “Pinot Noir or Sauvignon Blanc?”
“Pinot Noir.”
“Good choice. We only have white wine because Neil insists it pairs better with risotto.” Andrew pauses. “And he doesn’t even drink. Idiot.”
Robin laughs quietly.
After that, she simply watches them.
At the university, Andrew and Neil always feel like opposing forces constantly colliding against one another. Here, they move like people sharing the same orbit.
The kitchen and dining room are connected openly together. The marble island is crowded with pasta, risotto, bread, and several more bottles of wine.
“Can we help with anything?” one student asks.
“Thank you, Mr. Morgan,” Neil replies while collecting plates from the counter. “You’re welcome to explore outside or continue terrorizing the living room. The upstairs, however, is off-limits.”
Neil sets the plates onto the table before returning to the kitchen. Andrew immediately hands him silverware, which Neil arranges without thinking. When Neil forgets the napkins, Andrew places them down silently. Before Neil even realizes he needs more glasses, Andrew is already sliding clean wine glasses toward him.
From the corner of the room, Xavier watches the interaction carefully.
It feels almost choreographed.
As though an invisible thread exists between them and automatically tightens whenever one drifts too far away.
He assumes that must be what happens after decades of marriage.
“Professors,” Xavier asks hesitantly, “how long have you been together?”
“Too long,” Andrew replies from inside the refrigerator while grabbing water bottles.
“We met when I was eighteen,” Neil says. “Started dating at nineteen, so…” He pauses thoughtfully. “Twenty-two years together? Married for twelve.”
“Twenty-three,” Andrew corrects.
Xavier doesn’t choke on his wine.
Cody, however, absolutely does.
“You’ve been together for twenty-three years?” Cody stares at them in disbelief. “That’s literally my age.”
“Mr. Winter, you are dangerously close to losing dining privileges.”
“Sorry, Professor Minyard.” Cody pats Xavier’s back. “Or should I say Minyard-Josten?”
Andrew simply stares at him until Cody raises both hands in surrender.
“And you hid being married for over a decade?” Xavier asks.
“Hid is a strong word,” Neil replies. “We simply never saw a reason to announce it to students.”
“Because it’s nobody’s business,” Andrew adds.
Neil nods in agreement.
“So why reveal it now?”
“Bored.” Andrew shrugs.
“Oh my god.”
Robin walks into the dining room carrying King in her arms while the cat flicks her tail directly into Robin’s face, who’s grinning.
Neil points immediately.
“There you go. Now you’re definitely Andrew’s favorite.”
“Stop lying, Josten.”
“You literally said you trust King’s judgment more than the Supreme Court.”
“And I remain correct.”
“Hypothetically speaking,” Neil continues, “if King became Chief Justice of the Supreme Court and Sir became the first female president of the United States, do you think the judiciary would finally become fair, or would that directly trigger World War III?”
The students laugh and immediately look toward Andrew, who appears to be considering the answer with alarming seriousness.
Years of marriage have clearly destroyed his ability to ignore absurd questions.
“I’d like to say I would flee to some tax haven where we could live peacefully under the radar,” Andrew says slowly, “but unfortunately King appears to have something against the French.”
“She hates Jean specifically. The French part is irrelevant,” Neil interrupts.
“Right. Of course.” Andrew nods once. “Still, I think Sir would eventually invade Holland to stop them from stealing all the world’s cheese. Or begin bombing schools.”
“Jesus Christ,” one student mutters in mock horror.
By now, all the students have gathered around the table just to watch the interaction.
“Don’t mind him,” Neil says dismissively. “Yesterday he watched a documentary about international cheese exports and now he’s holding grudges. Sit down before the food gets cold.”
The table is large enough for fifteen people comfortably. Neil and Andrew are already used to hosting large dinners whenever their friends gather for game nights.
“Make yourselves at home.”
Food begins circulating around the table, and gradually the students start talking over one another loudly enough to fill the room.
Andrew pours water into Neil’s glass and slides it toward him before refilling several wine glasses nearby.
“So,” Neil begins while twirling spaghetti around his fork, “what conspiracy theories have the forums invented about us this week?”
Andrew closes his eyes briefly.
“Neil.”
“What? I’m curious.”
A fourth-year student caves first.
“There’s an entire Reddit thread discussing whether you fell in love while covering up a crime together.”
“Ah, well,” Neil says after swallowing another bite of pasta, “a secret only exists as long as one of the people involved is dead.”
“That’s so romantic,” Cody replies immediately.
Neil points at him.
“See? This one learns quickly.”
“There’s another theory claiming you hated each other first and realized that was just an excuse to have angry sex,” another student blurts out, horrifying the rest of the table.
“Oh, come on now.”
“That’s so inappropriate.”
Neil laughs openly.
Andrew simply pours more wine into his own glass and stares at the student for one second too long, effectively killing the conversation where it stands.
After that, the students fully relax.
Questions begin flying across the table toward both professors.
And honestly, that’s what destroys the myth surrounding them more than anything else.
Andrew debates the psychology of unreliable witnesses with complete seriousness while simultaneously discussing which restaurant in Columbia serves the best pomodoro sauce with exactly the same intensity.
Neil explains why pyramid schemes continue functioning despite how obvious they are while stealing bites of risotto from Andrew’s plate, Andrew silently pushing more food toward him without complaint.
Everything about them feels automatic. Practiced. Comfortable. Old-fashioned in a strangely intimate way.
Robin realizes this is probably the first time any of them have ever seen Professor Minyard genuinely relaxed.
His shoulders are less tense. His voice is less sharp. Throughout the evening, his eyes constantly drift back toward Neil without him ever seeming aware of it.
“Professors,” asks a girl already halfway through her second glass of wine, “how did you meet?”
“Crime,” Neil answers at the exact same moment Andrew says, “College.”
The students stare at both of them.
Neil shrugs.
“Technically, both answers are correct.”
Silence settles briefly over the table.
“Now,” Neil says brightly, “who wants to know which of you would survive longest during a criminal investigation?”
That immediately sparks another loud argument.
Andrew gets up to clear plates and replenish wine bottles. The students notice how he touches Neil constantly in passing — quick fingers brushing against his shoulder, a hand briefly resting against Neil’s temple while setting dessert onto the table..
A tiramisu recipe Nicky taught Andrew when he was still a teenager.
Neil serves dessert to everyone, intentionally cutting Andrew the largest slice before sitting beside him again and smiling lazily while Andrew explains which profession he considers the most idiotic.
Eventually, the conversation drifts back into the living room.
King climbs into Robin’s lap again while Cody unsuccessfully attempts to convince Sir to let him pet her.
Half the room ends up discussing corporate law with Andrew while the rest wander into the backyard, where Neil and Andrew have a pool, an outdoor grilling area, and a swing hanging from an enormous tree — installed specifically at the request of Aaron and Kevin’s daughters.
When Neil eventually comes back inside looking tired, he leans casually against Andrew’s shoulder while talking.
At that moment, the most intimidating professors at the university don’t seem frightening at all.
They just look like an old married couple.
Ridiculously accustomed to each other.
Around eleven o’clock, the students finally begin leaving.
Neil and Andrew walk them to the front door, hand back coats, listen to grateful thank-yous for the invitation, and politely ignore the obviously false promises about finishing the next reading assignments before class.
Robin is one of the last people lingering near the doorway.
“Thank you for dinner, professors.”
Neil smiles.
“Don’t forget to speak with Professor Knox about what we discussed.”
Robin rolls her eyes playfully, and beside her Andrew mirrors the gesture automatically.
“I always thought the two of you made more sense together.”
Andrew frowns slightly.
“Should I find that offensive?”
“Go home, Miss Cross, before he starts another monologue,” Neil says, amused.
The door closes slowly behind her.
Afterward, the silence inside the house feels soft rather than empty.
Andrew starts gathering dishes and carrying them into the kitchen while Neil switches off the lights in the living room, then the garden, then finally the balcony.
“Cody is absolutely going to attempt hacking into the academic database someday,” Andrew says.
“Yes,” Neil replies. “He absolutely will.”
“Should we warn Wymack?”
“And ruin all the fun?”
Neil smiles as he approaches slowly, exhaustion finally settling into his posture. He wraps his arms around Andrew’s waist and rests his chin against his shoulder while Andrew rinses a wine glass beneath the sink.
“It was a good night.”
Andrew hums quietly before shutting off the water and turning just enough to rest his forehead against Neil’s.
“Never put me through this again.”
Andrew swallows Neil’s laughter with a kiss.