The*FailedAssassination
of a
College Professor

Your name is Dr. Deborah Mitchell.

You have a PhD from the University of Chicago.

You left your teaching job at Stanford to build a private consulting firm.

Your consulting firm is kicking ass. You're consulting for GM, CNN, Bristol Myers Squibb… but you miss teaching.

What do you do?

You made a solid choice, but you're playing The Assassination of a College Professor.

Welcome back to the ancient and honorable profession, Dr. Mitchell!

It's time to choose your classroom:

You're making good decisions today, but unfortunately, the dark heart of nostalgia clouded your good judgment yesterday.

You're now a professor at Ohio State's Fisher College of Business.

You've packed up a U-Haul and moved to Columbus.

You've bought a house and hired a contractor to gut it.

After decades of throwing coins in a wishing well, you're going to actually do it: you're going to build your dream home.

While your new home is under construction, you move in with your parents. Into your childhood bedroom.

Yes, it does feel a little weird!

Being home also reminds you of your childhood horses. You've missed having horses in your life. You're a horse girl at heart.

So you buy a horse.

And after a long year of construction (which could be its own movie) your new house is move-in ready.

You're 50 years old, living the life you've always dreamed about. There's just one problem:

Something bad is going on at Fisher, and you're about to become part of it.

Ohio State has been at the center of some of the largest institutional scandals in higher education.

OSU physician Richard Strauss sexually abused at least 177 male students between 1978 and 1998, and university officials knew about it as early as 1979. George Clooney produced an HBO documentary about it, Surviving Ohio State, that premiered at the Tribeca Film Festival in June 2025.

Les Wexner, Ohio's richest man and Ohio State's most powerful donor, served as Jeffrey Epstein's partner and primary financial source for two decades; their relationship was scrutinized in the 2022 Hulu docuseries Victoria's Secret: Angels and Demons.

Epstein also has ties to Dr. Mark Landon, chair of Ohio State's OB-GYN department. Epstein kept Dr. Landon on his payroll for years.

Dr. Landon claims it was for "biotech-investment consulting."

Only two months ago, Ohio State fired¹ its president.

Ohio State hasn't had a president leave under normal circumstances in 45 years.² Only the Cleveland Browns have had more leadership turnover.

With all of these scandals, it's no wonder that your scandal got lost in the shuffle.

You are not at Fisher for very long before you hear the whispers.

There are a few men you need to watch out for. A few others to avoid. These are tenured, powerful men who don't like to be questioned or challenged. They'll make your life unpleasant if you cross them.

For these men, the college is a boys' club of unaccountability.

But there is one man in particular. Professor Matta. Your female coworkers (and even some of the men) warn you about Matta.

They tell you to never get in an elevator alone with him.

You'll quickly learn that Professor Matta has had abusive, sexual relationships with multiple students. They were so abusive, at least two of those students dropped out of school.

You'll discover that the university received a letter from Matta's wife, stating that she fled the country because Professor Matta had been holding her prisoner in their home.

You'll hear complaints from your female students about how Matta called them "stupid cows" with "small brains."

You'll be outraged when your department chair mocks the complaints by saying, "The problem with these whiny girls is that they were coddled by their parents."

You'll be further outraged when Ohio State fails to discipline Professor Matta. In fact, they promote him.

They allow him to take students on trips out of state, even out of the country.

It becomes so bad that a group of your female MBA students gives a presentation to Fisher leadership decrying the toxic environment. The students are ignored.

You complain to your department chair.

Your department chair brands you a "troublemaker."

Do you:

As a teenager, you were the victim of sexual assault.

You kept it to yourself for years.

As you got older, you saw how easy it is for people to look the other way.

You vowed never to be one of those people.

The dean acknowledges your concerns. He'll look into them.

He's a kind, soft-spoken man. You wouldn't necessarily say he's charming, but he exudes a certain appeal. People like him. They trust him.

You consider him a friend.

You're up for reappointment. Your department chair tries to prevent your reappointment by manipulating your dossier. He gets caught.

He only gets a slap on the wrist for this, but at least you're reappointed.

And you're given a new department chair.

And with any luck, an investigation into Professor Matta will yield results, making the Fisher environment less toxic for faculty and staff and safer for the students.

A college-wide survey is conducted. The results are unambiguous:

The Fisher College of Business is a mess.

Accusations run the gamut, describing behavior that is gross, deeply weird, unsettling, or outright illegal.

But that's not the troubling news.

The troubling news is that the dean claims the data collection was faulty, so the results are invalid.

He discards the survey.

He's unwilling to admit he's let some bad apples spoil the bunch.

You raise hell about discarding the survey results. The meeting devolves into a shouting match.

(The survey results are boxed-up somewhere deep in the university system, next to the unlabeled Ark of the Covenant, never to see the light of day.)

The dean informs you that an investigation has finally been launched.

The university is investigating you.

They say you stole almost $2 million from the university.

You say:

No matter your reaction, you wind up here:

Under investigation.

Allegedly, some work you did as a private consultant could have been done by the university. The total for this work is $1.8 million.

This complaint is based entirely on an accusation by one man.

Marty.

You're not surprised. You reported Marty to HR for harassing a young employee, and you recently told him you would no longer provide support to his department.

Marty's accusation is such an obvious attempt to harm your reputation, you can't believe the dean is humoring it. But the dean informs you that Marty submitted a formal complaint, citing university code, and because of that, the university's rules prevent him from interfering.

When a complaint is formally made, it must go forward.

The dean assures you the investigation will be fair.

Sometimes it's nice to have a break from reality.

Whenever you're ready:

By university rule, an investigation should take no longer than 45 days.

Your investigation runs for 969 days.

Ohio State claims they can't trust you around the students, so they pull you from the classroom.

You can no longer teach, effective immediately. And indefinitely.

(You were just voted Outstanding Core Professor by the graduating MBA class of 2017.)

Your students are told you abandoned them for private consulting.

You are not allowed to comment on the investigation.

As your investigation intensifies, Professor Matta is promoted.

Ohio State gives you the chance to resign. You refuse. The investigation continues.

Ohio State holds a "hearing." They don't call a single witness. Marty never appears before the committee. You are not allowed to question him.

When you contact the committee chair, asking to introduce evidence, you are told that this is not a court of law, and the committee is not obligated to introduce evidence you produce.

The committee finds you guilty. Ohio State gives you the chance to resign. You refuse. You appeal the committee's findings.

A new committee is formed. By rule, the appeals committee is supposed to be completely separate from the original committee, untainted by the previous decision.

At the appeals hearing, Ohio State doesn't call a single witness. You are not allowed to question Marty.

For the entirety of the 969-day investigation, you are never allowed to question Marty.

The appeals committee uses the previous committee's ruling as their evidence. They find you guilty.

This process drags on until you are up for reappointment.

You're told that you will not be reappointed, because you don't have teaching evaluations.

You don't have teaching evaluations because they prevented you from teaching.

You are trapped in a bureaucratic, Kafkaesque kangaroo court.

During this period, Professor Matta leads a class trip overseas. Something happens on the trip, the details of which have never been shared publicly.

Matta abruptly flees his position at Ohio State.

He flees the country.

The university never investigates the trip, or Matta's immediate departure, or any of the accusations against him.

His name is swept under the rug.

In a final attempt to stop this madness, your department chair and the two most-senior men in your department give written declarations to the school, stating your innocence.

Ohio State omits those letters from the record when it publishes its findings.

The findings claim you were found guilty by two independent committees.

The provost and university president approve your firing based on this report.

Ohio State will later claim that you were "found guilty at every level."

You're going to be terminated.

The university gives you a final chance to resign. If you walk away, Ohio State will not publicly disclose your theft. This is your chance to "salvage your reputation."

Besides, they say, even if you fight and somehow win, you will not be reappointed. So what's the point of fighting?

You decide to:

You sometimes wonder what your life would be like if you "did things the easy way for once."

You'll probably never find out.

Ohio State terminates you for "grave misconduct."

You're the lead story on the local news.

Everyone you know sees it.

One of the largest universities in the world just branded you a thief and a liar.

Despite your innocence, you feel ashamed.

You tearfully apologize to your parents.

You can't help but wonder what people think of you now.

When you go to church on Sunday, will people see a greedy woman who robbed the hometown school?

What do your students think? What is Ohio State telling them?

This is so humiliating.

And the worst is yet to come.

You've lost your job. Your healthcare. Your reputation.

You apply for a number of teaching positions across the country. You don't get a single interview.

You have a PhD from the University of Chicago, you've taught at some of the most prestigious B schools in the country, but the local community college doesn't respond to your application.

You are not just unemployed. You're radioactive.

You search job listings for openings at coffee shops.

You get sick. Hospitalized. You're diagnosed with a very rare and terrible autoimmune disease triggered by stress. Your doctor warns you to avoid conflict.

But conflicts are coming.

Ohio State anticipates litigation, so they pressure the state to investigate your case. The state complies and launches a criminal investigation.

If convicted, you'll go to jail.

You need to hire a good criminal defense attorney to defend you. You need to hire a good trademark and copyright attorney to defend your company. And if you want to sue Ohio State, you need to hire a good employment law attorney.

You're told your legal bills will reach seven figures.

You meet with an employment law attorney who tells you not to sue Ohio State. "Save your money. This is a company town. Nobody beats them."

But you can't clear your name without a trial. And you'll never teach again if you can't clear your name.

The employment law attorney warns you, once again. "You won't win. You'll drain your savings fighting them and you'll be left with nothing. Do the best you can to move on with your life."

Your doctor also warns you: litigation could cause stress that might literally kill you.

Not to sound too dramatic, but this is the part of your story where survival becomes strategy.

A former FBI agent is leading the criminal investigation into your case.

You're spending two days a month at the hospital, getting infusions to keep your disease in check.

And now you're suing Ohio State in federal court.

All three of your attorneys demand massive retainers, and your healthcare bills are astronomical.

You have to cash out your pension.

You have to sell your dream home.

And even though it breaks your heart, you know you can't afford to keep your horse.

Everything about the happy life you cultivated when you moved back to Columbus is gone.

Everything you have, you put into the fight.

Your personal life is also getting more complicated.

Your parents are approaching 90 and need assistance. They move in with you.

An old flame from decades past comes back into the picture, too. He's a wonderful man, but you've had a star-crossed relationship. It doesn't take long for old issues to resurface.

The two of you are like the Odd Couple. You'd probably make millions if you livestreamed your daily life.

After you file your lawsuit, a federal judge is assigned to your case. Your employment law attorney informs you that the judge will have a tremendous impact on the outcome.

Did you:

You are on a nonstop flight to Hell.

There are no stops at Catch a Break. No layovers at It Could Have Been Worse.

If there is a solitary bright spot, it is that your lawyer's brother will make you cocktails for free during your trip. But more on that later.

For now:

A Trump-appointed Federalist judge is assigned to your case. She is known to rule unfavorably against plaintiffs like you.

Right away, all of your claims are dismissed, except one.

This is technically a win, but it's as close to a loss as you can get in a win.

Your only remaining claim is sex discrimination, so you won't be allowed to argue that Ohio State retaliated against you for being a “troublemaker.”

You won't be allowed to argue that you were targeted for standing up to powerful men.

You won't even be allowed to mention Professor Matta to the jury, if your case ever makes it to a jury.

You also can't relitigate the original investigation by Ohio State. You can't claim the investigation was a sham — because it doesn't matter that Ohio State never called a witness, or that you never got to face your accuser. The rules say Ohio State only needed to conduct an investigation; the rules do not say the investigation needed to be fair.

It no longer matters if you stole from the university. The case you are allowed to make, with your one remaining claim, is this:

You must argue that Ohio State discriminated against you because they didn't fire any men for stealing.

Which implies that you are guilty of stealing, and you're upset because you're the only one being punished.

You hate this defense, but it is the only legal defense you can make now.

It gets worse.

Ohio State refuses to turn over massive amounts of discovery. (And what they do give you is heavily redacted.)

You file a motion to compel.

Ohio State gives you more discovery, which turns out to be duplicates of what you already have.

You file another motion to compel.

Ohio State throws its hands in the air and says, “We just gave you a bunch of stuff.” They claim it's too burdensome to give you anything else.

The judge sides with Ohio State.

It gets worse.

By rule, you are allowed ten depositions. This is a big case, so you file a motion to exceed ten.

Ohio State claims the male professors did not steal anything and therefore shouldn't be harassed with depositions.

The judge agrees with Ohio State.

But not only that — the judge goes a step further and takes away two of the depositions you were originally entitled to, leaving you with eight.

She also decides that out of your eight depositions, only one of them can be a male professor.

And the judge will pick which professor you're allowed to depose.

And, of course, she selects the last professor you would have chosen.

It gets worse.

The judge also “clarifies” an earlier ruling.

Initially, the judge ruled that you could compare yourself to other men in the college who were accused of misconduct but not punished or fired.

But now, the judge claims what she really meant is you must compare yourself to the men in your own department who were accused of stealing and not fired.

But no other men in your department were accused of stealing, so you don't have a comparison to make.

So you can't win.

Your attorney (who has been practicing employment law for more than thirty years) tells you he's never seen anything like this.

He tells you he may have to publicly resign from the case to draw attention to the insanity of this ruling.

It's clear to you now: you're going to lose. And you're beginning to worry that the lead attorney on your case might not be cut out for this battle.

It gets worse.

When you lose, Ohio State can sue you for their legal fees.

And worse still:

Your criminal defense attorney (one of the other lawyers burning through your life savings) discovers that for the past several years, Ohio State's legal department has been pressuring (if not collaborating with) the state agency criminally investigating you.

This started even before your sham hearings at Ohio State declared you “guilty.”

Your employment law attorney is so convinced you're going to lose, he asks you to withdraw your case. “Maybe I can get ten-thousand dollars from Ohio State. At this point, that's a win.”

You refuse his suggestion. You are getting numb to the amount of bad news coming your way.

The entire machinery of Ohio State and all its public and political power has set out to destroy you.

And it's working.

This is the nadir.

You are exhausted, mentally and physically.

You've never considered yourself a “fighter,” but everyone keeps calling you a fighter.

You don't want to be a fighter. You want the world to stop requiring you to fight.

There are days you can barely get out of bed.

There are days your 90-year-old parents have more energy.

You're spending more time in the hospital. Your recovery periods are longer.

You haven't officially run out of money… but you can see the date on the calendar when it will happen. It isn't far away.

You're overwhelmed with anxiety when you think about it.

You still can't get a job. Employers don't return your calls.

When you Google your name, the first three pages are about your “grave misconduct.” It has overshadowed everything you've accomplished. It has defined who you are.

You don't know how to fix it.

On the days you're able to function, you do pro bono work for your church. You lean on your faith for support. Some days, it works.

Some days, there's good news. Your legal team finds a promising lead.

Like when they discover another woman from Fisher who claimed she was falsely accused of misconduct. Her experience was exactly like yours — the same playbook, the same sham investigation. In the end, she resigned from Ohio State.

Your lawyer contacts the woman, but she won't talk. You try contacting her too, hoping your shared experience will be enough.

She still won't talk. She's moved on with her life. Unlike you, she wasn't foolish enough to fight, so she has a job teaching at Purdue.

She won't let Ohio State back into her life.

This cycle repeats itself multiple times during your case. It takes a piece of you each time it happens.

It breaks your heart, how silence is rewarded.

Your employment law attorney tells you he's worried about your health. He asks you to drop the case. Again.

Again, you refuse.

You can't help but wonder if he's being pressured by Ohio State. For a big city, Columbus is still a small town. Is he worried about his standing in the club?

There have been so many bad rulings and tough breaks in your case, it's getting hard to differentiate between paranoia and perception.

And then: the day comes when you get the news you've been dreading:

The criminal investigation is complete. The investigator recommends indictment.

Off the record, the prosecutor tells your attorney he's being forced by Ohio State to bring charges. On the record, the prosecutor says he can't ignore the investigator's recommendation.

You are going to be indicted.

Prison is officially on the table.

You're hospitalized again.

Your doctor warns you to find ways to de-stress. Your immune system can't handle it.

And, once again, your employment law attorney implores you to quit. When his verbal admonition doesn't work, he writes you a formal letter recommending you drop the case.

He drops another bombshell. He claims he doesn't know if he can ethically proceed.

You ask him to repeat himself, because you can't believe what you're hearing. He repeats himself, and you heard him correctly:

Your lawyer tells you he might have to withdraw from your case. He is so certain you're going to lose, he thinks it's unethical for him to take your money to keep fighting.

You begin to face your future:

You are going to die broke without clearing your name.

Only those closest to you will know the truth. Everyone else will remember you as a greedy bitch, if they remember you at all.

And what about your parents? Is this how they're going to spend their final years? Watching their only daughter get pummeled until she vanishes?

Is this really it? Is this what will define the last years of your life? From grave misconduct to the grave?

Your depression turns to rage—

And suddenly, your path forward becomes clear.

You have a mission now. A final lesson you will leave for your students.

Governments, corporations, and bureaucracies like Ohio State win because they think they can outlast you. Outspend you. Bully you into submission.

The powerful and corrupt people inside these institutions are immune to consequences because they know the system will intimidate their opponents and dominate them into silence and shame.

They feel invincible. So they behave that way.

You're not going to let that playbook work on you. You have eight depositions and you're going to use every single one of them.

You are going to make eight previously untouchable, unaccountable people answer questions under oath. And you're going to sit across the table from each one of those spineless pricks while they're doing it.

You're going to look them in the eye and let them know they didn't break you.

You might not win your case. You might end up bankrupt. But you will hold their feet to the fire and hope it burns.

You replace the lead attorney on your case.

Your new attorney is young. You ask if he's afraid of taking on the university. “Fuck Ohio State,” he tells you. He's hired.

Your lawyer's brother is a screenwriter, home during the WGA strike. He hangs around the office and makes you cocktails. You talk about movies and books and theater, and you realize how long it's been since you've thought about anything outside of your case.

It's therapeutic.

There's a quiet optimism and camaraderie with this group. There's no doom and gloom about the outcome. The outcome will be what it will be, but the focus is on getting to the truth.

There are even moments during this period when you have… fun.

You get a puppy. It brings more chaos into your life, but it's a calming chaos that comes with unconditional love.

You've figured out how to be a parent to your parents. Like filling pudding cups with yogurt to trick your dad into eating better.

You lean into your sense of gallows humor. You and your partner talk about where you'll go on vacation to spend your last dime.

And then the depositions begin.

Each of the eight depositions reveals something extraordinary about your case, but here are the two most important events:

During the dean's deposition, he compliments you for your excellence in teaching and your dedication to the school.

In a warm, empathetic voice, he expresses regret for everything that happened. He says, to this day, he is unsure if you're guilty. He wishes he could have done more to help you, but his hands were tied.

Then comes the second event.

After almost five years, you discover the truth.

It's revealed during Marty's deposition, when your attorney asks about the genesis of the complaint. Marty stares at the Ohio State attorney, looking for permission not to answer.

Marty has never had to answer.

Ohio State can't save him this time. Marty confesses:

Your investigation didn't actually begin when Marty submitted the formal complaint. It began six months earlier.

During those six months, Marty and the dean crafted the complaint together. They worked with an attorney to ensure the required university code was cited.

When everything was ready, Marty submitted “his” formal complaint. The dean found merit in it, and he had no choice but to launch an “investigation.” An investigation that produced no witnesses, no testimony, no cross-examinations. No problem!

You know the rest.

Marty's deposition is the puzzle piece you needed. It brings sudden clarity to your case. And it turns the tide.

Ohio State files a motion for summary judgment.

The judge denies it, pointing out that “a jury could reasonably conclude that the Dean lied to conceal a discriminatory motive.”

The prosecutor in your criminal case mysteriously loses interest.

The case is dismissed.

There's only one case remaining.

You're going to have your day in court.

The question becomes: do you want it?

No surprise: Ohio State is eager to settle.

They ask what you want. You tell them.

The lead attorney for Ohio State can't believe it. He actually laughs.

You tell him again: you want your job back. You've missed being a teacher.

Ohio State ends the meeting because, in all the scenarios they sought approval for from the board of trustees, they never discussed rehiring you. None of the decision-makers at Ohio State even considered the possibility.

They come back to you a few days later. You can have your job back if you'll settle.

The choice is up to you now. For the first time in eight years, you're in full control of your life.

If you refuse to settle and go to trial, you'll be able to tell the world your story. You'll be able to put a lot of people on the stand and make them answer questions they've never been forced to answer. You're a marketing professor, and your mind can't stop dreaming of the possibilities. You'll be able to shine a spotlight on the injustices that big institutions like Ohio State get away with on a daily basis. It's an important story, and to tell it inside the theater of federal court — as the case is happening live — would be compelling.

Your lawyer says you can never count on a jury to be logical, but the phony dean is going to be exposed as a devious little worm, and that's a good place to start.

Win or lose, you'll unearth a lot of dirt that Ohio State has been trying to hide. It would be bittersweet revenge.

A win would also net you a lot more money than you'd ever get in a settlement. Ohio State's position is that if you want your job back, they're not paying you too. They say the Strauss case is bleeding them dry.

You know the feeling.

But most important to you is the fact that if you go to trial, win or lose, you'll never teach at Ohio State again.

Sure, you'd be able to teach at other schools, but you don't want to uproot your parents from their lives in Columbus. And deep down, you feel like you have unfinished business at your alma mater.

You say yes to the life you truly want. You become Professor Mitchell again.

Five years after you were terminated, and eight years after the start of your “investigation,” you're back walking the halls of The Ohio State University.

The president who fired you is gone. He retired early.

The provost who fired you is gone. He stepped down.

The state investigator who recommended indictment is gone. He retired early.

The prosecutor in your criminal case is gone. He left public service.

Marty is gone. He lost his job when funding for his position suddenly became unavailable.

As for the dean? He announced his early retirement ten days after the judge granted you your day in court.

And you?

You are back at Ohio State, doing what you love.

Despite still getting hospital infusions twice a month, you loaded your schedule with classes.

In your spare time, you consult. You were recently hired as an expert witness in a big case against Purina. Your testimony was cited as instrumental in the win.

The attorney who hired you? He's the Chairman of the Board of Trustees at Ohio State.

In your personal life, your parents just celebrated their 74th wedding anniversary.

(That's not a typo.)

You and your partner have shed the star-crossed elements of your relationship. You're less the Odd Couple now and more Nick and Nora, or Bogey and Bacall.

You watch a lot of TCM together.

You bought a new horse.

You bought tickets for a vacation where you won't have to spend your last dime.

You bought a dilapidated house in your old neighborhood.

And when you have the money, you're going to gut it and build another dream home.