Tyler nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I recorded it in the teachers' lounge yesterday."
Dr. Wells exchanged glances with the other board members. "In light of this new information, I believe we should place Mr. Lambert on administrative leave pending further investigation."
"Agreed," said another board member. "And I move that we review all disciplinary actions taken against Mr. Walker with immediate effect."
The meeting was beginning to shift decidedly in Elijah's favor when Naomi Reyes raised her hand. "If I may," she said, standing. "There's a piece of this puzzle I think the board should consider."
All eyes turned to the journalist as she approached the front of the room.
"In researching Elijah's story, I discovered something that may be relevant to these proceedings." She opened a folder and extracted several photocopied documents. "Sixteen years ago, Elijah's mother, Sophia Walker, was accused of stealing funds from the Lincoln Heights music department—an accusation that effectively ended her teaching and performance career."
Murmurs rippled through the room as Naomi continued: "The investigation was led by then-Assistant Principal Richard Cartwright, who filed the official report that resulted in her dismissal." She placed the documents on the table in front of the board. "The signatures are all there."
All eyes turned to Cartwright, whose face had drained of color.
"That's... that's irrelevant ancient history!" he stammered. "It has no bearing on the current situation!"
"Doesn't it?" Naomi challenged. "A talented black musician was accused of theft based on circumstantial evidence, her career destroyed. Sixteen years later, her equally talented son faces similar accusations after demonstrating extraordinary ability. The common denominator in both cases sits right there." She pointed directly at Cartwright.
The room erupted in whispers as Cartwright attempted to regain control. "This is outrageous! You can't possibly suggest I've harbored some kind of grudge for sixteen years! It's absurd!"
"Is it?" Naomi countered calmly. "Or is it a pattern?"
Before Cartwright could respond, the conference room door swung open once more. Troy Manning walked in, his letterman jacket a splash of color against the institutional beige walls.
"I need to say something," he announced without preamble. "I saw someone near the music room the night the piano was vandalized."
Dr. Wells gestured for him to approach. "Go on, Mr. Manning."