"In front of witnesses."
"In front of the whole class," Sarah Chen confirmed, finding her courage. "He was very specific about it: $85,000."
"Well then," Dr. Johnson said, her smile growing slightly wider and considerably sharper. "That's a verbal contract, isn't it? Made in front of 24 witnesses. Though I suspect Marcus would prefer to donate it to a scholarship fund for underrepresented students in STEM fields. Wouldn't you, sweetheart?"
Marcus nodded, a small smile finally breaking through his serious expression. "That would be good. Help kids who actually need it."
The poetic justice of the moment wasn't lost on anyone. Mr. Wittmann, who had mockingly offered his salary believing it was safe, now faced the very real possibility of having to pay it—not to Marcus, whom he'd assumed needed it, but to help other students whom he might have similarly underestimated.
The impromptu conference had moved to Principal Carter's office, but the reverberations continued to spread throughout Roosevelt Middle School. Within minutes, word had traveled through the hallways like wildfire: Marcus Johnson, the quiet kid from Mr. Wittmann's class, was actually a genius, and Mr. Wittmann was in serious trouble.
In the principal's office, the atmosphere was electric with tension and possibility. Principal Carter sat behind her desk, fingers steepled, while the Johnson family occupied the chairs across from her. Mr. Wittmann stood to the side, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world.
"Before we proceed with any formal complaints," Principal Carter said, "I'd like to fully understand the scope of Marcus's abilities. Dr. Johnson, would you help me understand your son's educational background?"
Dr. Johnson's expression softened slightly as she looked at her son. "Marcus showed an affinity for numbers before he could properly speak. By age four, he was doing multiplication. By six, he was working through my undergraduate textbooks for fun." She smiled at the memory. "We had him tested at seven. His IQ is—well, let's just say it's in a range that most tests can't accurately measure."
"But we didn't want him to be a circus act," James Johnson added firmly. "We've seen what happens to child prodigies who are pushed too hard, too fast. They burn out. They struggle socially. They miss out on childhood. So, we made a decision to let Marcus set his own pace."
Marcus shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable being discussed like he wasn't there. "I like regular school," he said quietly. "I have friends. I play basketball at lunch. I'm in the drama club. I just also happen to like math."
"Like math?" Dr. Johnson laughed softly. "Last month, he found an error in one of my published papers. He was reading it for fun and noticed a calculation mistake in Theorem 3.4."