“You didn’t put her in her seat, Mr. Vance.”
“You assaulted a minor with sixty witnesses present.”
“You damaged three thousand dollars of personal property.”
“And you did it because the state judging panel sent back Kendal’s blind audition score with a perfect ninety-nine out of one hundred.”
Eleanor turned toward the students seated in the velvet chairs.
“Jordan Vance received an eighty-one.”
Jordan Vance pulled his jacket hood over his face and bolted out the side aisle door, the brass bar clattering behind him.
Nobody stopped him.
Nobody called his name.
Vance stood on the conductor’s platform, utterly alone.
His hands twitched at his sides.
He looked down at his fallen baton lying next to the crushed silver keys of Kendal’s instrument.
“You think you’ve won something?” Vance hissed, glaring at Marcus Mercer.
“You think some hotshot downtown firm can destroy my pension?”
“I’ve been tenured for twenty-two years!”
“The union will have this thrown out before the week is over!”
Marcus Mercer took one slow step forward, keeping his arm firmly around Kendal’s shoulder.
He didn’t yell.
He didn’t raise a fist.
“The state teachers’ association was delivered a copy of the criminal indictment twenty minutes ago, Mr. Vance,” Marcus said.
His voice was deep, resonant, and calm.
“Their general counsel informed Dr. Albright that they will not be providing legal indemnity for actions involving intentional physical battery of a child.”
Vance swayed slightly on his feet.
“You’re bluffing,” Vance whispered.
“Who do you think you are?”
“You’re just some contractor from the east side.”
Eleanor opened the leather portfolio once more, sliding out a single sheet of embossed municipal letterhead.
“Mr. Mercer is the chief structural engineer for the regional transit authority, Mr. Vance,” Eleanor said.
“His company holds the contracts for every municipal bond project in this county.”
“And more importantly, he is the client who just filed an eight-million-dollar civil claim against you personally.”
“Not against the district.”
“Against you, your personal assets, your summer home on the lake, and every dollar currently sitting in your private brokerage accounts.”
Vance’s knees visibly buckled.
He grabbed the corner of the heavy oak podium to keep from collapsing onto the hardwood.
“Eight million?” he gasped, his voice barely a squeak.
“You can’t do that.”
“The complaint was accepted by Judge Whitmore at eight-forty-five,” Eleanor said.
“You have twenty-one days to answer.”
“I suggest you spend this afternoon looking for an attorney who accepts clients facing grand jury subpoenas.”
Deputy Miller stepped up onto the platform and took Vance by the elbow.
“Time to go, Arthur,” the deputy said.
“I’m not under arrest!” Vance shouted, pulling his arm back.
“You’re being escorted off school property under a trespass warning issued by the superintendent,” Deputy Miller said firmly.
“You can walk out the front with your dignity, or I can put the bracelets on you right here in front of second period.”
“Your choice.”
Vance looked out at the two hundred students in the auditorium.
Every single phone was pointed directly at his face.
The red recording lights gleamed in the dim house lights.
Not one student looked down.
Not one student spoke up for him.
In the fourth row, a junior trumpet player whom Vance had made cry during marching band season slowly began to applaud.
Two beats later, the entire brass section joined in.
Then the woodwinds.
Then the percussionists in the back stood up, clapping in unison, a wave of noise rising to the timber ceiling.
Vance’s face went completely white.
He pulled his collar tight around his throat, turned his back on the stage, and practically ran down the side stairs.
Deputy Miller followed two paces behind him, ushering him out through the heavy fire doors into the cold parking lot.
The doors swung shut with a heavy click.
The applause continued for a full minute before tapering off into excited, stunned chatter.
Principal Albright stood by the edge of the curtains, sweating through his dress shirt.
“Mr. Mercer,” Albright began, extending a trembling hand.
“If I had known the extent of Arthur’s behavior—”
Marcus Mercer didn’t take the hand.
“You received four written complaints from Kendal’s mother last semester, Dr. Albright,” Marcus said.
“You forwarded every single one of them to Vance’s private inbox.”
Albright froze, his hand dropping to his side.
“Those emails are included in exhibit C of the federal filing,” Eleanor noted crisply, packing her papers back into the portfolio.
“The Department of Education’s Office for Civil Rights will be conducting depositions in your board room starting Monday morning.”
“I suggest you ensure your internal server backups are intact.”
Albright swallowed hard, turned on his heel, and hurried backstage without another word.