Chapter 2 - The Office That Locked Itself
The headmaster appeared eight minutes after I called.
Dr. Everett Voss wore a navy suit and the smooth expression of a man accustomed to ending difficult conversations by smiling.
He offered his hand.
I didn't take it.
“Why were those children denied lunch?” I asked.
His gaze slid to the table near the kitchen.
“There seems to have been a misunderstanding.”
Mrs. Harper nodded too quickly.
“Claire has been circumventing student procedures.”
“Name the procedure,” I said.
Neither of them answered.
I asked Claire whether she wanted to wait with Beth while I spoke to the adults.
She nodded, but caught my cuff again.
“Please don't let them tell you I made it up.”
That simple request told me more about the last three weeks than Harper had said in ten minutes.
“I won't,” I promised.
Voss led us toward administration, talking about wellness, consistency, and the importance of maintaining boundaries.
The hallway smelled of floor polish and the lemon candies set out for visitors.
At his office door he stopped and inserted a key card.
A red light blinked.
He tried again.
Another red light.
Someone inside had remotely disabled his access.
He laughed once, without humor.
“Technical issue.”
I looked at the receptionist behind us.
She looked frightened rather than surprised.
“Use the conference room,” I said.
“We don't need your office to answer a question.”
Inside the conference room I placed Naomi on speakerphone.
She calmly asked for the cafeteria vendor's reconciliation reports, student meal-count exports, and the fund's general ledger.
Voss said the documents contained confidential information.
Naomi explained that we could receive redacted materials and that the donor agreement expressly provided for an independent accounting.
For the first time, Voss's smile slipped.
“I'll ask legal to review that.”
“Please do,” I said.
“Preserve everything while they review it.”
I gave him a written notice drafted by Naomi, requesting preservation of accounts, emails, camera recordings, vendor invoices, and access logs.
Mrs. Harper read the first line and blanched.
Before Voss could reply, his desk phone rang through the conference room speaker, connected by an assistant who misunderstood the situation.
A man's voice filled the room.
“Everett, did you remove Callahan's daughter from the list yet?”
Nobody moved.
Voss pressed the button so hard the plastic clicked.
The line went dead.
I stared at him.
May you like
“What list?”
