She didn't. Her tone didn't rise, but something about its impossible steadiness made Harlon pause for the briefest moment. Then he scoffed loudly. Ila Green is a known troublemaker. She's a 15year-old girl who ate her lunch alone.
Naomi cut in. And your son slammed her face into a plate. Harlon flushed, veins rising along his temple. Do you have any idea what will happen if you continue this nonsense? I will sue you.
I will sue the diner. I will sue the school. I will drag your name through court until a lawsuit, Naomi said, is the least of your concerns. Blake snorted behind his father. Dad, she she's overreacting.
She's trying to make a big case out of nothing. Naomi turned her gaze on the boy. She didn't speak. Didn't need to. The silence alone was enough to make him shrink.
Harlon puffed up like a predator reclaiming ground. My son is an honor student, an athlete. He has never been in trouble once. Not once before this nonsense. And you, he jabbed toward Naomi, are trying to ruin his future.
Mr. Briggs, the vice principal, nodded meekly. Dr. Green, perhaps we should all calm down and handle this at school. Naomi pivoted toward him so sharply he startled. You will not handle this. You had your opportunity every time I reported harassment.
And every time you dismissed her, Briggs opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Students whispered, "She knew about the bullying. Did the school ignore it? This is bad. " Naomi wasn't finished.
She took a step closer to Harlon. You say Blake has never been in trouble. That's interesting because the footage I just reviewed shows otherwise. She lifted her phone, tapping the newly backed up clip. Blake stiffened.
Mom, Dad, don't listen to her. Naomi continued as if his voice were fog. I saw the way your son planned the attack. I heard him instruct his friends to edit evidence. I watched him strike my daughter and she angled the phone screen toward Harlon.
I saw a Riverwood teacher witnessing the assault without intervening. The room inhaled sharply. Harlon blinked. A teacher? Yes, Naomi said.
A man who works for the school your foundation donates to. Quite generously, I hear. Briggs paled. Naomi tilted her head. It must be convenient donating large sums to a school whose staff then looks the other way when your son harms other students.
Whispers turned into pointed stairs. A few students even recorded. Harlon noticed, and that's when fear cracked through his anger. You're twisting things, he snapped. My contributions to the school have nothing to do with your son's impunity.
Naomi finished for him. His confidence that he can publicly assault a black girl without consequence. His belief that he is untouchable. Harlon's face went cold. He took one step closer, nose inches from Naomi's.
I will not have you accuse me of corruption. He hissed. I will not have you sabotage my son's life with these theatrics. Naomi leaned forward, unblinking. You already sabotaged his life, she said quietly.