We just had to shut her up again."" The parking lot fell silent. Ariel's camera picked up every word. Students watching the live stream typed in explosions of disbelief. What? The principal is involved.
He protected Arpac. Zariah didn't move, but her eyes hardened. Jace's phone slipped slightly in his grip. Milo stepped back, horrified. Carter cursed under his breath.
Arpac wasn't just exposed. They were implicated. And so was Principal Carlton. Within minutes, the live stream spread across Brookside's group chats like wildfire. And somewhere across town, Serena Cole's phone lit up, delivering proof that went far beyond schoolyard bullying.
Principal Carlton's office had never felt smaller. The dim yellow lighting cast long shadows across stacks of paperwork documents he pretended to manage. Policies he pretended to enforce, authority he pretended to deserve. But tonight, none of it could shield him because Serena Cole walked into his office like a storm entering a quiet town. She closed the door behind her without waiting for permission.
Two hall monitors stood by the wall. Tense. A representative from the parent council hovered near the window. Phone buzzing non-stop with messages from concerned families. Carlton attempted a smile.
Miss Cole, I'm sure we can handle this calmly. Serena dropped her phone on his desk. The screen was still playing the live stream, Arpac, the threats, the ambush, and then Trent's damning confession. Carlton said he'd handle her for us. The parent council representative inhaled sharply.
The hall monitors looked at each other. Carlton went pale. That video, he snapped, is clearly edited. Students fabricate all sorts of, "It's not edited." One hall monitor interrupted quietly.
I watched the entire stream. It was live. Nothing was cut. Carlton glared at him, but the damage was done. Serena folded her arms, her expression calm, but lethal.
Your students attempted a coordinated assault on my daughter, and they openly stated, "You promised to handle her for them." Carlton licked his lips nervously. "Teenagers exaggerate. You know how rumors. Then let's talk facts," Serena said.
She pulled a folder from her bag and dropped it next to the phone. Papers spilled slightly, revealing signatures, financial amounts, and familiar names. The parent council representative stepped forward. What? What is this evidence?
Serena said of an annual sports development sponsorship from the Rowan family to Brookside High. Carlton stiffened. The hall monitors exchanged stunned glances and in return, Serena continued, "Carlton protected Beck Rowan and his team from disciplinary action for years." "That's not true," Carlton snapped. Beads of sweat forming at his temples, but another voice joined in the second hall monitor, voice low but firm.
"I've seen the files. There were complaints, injuries, reports from teachers. They all disappeared. Carlton shot him a furious look, but the other man didn't back down. Serena leaned forward, her voice even colder.
We're not finished. She pulled another sheet from the folder. A disciplinary chart, columns of names, dates, infractions, punishments. The pattern hit the room like a slap. "Black students," she said, tapping the paper, "received harsher penalties for lesser offenses every single year you've been principal."