Chapter 6 - THE RED SLIP
I backed away, clutching the black ledger.
“You’re in on this,” I whispered to Robert.
Principal Henderson looked at me, a flicker of guilt crossing his face, but he quickly masked it.
“I’m protecting the school, Jennifer. If the state finds out about the lunch fund fraud, Lincoln Elementary gets shut down. Three hundred kids lose their school.”
“So you let Pritchard burn down their homes instead?” I yelled.
Pritchard stepped forward.
“Let’s not be dramatic, Mrs. Miller. It’s urban renewal.”
He looked at Vance.
“Marcus, you got greedy. I told you to identify the vulnerable families. I didn't tell you to steal federal lunch funds on the side. You drew attention to us. You made a ten-year-old boy starve his way into the spotlight.”
Vance gripped the crowbar tightly.
“I did the dirty work! You sit in your mansion while I light the matches!”
“And now you’re a liability,” Pritchard said.
He pulled a small, silver object from his pocket.
It was a pocket watch. Identical to the one Vance had left on my car.
Pritchard tossed it onto the concrete floor.
“Your services are no longer required, Marcus.”
Vance roared and lunged at Pritchard with the crowbar.
It happened so fast I barely had time to react.
Pritchard stepped to the side, grabbed Vance’s arm, and twisted it sharply. The crowbar clattered to the floor. Pritchard drove his fist into Vance’s stomach, dropping the assistant principal to his knees.
Robert grabbed the crowbar.
“Give me the ledger, Jennifer,” Pritchard said, turning his cold eyes to me.
I looked at Maria Rivera, who was thrashing in her chair, muffled screams coming through her gag.
I looked at the open warehouse door.
If I ran, I might make it. But Maria would die.
I looked at the black notebook in my hands.
“You want the ledger?” I asked.
“Hand it over.”
I opened the book.
I ripped out the first ten pages.
Pritchard’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?”
“I’m destroying the evidence,” I said.
I pulled a lighter from my purse—the one I kept for lighting Caleb's birthday candles.
I sparked it.
I held the flame to the ripped pages. The dry paper caught instantly.
“Stop!” Robert yelled.
I threw the burning pages onto a pile of old wooden pallets.
The dry, oil-soaked wood ignited with a WHOOSH.
Flames shot toward the ceiling.
Pritchard cursed and ran toward the fire, trying to stomp it out to save the remaining pages I hadn't ripped.
Robert dropped the crowbar and rushed to help him.
I didn't hesitate.
I ran to Maria. I pulled the gag from her mouth and began untying the ropes around her wrists.
“Hurry,” she sobbed.
“I got you,” I said.
The fire was spreading fast, catching the old insulation in the walls. Thick, black smoke began to fill the warehouse.
I got the last knot free.
Maria stumbled to her feet.
“Run to my car!” I yelled.
We sprinted toward the open doors.
Behind us, Pritchard realized the fire was out of control.
“The book!” he screamed, realizing I still had the rest of the ledger in my hand.
He ran after us.
We burst out of the warehouse into the fresh air.
I shoved Maria into the passenger seat of my car and jumped into the driver's seat.
Pritchard slammed his hands onto the hood of my car, his face twisted in rage.
May you like
“You're dead, Miller!”
I threw the car into reverse, stomped on the gas, and left him standing in a cloud of dust and smoke.
