Chapter 4 - THE BURNER PHONE
The heavy wooden door slammed shut with a definitive, echoing thud.
The loud click of the magnetic lock engaging sounded like a prison cell sealing us in.
“Daddy!” Abby screamed, burying her face into my side as I instinctively stepped in front of her and the other four girls, shielding them with my body.
Principal Daniels stood between us and the door, the heavy can of pepper spray aimed squarely at my eyes. The polished, dignified educator had vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating cornered rat.
“Give me the ledger, Thomas,” Daniels demanded, his voice stripped of all its previous warmth. He held out his free hand.
I clutched the carbon copies in my fist. My mind raced, calculating the distance between us. Five feet. I was bigger and stronger, but if he sprayed that chemical, the vapor would fill the small, unventilated storage room in seconds. The girls would be blinded and choking.
I couldn't risk them.
“You signed the forms,” I said, my voice dangerously low. I kept my eyes locked on his, trying to project a calm I didn't feel. “Vance isn't acting alone. You’re splitting the sixty thousand dollars.”
Daniels let out a short, humorless laugh. “Sixty thousand? Thomas, you are thinking entirely too small. The 'Sunshine Account' is just one revenue stream. The district allocates over two million dollars a year for at-risk behavioral and nutritional interventions. And nobody—not the state, not the parents, not the school board—ever checks to see if the money actually reaches the kids.”
“So you steal it,” I spat in disgust. “You use my dead wife’s name to starve children so you can buy tailored suits and a new car.”
“Your wife was a naive idealist,” Daniels sneered, his grip tightening on the canister. “Sarah thought she could save the world with hot meals and hugs. When she brought the private account to my attention three years ago, she handed me a goldmine. I just figured out how to maximize the profit margins.”
The mention of Sarah sent a blinding flash of fury through my brain. I took a half-step forward.
“Ah-ah,” Daniels warned, raising the canister higher. “Don't be a hero, Mr. Reed. These children have asthma. You want them coughing up blood?”
I froze, grinding my teeth so hard my jaw ached.
“What’s your plan, Arthur?” I asked coldly. “You can’t keep us in here forever. My truck is parked out front. The front office knows I’m here.”
“They know you came to drop off a library book,” Daniels corrected smoothly. “They also know you were highly agitated. If you and the girls are found in this unauthorized storage room, and I tell the police you assaulted Mrs. Caldwell and me in a fit of grief-induced paranoia... well, who are they going to believe? A decorated principal, or an erratic, grieving blue-collar worker?”
He gestured to the ledger resting on the table behind me.
“Hand me the book, Thomas. I take the book, I wipe the signatures, and we walk out of here. You take your daughter home. You never speak of this again. And these girls go back to eating cafeteria food. Everyone wins.”
I looked back at the girls. They were huddled together, terrified, tears streaming down their dirt-smudged faces. Lucy was clutching Abby’s hand so tightly her knuckles were white.
I looked at the girl in my wife’s oversized blue coat.
Sarah would never have walked away.
“No,” I said.
Daniels’ eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
“I said no,” I replied, my voice steady. I slowly reached into the pocket of my work jeans.
Daniels tensed, his thumb hovering over the spray trigger. “Keep your hands where I can see them!”
I pulled out my hands. In my right hand, I held a pair of heavy, rubber-gripped wire cutters I always carried for work.
“You think you’re smart, Arthur,” I said, stepping to the side, positioning myself near the cinderblock wall where the magnetic lock’s wiring conduit ran down from the ceiling. “You think because you wear a suit and sign papers, you hold all the cards.”
I looked at the conduit. It was cheap, standard-issue PVC casing.
“But you’re standing in a room with an electrician,” I said.
Before Daniels could react, I swung the heavy wire cutters like a hammer, smashing the PVC conduit against the wall. The plastic shattered instantly, exposing a bundle of red, black, and green wires.
“Stop!” Daniels yelled, stepping forward and raising the canister.
I didn't hesitate. I jammed the steel jaws of the cutters into the exposed wires and squeezed with all my strength.
CRACK!
A shower of blue sparks exploded from the wall. The overhead fluorescent lights instantly died, plunging the windowless room into absolute pitch blackness.
The girls screamed.
I heard the hiss of the pepper spray discharging, but without the lights, Daniels was firing blind. The chemical mist sprayed harmlessly against the far wall, nowhere near the children.
But I didn't need the lights. I had memorized the room the moment I walked in.
I lunged forward in the dark.
My shoulder connected squarely with Daniels’ chest. The impact knocked the wind out of him, sending him crashing backward into the heavy wooden door.
The heavy canister of pepper spray clattered to the linoleum floor.
Because I had cut the power line, the fail-safe on the magnetic lock disengaged.
The heavy wooden door swung open under our combined weight, spilling us both out into the dimly lit hallway.
I scrambled to my feet instantly, grabbing Daniels by the lapels of his expensive suit and slamming him hard against the lockers. He gasped, thoroughly stunned.
“Daddy!” Abby cried, running out of the dark room with the other four girls right behind her.
“Stay behind me, girls,” I ordered, keeping my forearm pressed firmly against Daniels’ throat.
Mrs. Caldwell, who had been standing guard in the hallway, shrieked in terror and dropped her oversized leather purse.
The purse hit the ground, spilling its contents across the polished floor. Makeup, keys, and a wallet scattered everywhere.
But it was something else that caught my eye.
Hundreds of small, colorful paper slips spilled out of a sealed envelope in her purse.
They were cafeteria meal vouchers. The physical tickets the school issued for the free lunch program. There were hundreds of them, hoarded like stolen cash.
But what made my blood run cold was the small, cheap flip-phone that slid out of the purse and came to a stop near my boots.
It wasn't a smartphone. It was an untraceable burner phone.
And right at that moment, the phone began to buzz loudly against the floor.
The caller ID illuminated the small screen.
LUCY’S MOM.
I looked at Mrs. Caldwell, who was staring at the phone in absolute horror.
I slowly released Daniels, letting him slide down the lockers, defeated.
I bent down and picked up the ringing burner phone.
I flipped it open and pressed it to my ear.
May you like
“Hello?” I said.
“Mr. Daniels?” a frantic, exhausted woman’s voice came through the speaker. “This is Maria, Lucy’s mother. I got your text message. Why did you say if I come to the school to check on her, child services will take her away?”
