Chapter 4 - THE BRASS RULER
I stared at the photograph, then at Miss Carter.
The sheer audacity of her logic left me speechless for a moment.
“You think because my company won a city contract, you have the right to beat my nine-year-old daughter?” I asked.
Miss Carter’s face flushed.
“I didn’t beat her! I disciplined her! I gave her a few taps on the legs to teach her that actions have consequences. She was stealing from the school!”
“She was taking things I paid for,” I said, taking a slow step toward her. “Things I donated.”
“They belong to the district once they cross those doors,” Davis interjected, trying to regain control of his office.
I turned my head slightly, keeping my eyes on Miss Carter.
“Arthur, if you speak again, I am going to throw you through that window.”
Davis shut his mouth.
I looked back at the teacher.
“Where is the ruler, Miss Carter?”
She blinked.
“What?”
“The ruler you used on my daughter. Where is it?”
She crossed her arms defensively.
“It’s on my desk. It’s a standard wooden—”
“It’s brass.”
The voice came from the doorway.
I turned.
Emma was standing there.
She was holding the hand of the school receptionist, who looked completely terrified.
Emma was wearing her heavy sweater again.
She pointed a small, trembling finger at Miss Carter.
“It’s the heavy brass one, Daddy. The one she uses to hold down the maps.”
My heart shattered.
A wooden ruler is a cruel, antiquated punishment.
A brass paperweight ruler is a weapon.
I walked over to Emma and knelt down, pulling her into my chest.
She buried her face in my shoulder, shaking.
“It’s okay, baby,” I whispered into her hair. “I’m here. She is never going to touch you again.”
I stood up, holding Emma’s hand tightly in mine.
I looked at Miss Carter.
All the self-righteous anger had drained out of her face when she saw Emma pointing at her.
She knew the lie was over.
“I am taking my daughter home,” I said to Davis. “And then I am calling the police.”
Davis panicked.
“Daniel, wait. Please. Think about the scandal. Think about Emma’s privacy. We can handle this internally. Miss Carter will be suspended immediately.”
“Suspended?” I laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. “She is going to jail. And so are you.”
“You have no proof of the sales!” Davis shouted, stepping out from behind his desk. “That receipt book is internal property! You try to take it, and I’ll have you arrested for theft!”
He was right.
Taking the book by force would muddy the waters.
I needed indisputable proof that couldn't be challenged in court.
I looked down at Emma.
“Emma, do you remember the notebook you were using for math? The one you gave to Tommy?”
Emma nodded against my leg.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Did you write anything in it before you gave it to him?”
Emma sniffled and looked up.
“I wrote my name on the very last page. Really tiny. So if it got lost, someone would know it was from a friend.”
I looked at Arthur Davis.
His face went completely pale.
“If you sold my daughter’s donated supplies to Tommy Henderson,” I said quietly, “and she gave him a notebook with her name hidden inside it... then Tommy’s parents have a receipt for a stolen, used item.”
I smiled, and there was absolutely no warmth in it.
“I’m going to go have a chat with Tommy’s father.”
I turned and walked out of the office.
But as we reached the hallway, Miss Carter called out behind me.
“Mr. Brooks!”
May you like
I stopped, but didn't turn around.
“If you go to the police,” she warned, her voice trembling with malice, “I will tell them about what I found in Emma’s backpack. The real reason your wife died.”
