Chapter 7 - THE CROWBAR
I threw myself sideways just as Mercer swung the heavy steel crowbar.
It smashed into the window of my SUV, shattering the safety glass into a million glittering pieces that rained down onto the asphalt.
"You're insane!" I screamed, scrambling backward toward the chain-link fence bordering the staff parking lot.
"I'm pragmatic, Sarah!" Mercer roared, his calm facade entirely gone, replaced by a violent, desperate rage. "I gave twenty years to this district! I built this school! I'm not letting some bored housewife ruin my retirement over a few hungry kids!"
He swung again, aiming for my knees. I jumped back, but the edge of the crowbar clipped my shin. Pain exploded up my leg, and I stumbled, falling hard onto the blacktop.
The blue binder skittered across the ground, stopping three feet away.
Mercer didn't go for me. He went for the binder.
He snatched it up, a triumphant, ugly sneer twisting his face.
"You lose, Sarah," he breathed heavily, clutching the evidence against his chest. "I have the ledger. I deleted the servers. By noon, Elaine Foster will be the only one facing a grand jury, and you'll be in a holding cell for assault."
I pushed myself up onto my elbows, my leg throbbing violently.
"You think you won?" I gasped, glaring up at him. "You think destroying that binder deletes the cash receipt you gave Maria?"
Mercer laughed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, familiar object.
It was a child's drawing.
I recognized it instantly. It was the picture Hannah had drawn for Leo—a crayon drawing of two stick figures holding a sandwich. Hannah kept it in her desk at school.
Across the center of the drawing, someone had drawn a thick, jagged red 'X' in permanent marker.
"Maria is an undocumented immigrant, Sarah," Mercer said coldly. "If she steps foot in a courtroom, ICE will be waiting for her. And as for your precious Hannah... well. Recess can be a very dangerous place for a clumsy child. Falls happen all the time."
My blood stopped moving in my veins.
He was threatening to hurt my nine-year-old daughter.
A primal, violent energy surged through my body. The pain in my leg vanished. I didn't care about the PTA money anymore. I didn't care about the state investigation. I only cared about the monster threatening my child.
I grabbed a fistful of broken glass from the shattered SUV window off the asphalt.
I lunged upward, driving my shoulder directly into Mercer's stomach with everything I had.
He grunted in surprise, stumbling backward. The blue binder flew from his hands, landing in a muddy puddle near the storm drain.
Before he could raise the crowbar again, I slammed my glass-filled fist into the side of his face.
Mercer screamed, dropping the weapon and clutching his bleeding cheek.
I didn't stop. I kicked the crowbar under my car, grabbed him by the collar of his expensive dress shirt, and shoved him hard against the brick wall of the school.
"You listen to me," I hissed, my face inches from his. "If you ever look at my daughter again, if you ever breathe her name, I will not wait for the police. I will destroy you myself."
Mercer stared at me, genuine terror finally breaking through his arrogance. He realized, in that moment, that he had pushed a mother too far.
Suddenly, the wail of police sirens pierced the morning air.
Two black-and-white county cruisers tore into the parking lot, lights flashing, followed closely by an unmarked black sedan.
Mercer saw the police and immediately began playing the victim. He sank to the ground, holding his bleeding face.
"Help!" Mercer yelled toward the approaching officers. "She attacked me! She's crazy! I have a restraining order!"
Two uniformed officers rushed out of their cruisers, hands on their holsters.
"Ma'am, step away from him!" the lead officer barked.
I stepped back, raising my hands, my heart sinking. Mercer had won the optics. I was covered in glass, bleeding, and standing over an injured principal on school grounds.
"Arrest her!" Mercer cried, pointing a shaking finger at me. "She tried to kill me!"
The officer pulled out his handcuffs and walked toward me.
But then the door of the unmarked black sedan opened.
Agent Russo from the Inspector General's office stepped out. He was holding a stamped, gold-sealed folder.
May you like
Russo didn't look at me. He walked straight past the uniformed officers, looked down at Principal Mercer, and pulled a piece of paper from the folder.
"Andrew Mercer," Agent Russo said, his voice carrying clearly across the parking lot. "You are under arrest for federal wire fraud, extortion, and embezzlement."
