Victor Brought My Initials Into The Conference Room With Him

Victor slid the transfer form across the conference table as if he were serving dinner.

"Her initials," he said.

Rina left it where it stopped.

"She disputes that entry. We asked for the original file and its history."

"It's an office document."

"Then the office should have it."

The room overlooked a wet school parking lot. I had watched children learn to ride bicycles there during a summer program. Now I watched a paper cup roll beneath a parked van while people discussed whether I could be trusted near a classroom.

Ms. Vale from personnel opened her folder.

"This meeting is for fact finding. No final finding has been made."

"Then please change the theft entry in my leave record to an allegation," I said.

Her pen stopped.

"We'll review the wording."

"Please record my request."

Ms. Vale wrote it on the meeting sheet and turned the page toward me.

"Is that accurate?"

She had written that I disliked the wording.

"I dispute a finding that hasn't been made," I said. "That's what I asked you to record."

She crossed out her first line, entered the second, and put her initials beside the change. I asked for a copy before we left. She agreed.

Victor leaned back. "Someone has coached you."

"I read the notice."

Alma sat beside the district's lawyer. On the table before her were three sealed sleeves and a list of documents still missing.

Victor pointed toward them.

"This supposed camera evidence is a personal recording made without my consent."

I put the equipment purchase sheet on the table.

"The district bought the rig for $1,480. You approved it."

"For ceiling work."

"The written test plan includes aisle markers and door light leaks. You signed that too."

The lawyer took the sheet. "We'll review the district's own records."

I did not have to win an argument about cameras. The camera was already in their hands. I had to keep the record clear enough that nobody could pretend it was mine alone.

Alma turned to Victor.

"Your export contains forty seconds from Monday afternoon. We requested the full period."

"The system clears old footage."

"The written retention setting says thirty days."

"Settings change."

"Who changed this one?"

He rubbed the key on his tie.

"My staff manages technical matters."

"We'll speak with them."

She set down a printed frame. Victor stood beside the closet, both hands on the portable case.

"Why did you remove this Tuesday morning?"

"I didn't remove a projector. I moved a case."

"Where did you take it?"

"We send equipment for service all the time."

"To which shop?"

"I'd have to check."

Alma made a note.

I had imagined revenge would feel hot. I would stand, say something sharp, and watch his face change.

Instead, it felt like sitting still while someone asked the next small question.

Rina brought up Leif's application.

Victor frowned. "He's not part of her personnel case."

"You tied his application to his actions in this matter. In writing."

"A lead teacher needs sound judgment."

"Preserving district equipment showed poor judgment?"

"Refusing a direct instruction did."

The district lawyer asked for that email too.

After the meeting, Alma asked me to remain for ten minutes. Victor left with Ms. Vale. Through the glass, I saw him speak very close to her face.

Alma placed two freight invoices side by side.

"Do you recognize the delivery address on this one?"

I read a street in Belleville. "No."

"It's Lanternwake's storage unit. The district paid $286 for delivery."

The second invoice had the same shipment weight and pickup date. Its delivery line had been changed to our school.

"Which is the original?" Rina asked.

"That's what I'm checking. Victor submitted the school-address version for reimbursement. The carrier's copy names the storage unit."

"What's in the shipment?" I asked.

"Light panels. We have the district purchase order. We don't yet have a reliable receiving signature."

She asked whether I knew the delivery driver.

I remembered a man bringing a cart through our service door in March. He had asked for a signature. Victor had taken the clipboard before I reached him.

"Write the memory down," Alma said. "Leave out anything you aren't sure of."

At home, I wrote one paragraph. Then I put my pen down.

I still had no wages coming that week. Nothing in the meeting had changed that. I checked my account, moved $600 from savings, and closed the screen before I could stare at the balance again.

Leif texted a photograph of his classroom board. The space unit was still up. Under the homework, he had drawn a crooked wheel made of six stars.

My phone rang before I could answer him.

It was Alma.

"The driver came to our office," she said. "He brought the duplicate Victor forgot he signed."