It was filled with manila folders, meticulously alphabetized. I ran my fingers over the tabs until I reached the H section.
Harrington, Chloe.
I pulled the thick file out and carried it to his desk. I opened it, my eyes scanning the pages.
The first few pages were standard academic records, disciplinary notes, and permission slips. But as I dug deeper, the tone of the documents changed.
I found a printed email exchange dated three months ago between Principal Vance and Richard Harrington, Chloe’s father.
“Richard, we need to discuss the outstanding balance for the new athletic center. The board is getting anxious. The construction company is threatening to walk.”
Richard Harrington’s reply was short and desperate.
“Arthur, you know I’m good for it. My assets are just tied up right now. The restructuring is taking longer than expected. Give me until the end of the fiscal year.”
I frowned. I flipped to the next page. It was a confidential financial report from the academy’s bursar's office.
Account: Harrington. Status: Delinquent.
Overdue Tuition: $85,000.
Pledged Donations (Unpaid): $2.5 Million.
My stomach dropped.
Chloe’s family wasn’t just wealthy. They were the primary financial pillar holding up Oakridge Academy's massive expansion project. But the money had stopped. Richard Harrington was broke. The rumors I had heard about his real estate company taking a hit were true.
I kept reading. The final document was an email sent just two weeks ago, right when Chloe started getting aggressive about the Sterling Grant.
“Arthur,” Richard Harrington had written. “If Chloe doesn’t secure the Sterling Grant and the guaranteed university admission that comes with it, I will be forced to pull her from Oakridge immediately and declare bankruptcy. If I declare bankruptcy, my pledges to the school become null and void. The board will fire you for mismanaging the athletic center funds. Ensure she wins. I don’t care how.”
The pieces clicked together with sickening clarity.
It wasn’t just about a high school rivalry. Vance wasn't helping Chloe out of loyalty. He was doing it out of survival. If Chloe lost the grant, her father went bankrupt, the school lost millions, and Vance lost his job.
Vance needed me out of the way. He needed me to forfeit. The slime wasn't a prank. It was a targeted assassination of my laptop, designed to look like a teenage bullying incident.
I stared at the papers, my hands trembling. This was it. This was the proof.
I reached for the small desktop printer connected to Vance’s terminal. I hit the copy button and quickly fed the three damning documents through the scanner. The machine whirred to life, spitting out crisp, black-and-white copies.
I folded the copies and shoved them deep into the pocket of my skirt, right next to Vance’s keycard.
I had to get to the auditorium. I had to show this to the external committee before Vance could finalize my expulsion.
I turned away from the desk and walked toward the door.
As I reached out to grab the brass handle, a heavy, metallic clank echoed through the room. The electronic deadbolt on the door slid into place with a violent thud.
The small light on the card reader next to the door shifted from green to a solid, angry red.