Chapter 4: The Principal’s Chair

The Interview Room was imposing. A long mahogany table dominated the space. On one side sat Vanessa, her husband (my brother, Dave), and a fidgeting Brad.

On the other side was a single, high-backed leather chair. It was currently empty.

The Vice Principal, Mr. Thorne, was standing by the window. He looked relieved to see the door open.

I walked in. I didn’t look at Vanessa. I didn’t look at Dave. I walked straight to the head of the table.

Vanessa’s jaw dropped. She let out a nervous, incredulous laugh.

“Clara?” she squeaked. “What are you doing here? Did… did you get a job as a cleaner? Or a secretary?”

She stood up, waving her hands frantically. “Get out! What is wrong with you? The Principal is coming any second! If she sees you in here, you’ll ruin everything for us!”

Dave looked confused. “Clara? Why are you wearing that suit?”

I ignored them. I pulled out the high-backed leather chair and sat down slowly. The leather creaked in the silence.

I placed Brad’s file on the table. I took out my gold fountain pen and unscrewed the cap with deliberate precision.

“Clara!” Vanessa hissed, her face turning red. “Are you deaf? Get out of that chair! That is the Principal’s chair!”

I looked up. I locked eyes with her.

“I know,” I said. My voice was different. Deeper. Resonant. It was the voice that commanded five hundred students and a staff of fifty.

I reached for the crystal nameplate that had been turned backward. I swiveled it around so it faced them.

Mrs. Clara Vance – Principal.

The silence that followed was absolute. You could hear the clock ticking on the wall.

Vanessa stared at the nameplate. Then at me. Then back at the nameplate. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

“No,” she whispered. “That’s… that’s not possible. You’re… you’re just Clara. You’re poor. You live in that small apartment.”

“I live in the faculty housing on campus because I choose to be close to my students,” I said coldly. “And I save my salary for my daughter’s future, rather than wearing it on my feet.”

Dave dropped the folder he was holding. “Clara… you’re the Principal? Of St. Aethelgard’s?”

“I am,” I said.

I opened Brad’s file.

“Vanessa,” I said, leaning forward. “You just applied for your son to attend my school. You tried to bribe my board with a library wing. And ten minutes ago…”

I paused, letting the weight of the moment crush her.

“…you assaulted the Principal’s daughter in the school restroom.”

Vanessa’s face went from red to a terrifying shade of paper-white. She gripped the edge of the table to steady herself.

“I… I didn’t know,” she stammered. “Clara, please. It was a joke. I was just… playing with her.”

“Playing?” I asked. “You called her trash. You told her she didn’t belong.”

I picked up my pen and drew a thick red line through Brad’s application.

“You were wrong, Vanessa. She belongs. You don’t.”

“You… you can’t do this!” Vanessa shrieked, panic setting in. “Is this a prank? Are we on camera?”

I pressed a button on the underside of the desk. A red light blinked on the wall console.

“This isn’t a prank, Vanessa,” I said. “This is an eviction.”

Chapter 5: The Ironclad Evidence

“You can’t prove anything!” Vanessa yelled, her arrogance returning as a defense mechanism. “It’s your word against mine! I’ll tell the board you’re biased! I’ll tell them you’re using your power to settle a family vendetta!”

She turned to Dave. “Say something! She’s lying! I was washing the girl’s face! It was an act of kindness!”

Dave looked torn, shifting uncomfortably. “Clara… surely it wasn’t assault? Maybe she just slipped?”

I looked at my brother with pity. He had been blinded by this woman for years.

“I expected you to deny it,” I said calmly.

I picked up a remote control from the desk.

“St. Aethelgard’s is an elite institution, Vanessa. We protect our students with the highest level of security. That includes a 4K surveillance system that covers every inch of the hallways.”

I pointed the remote at the large screen behind me.

“Watch.”

The screen flickered to life. The footage was crystal clear.

It showed the hallway outside the restrooms. It showed Vanessa gripping Lily’s wrist—tightly, painfully. It showed Lily trying to pull away, her face twisted in fear. It showed Vanessa dragging her, literally dragging a seven-year-old child, into the restroom.

And then, through the open door before it swung shut, the camera caught the reflection in the mirror opposite. It captured Vanessa filling the cup. It captured the splash. It captured the look of pure malice on her face.