had missed two days for her mother’s memorial service, and when she came back she had worn a black cardigan over her uniform and said almost nothing for the entire morning.

Emily flipped to another page.

A cafeteria outburst dated the week before Sophia had enrolled.

Another report claimed a hallway confrontation during a time Sophia had been in the nurse’s office with a fever.

Emily looked up slowly.

“These aren’t accurate.”

Wallace didn’t even flinch.

“Miss Hayes,” he said, with the patient tone adults use when they want to make someone sound emotional, “you’ve only had Sophia in your classroom for a short time.

There are broader observations here from other staff.”

“Some of these dates are impossible.”

“Grief can distort children’s memories,” Wallace said, glancing toward Nicholas as if he expected sympathy.

“And, frankly, it can affect teacher judgment too.”

Then he slid another page across the desk.

Emily saw her own name at the top.

Failure to maintain classroom discipline.

Violation of device policy.

Pending formal review.

For one second she forgot to breathe.

This had been ready before Nicholas Moretti ever walked into Room 1B.

Wallace had not brought a folder.

He had brought a plan.

Sophia turned to look at Emily, her eyes wide.

“Is Miss Hayes in trouble?”

“No,” Emily said instantly, even though she had no idea if it was true.

Wallace folded his hands.

“No one wants anyone in trouble.

We’re trying to handle a delicate situation responsibly.

Mr.

Moretti, if you choose to withdraw Sophia today, I think we can avoid unnecessary complications for everyone involved.”

He pulled a final paper from the bottom of the stack.

A withdrawal form.

Already dated.

Nicholas finally moved.

He stepped to the desk, looked down at the papers, and then at Wallace.

“Are you asking me to remove my daughter from this school?”

“I’m saying Oakwood may not be the right environment,” Wallace replied.

“There has been discomfort.

Some donor families have expressed concern.

Children hear things.

Parents worry.

We have to consider the broader community.”

Emily felt the ugliness of that sentence before he even finished it.

He wasn’t talking about the phone.

He wasn’t talking about grief.

He was talking about Sophia’s last name.

Nicholas’s expression didn’t change.

“Donor families,” he repeated.

Wallace straightened.

“Let’s not pretend your public reputation is irrelevant, Mr.

Moretti.”

That landed in the room like broken glass.

Mrs.

Thompson lowered her eyes.

Sophia stared at the floor.

Emily felt her stomach turn.

Nicholas looked at Emily instead of Wallace.

“Did my daughter refuse to give you the phone?”

“No,” Emily said.

“She handed it over when I asked.”

“Did she break any classroom rule after that?”

“No.”

“Did you deny her contact with me?”

“No.

I sent her to the office to call you.”

Sophia tugged once at his sleeve.

“I told you she was nice, Daddy.”

Wallace gave a tight smile.

“Children don’t always grasp policy, Mr.

Moretti.”

Nicholas turned toward him at last.

“And adults?” he asked.

“Do they grasp honesty?”

Wallace’s jaw moved.

“Excuse me?”

Nicholas took his phone from his pocket and laid it flat on the desk.

“I came quickly because my daughter called me,” he said.

“I came prepared because your office call interested me.”

Wallace’s face changed by a fraction.