“I have dedicated three decades to maintaining standards in an educational culture that coddles weakness,” Collins said, her voice clear, calm, and utterly devoid of remorse. “These modern parents invent diagnoses to justify their children’s lack of discipline. A puff of albuterol every time a child feels challenged. An EpiPen for a speck of dust. An amphetamine for every child who won’t sit still. I taught my students how to master their bodies through discipline. If Maya Carter had listened to my breathing cadence instead of yielding to hysteria, her airways would have cleared naturally.”
The room plunged into a horrified, stunned silence. Even Thorne, her corporate attorney, buried his face in his hands, recognizing that his client had just confessed to intentional medical withholding in front of six witnesses.
“She’s insane,” Brenda Torres whispered, backing away from the table. “She is completely out of her mind.”
“She isn’t insane,” I said, stepping toward Collins until only two feet separated us across the table. “She is arrogant. She believed Vance and Sterling would protect her forever because they were too cowardly to face the scandal. But they can’t protect you anymore, Evelyn. The paramedics took custody of the physical lockbox from your desk yesterday afternoon under a police warrant. Maya’s inhaler was inside it. Along with three other inhalers, two EpiPens, and a bottle of Ritalin—all labeled with other children’s names.”
Collins’ mask finally slipped. The color drained from her cheeks, leaving her skin looking like dry parchment. Her thin lips parted, but no sound came out.
“This meeting is over,” I announced, looking at Eleanor Walsh. “You have sixty minutes to suspend Mrs. Collins without pay, refer her to the county prosecutor, and accept Vance’s resignation. If that press release isn’t live on the district portal by 9:00 AM, our attorney will be on the steps of the county courthouse filing a twenty-million-dollar federal civil rights lawsuit—with the media holding live cameras.”
