Alyssa Carter, Esquire #2
I groaned. “Oh Lord, are y'all ever gonna let me live that down? You and your family act like no one's ever challenged you before. Like it's some eighth wonder of the world.”
“It is for me,” he said, looking at me intensely.
“For the record, I never uttered a single curse word.”
“Even worse. When you can make a man feel cussed out without actually cussing? That’s a skill, counselor.”
“Careful. I'm starting to think you actually liked it.”
We stared at each other across the table, the restaurant noise fading into background hum, and those damn butterflies fluttering their way back uninvited.
The server appeared with the check, breaking the moment. Both Julian and I reached for it at the same time, our hands brushed, and I felt it go up my arm like a struck nerve.
Julian's eyes locked on mine as he slowly slid the bill from under my fingers, daring me to stop him. I opened my mouth to say something, but the words wouldn't come. The intensity in his eyes made me falter and catch my breath.
I let go. The slightest curve appeared at the corner of his mouth before he looked away, pulling out a black card from his wallet.
“Thank you,” I managed.
“Always,” he replied, not looking up as he signed the receipt.
Twenty minutes later we were back at the condo building, in the elevator heading to my floor.
“Thank you again. For today. All of it.”
“Family looking out for family,” he replied.
“Is that what this is?” I asked, gesturing between us.
He was quiet for a moment, his eyes studying my face. “Part of it,” he said finally.
“What’s the other part?”
“We'll figure it out,” he said matter-of-factly.
The flatness of his response caught me off guard. I squinted then looked away and rubbed my lips together. When I looked up at him again, his head was tilted to the side, with an amused smile playing at his lips.
The doors opened on my floor and he walked me to my door, waiting while I fiddled with the keypad.
“Goodnight,” he said when I got the door open.
“Goodnight. See you Monday.”
Julian texted me at eight Monday morning:
JULIAN
Cleared my schedule. Pick you up at 11:30.
At a quarter to noon, Denise Parker met us at the park next to the school.
“Mrs. Parker,” I said, extending my hand. “I'm Alyssa Carter. We spoke on the phone.”
“Thank you for coming,” she said, standing.
For the next twenty minutes, I walked through her son DeShawn's medical history, school records, and the timeline of Principal Brooks' increasingly punitive actions. Julian listened intently, occasionally asking pointed questions.
“The documentation is solid,” I concluded. “Rheumatologist's reports, specialist recommendations, everything properly submitted to the school. There's no legal justification for what the school is doing.”
“There might be a personal one.” Her composure cracked.
“I dated Brooks a few years back. He thought it was headed somewhere. When I ended it, he didn’t take it well.
Calls at work, showing up at my house, flowers with notes saying he wasn’t giving up.
Took him months to let it go. Then when DeShawn started high school, every little thing turned into a write-up. ”
“Retaliation.” I was already making notes, my blood up. “That changes the whole shape of this. It’s abuse of power.”
The three of us walked over to the school. “I'll wait outside the office.” Julian took a chair in the reception area. “You don't need me in there. Here if you need me.”
The secretary looked up as we entered. “Mrs. Parker. Mr. Brooks is expecting you. Though I see you brought...” She glanced at me unsure.
“I'm Mrs. Parker's legal consultant,” I said. “Alyssa Carter.”
The secretary's eyebrows shot up, but she nodded toward the principal's office. “He'll see you now.”
Principal Harlan Brooks didn’t stand when we walked in. He was a smaller man with a big chair and the air of someone who’d never been told no.
“Mrs. Parker.” He smiled at her, then at me. “Didn’t know you were bringing backup.”
“This is my legal consultant, Alyssa Carter,” Denise said, her voice steadier than it had been all morning.
Brooks chuckled. “That seems a bit dramatic for a simple attendance issue, don't you think, sweetie?”
My spine set. “Mr. Brooks, I’m here about your school’s violation of federal disability law regarding DeShawn Parker. He has lupus, documented by his rheumatologist. Federal law requires you to accommodate medical absences.”
“We have attendance policies for a reason. Medical documentation doesn’t erase the school’s responsibility to ensure he receives instruction. Rules are rules. Too many absences means consequences. Simple as that.”
“Let me be clear. DeShawn’s absences are protected under federal disability law, including Section 504 and the ADA.” I stared him down. “And then there’s the timeline. The discipline against this boy started escalating right around the time his mother ended things with you.”
His face fell. “I don’t know what you’re implying.”
“I’m not implying. I’m stating. You are systematically targeted a sick child because his mother turned you down.When the school board hears about it, they won’t be pleased. Discrimination suits against districts can run into seven figures.”
“You’re threatening to sue because his mama is raising him to make excuses for falling short?”
Denise flinched, but I felt cold rage settle over me. “I hope you've got some money saved up, Mr. Brooks. With your dismissive attitude, I’d be surprised if you’re collecting a paycheck much longer. DeShawn will be reinstated and every mark will be off his record. He will advance with his class.”
I stood, gestured to Denise, and we moved toward the door.
“You don’t tell me how to run my school,” he shot back.
I smiled. “Oh? You thought this meeting was for Ms. Parker to beg you for mercy? Get your permission? No, sir, this was merely a courtesy. We don’t need you. This is above you now.”