Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Grady
Rain pelts the window above my desk in steady sheets, turning the December afternoon into a premature twilight. My desk lamp casts a warm circle over scattered pieces of my current articles and red-inked drafts.
I reach for my cup of tea, only to find nothing but dregs at the bottom. As I grasp my cane to go brew a new cup, my phone starts ringing on the wooden desktop.
When I see Martin’s name, my heart quickens. Almost two months of phone calls, favors called in, and careful questions have led to this moment.
I accept the call. “Please tell me you found it.”
“Got a pen ready?” Martin’s voice crackles through the line, tense with satisfaction. “You’ll want notes for this.”
“Hang on.” I rifle through the notebooks on my desk to find the right one and uncap a pen. “Go ahead.”
“Carson Whitaker,” he says. “Currently dean at Pinecrest Academy. Previously at Westbrook Preparatory for four years, Highlands Academy for three, and Lakeview Educational Center for five.”
I write each name and timeframe, my pen indenting the yellow paper hard enough to leave impressions on the sheets below.
“And?” My throat tightens around the word.
“And at each institution, there were complaints. Formal ones. Filed and documented.”
The rain intensifies outside, a counterpoint to the sudden stillness of my body. A crack of thunder rolls in the distance.
“What kind of complaints?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
Martin exhales, papers rustling on his end. “Intimidation. Manipulation. Inappropriate professional conduct. Fostering hostile work environments for subordinates. Targeting specific faculty members for excessive scrutiny. And undermining colleagues through back channels.”
My fingers clench around the pen, and the plastic casing creaks under pressure.
“At Lakeview, two Omega teachers filed separate complaints about being singled out for what they termed ‘corrective mentoring’ that went well beyond normal professional development. Both left teaching altogether within six months.”
I jot down notes, abbreviating where I can to keep pace with the information. The page fills with damning evidence, a pattern taking shape in blue ink.
I shift in my chair, spine rigid with tension. “Did anyone investigate?”
“No formal investigations,” Martin says. “Instead, Carson received promotions or transfers to new institutions each time complaints accumulated beyond a certain threshold.”
The pen stills in my hand. “They moved the problem instead of solving it.”
“Looks that way. Each transfer was framed as a career advancement. His personnel file reads like a success story.”
Thunder cracks closer now, a flash of lightning illuminating my desk in stark white. I blink away the afterimage, focusing on the yellow pad before me.
“Here’s what happens,” Martin explains, the professional analyst in him taking over.
“Carson identifies vulnerable faculty members. Most often Omegas, though Betas aren’t safe either.
He showers them with encouragement, establishes himself as a mentor, fosters dependency through praise alternating with criticism, and then progressively increases his demands on them while steadily stripping away autonomy. ”
My gut tightens. Carson would have seen Leif’s kind personality, size, and Omega status as an irresistible challenge to break him.
“The complaints show a pattern of isolating his targets from colleague support while increasing workload. When targets push back, he questions their commitment, professionalism, or stability.”
Acidic bile rises in my throat.
“At Highlands, an Omega teacher filed a complaint stating Carson implied student accommodations might be reconsidered if the teacher didn’t take on additional committee work.”
My breath catches at the familiar pattern.
It sounds like what’s happening with Leif right now, with the endless committee meetings and presentations he keeps disappearing for.
And with Quinn attending Pinecrest Academy with accommodations for Sprinkles, she would be the perfect leverage. Leif loves that kid.
“The teacher ended up resigning for health concerns,” Martin continues. “Carson received a promotion to curriculum director three months later.”
I flip to a fresh page, continuing to document the evidence of systematic protection. Not for victims, but for the perpetrator, Carson himself.
“Pinecrest Academy wasn’t a fresh start,” I realize. “It was Westbrook offloading their problem.”
“Exactly.” Keys click on Martin’s end. “Westbrook had three separate complaints within Carson’s final months. All filed by the same teacher.”
The pen slips from my fingers, rolling across the desktop. “Leif.”
Silence fills the line for two beats. “Yes. Leif Hollis.”
The temperature in the room drops.
“Carson followed him here,” I whisper, cold understanding taking root. “To Pinecrest.”
“The timing lines up,” Martin confirms. “Carson transferred to Pinecrest three months after Leif Hollis accepted his position there. His recommendation letters came from Westbrook board members who had received complaints about him.”
The framed photo on my desk catches my attention. It shows Emily, Jared, and me at the last Saturday Market day before they closed for the season. Leif should have been there, too, but he had stopped going by then.
“How did they justify ignoring the complaints?” I ask, picking up my pen again.
“Standard administrative language. ‘Matter addressed internally.’ ‘Situation resolved through appropriate channels.’ ‘Parties counseled on professional boundaries.’” Paper shuffles again. “Nothing specific. Nothing actionable.”
Lightning flashes again, closer now, and the subsequent thunder rattles the windows in their frames as the storm converges above Misty Pines.
“Carson was protected,” I say.
“At every level. Education boards hate scandal. Wealthy donors hate controversy. Moving problematic faculty between institutions keeps reputations intact while preserving plausible deniability.” Martin’s professional distance cracks as he adds, “Nobody wants to admit they hired someone with his history.”
I stare at my notes. “Thanks, Martin. You’ve been invaluable. I owe you.”
“Buy me dinner next time I’m in town,” he replies. “And be careful, Grady. People who’ve gotten away with this behavior for years don’t surrender power without a fight.”
If Leif filed complaints, there must be documentation beyond the vague administrative dismissals. “Were you able to get your hands on Leif’s complaints? His exact words?”
“Wondered when you’d ask.” His keyboard clicks in the background. “I found the letter. It’s comprehensive.”
My chair creaks as I lean forward, pen poised over a fresh page. “Tell me everything.”
“It’s a twelve-page document, formatted with a table of contents and appendices,” he says with a note of pride. “Your Omega friend can build a case. He included dates, times, witnesses, and exact quotes. Even corroborating statements from other faculty.”
My stomach twists into a knot. Twelve pages. A lifetime of academic training distilled into an airtight case, only for it to go nowhere.
“The incidents span three years,” Martin continues. “He categorized them by professional undermining, isolation tactics, manipulation of resources, and implied threats regarding students.”
I dig the pen into the paper, the blue ink spreading in a growing dot as I hold it too long in one place. “And the board’s response?”
“I found the email thread between board members after receiving his complaint.” Papers shuffle on his end. “Want me to read some quotes?”
“Please.”
“From the board chair: ‘This level of documentation presents a potential liability issue. We need to consider donor perception if this becomes public.’
“From the vice chair: ‘Carson has strong community connections. The Whitaker family’s contributions funded the west wing renovations. We need to approach this with delicacy.’”
My pen snaps in my hand, blue ink spilling across my fingertips. I drop the broken pieces, wiping my hand on a tissue as Martin continues.
“From the principal: ‘Reassignment is the cleanest solution. Hollis is well-regarded but replaceable. Whitaker has institutional history and family connections we can’t afford to lose.’”
“And their official response to Leif?” I ask, grabbing a new pen from the drawer.
“A three-paragraph email thanking him for his ‘commitment to professional excellence.’ They assured him the matter was ‘addressed through appropriate administrative channels.” His voice hardens. “No investigation. No follow-up. No acknowledgment of the specific complaints.”
Lightning flashes, illuminating my reflection in the window glass, my jaw tight and shoulders hunched over the damning evidence.
“There’s more.” Martin’s typing resumes. “Six weeks after Leif’s complaint, he submitted his resignation. Two weeks later, Carson received the offer from Pinecrest Academy.”
The information clicks into place. “They hid his transgressions again and promoted him into a different district’s problem.”
“Yep.” Disgust underscores the word. “According to their hiring committee emails, Pinecrest Academy received glowing recommendations from Westbrook. Carson’s personnel file mentioned his reassignment as a ‘promotion recognizing leadership potential.’”
I flip back through my notes. “Anything connecting Carson’s transfer to Leif’s new position?”
“Nothing I could find. Leif switched from private education to become a private tutor and nanny. I couldn’t find any link between Carson and the Wright Pack.
But the references Leif used to get his new job came from his Westbrook connections, so it wouldn’t have been hard for Carson to locate him.
I’m sure that Carson sees Leif as the one who got away, and he doesn’t like that.
So, he followed Leif here. He wants a total win. ”