Chapter 7 - The Price of Attendance
Elena Torres met Mark at the district office that afternoon.
This time Mark came without Dylan.
For once, Dylan was somewhere a twelve-year-old belonged—at Jake’s house, arguing about a video game.
A thick binder sat between Mark and Elena.
“You said eleven children were marked for family pressure.”
“Yes.”
“What does that mean?”
“We’re still determining how Mrs. Carter used those notes.”
“She used mine.”
“Yes.”
“Priya’s too.”
“Yes.”
“Then what are we determining?”
“Pattern, scope and responsibility.”
Mark leaned back.
“You talk like a lawyer.”
“I talk like someone who has seen investigations collapse because people announced conclusions before proving them.”
He disliked the answer.
He respected it.
Elena opened the binder.
“Pine Ridge Leadership Camp is funded through three sources. District enrichment funds. A state participation grant. And private sponsorship.”
“So?”
“The state grant reimburses a portion of costs based on confirmed student attendance.”
“How much?”
“For Brookside, the maximum allocation this summer is forty-eight thousand dollars.”
Mark stared.
“And if fewer children attend?”
“The reimbursement decreases.”
Now the pressure made sense.
Not all of it.
But enough.
“Mrs. Carter runs the program?”
“She is Brookside’s faculty coordinator.”
“Paid?”
“A district stipend.”
“How much?”
“Three thousand dollars.”
Mark frowned.
“You don’t beat kids and forge forms for three thousand dollars.”
“I agree.”
Elena turned another page.
“There’s a vendor.”
“Pine Ridge?”
“Pine Ridge is the program name. Transportation, meals and outdoor instruction are contracted through Northstar Youth Adventures.”
“And?”
“We found payments from Northstar to Mrs. Carter.”
Mark stared at her.
“For what?”
“According to Northstar invoices, curriculum consulting.”
“Was the district aware?”
“No.”
“How much?”
“Seven thousand eight hundred dollars over eighteen months.”
Mark gave a quiet whistle.
“Still not enough to explain this.”
“Maybe not.”
Elena folded her hands.
“But her contract contains an enrollment bonus.”
“How much?”
“Fifty dollars for each confirmed Brookside participant above a threshold.”
Mark did the math.
“That’s why the fake students.”
“Possibly.”
“Two transferred kids.”
“Yes.”
“How many forged forms?”
“We have not established that all questionable forms are forged.”
“How many are questionable?”
Elena hesitated.
“Fourteen.”
Mark stared.
Out of twenty-two.
Fourteen.
“What happens now?”
“We interview parents. Compare signatures. Review access logs. Audit camp records from previous years.”
“Previous years?”
“This may not have started now.”
Mark’s anger cooled into dread.
Elena pushed a photocopy toward him.
It was a staff email from Mrs. Carter to Northstar.
Brookside numbers will be met. I have resistant families but they can be managed.
Mark read it twice.
“When was this?”
“Three weeks ago.”
Before his injury?
No.
After.
His family had already become a note in a red folder.
“Why does a company pay a public-school teacher to deliver students?”
“That is one of many questions.”
Mark looked at her.
“Who approved Northstar?”
“The school principal recommended renewal. District procurement approved it.”
“Principal Price?”
“Yes.”
“Did she know about the payments?”
“We have no evidence of that.”
“No evidence isn’t the same as no.”
Elena nodded.
“Correct.”
Mark thought of Price’s shock.
It had looked real.
But he had learned quickly that appearances were the easiest evidence to fake.
“Is she under investigation?”
“Everyone involved in the contract will be reviewed.”
Mark stood.
“I need air.”
In the hallway, his phone rang.
Jake’s mother.
“Everything okay?”
Rachel sounded unsettled.
“Jake found something.”
Mark’s stomach tightened.
“What?”
“He was cleaning out his backpack.”
“That sentence has never led to anything good.”
Despite herself, Rachel laughed.
Then she became serious.
“He has a camp envelope Mrs. Carter gave the class last month.”
“So?”
“There’s a note printed at the bottom.”
“What does it say?”
Rachel read it.
“‘All participation deposits must be returned directly to classroom coordinator. Cash preferred.’”
Mark frowned.
“Elena told me the program is publicly funded.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“How much was the deposit?”
“Three hundred dollars.”
Mark stopped walking.
“What?”
“Three hundred per student.”
“Did you pay it?”
“No. That’s why I never signed.”
Mark turned back toward Elena’s office.
Fourteen questionable forms.
Twenty-two supposed participants.
Three hundred dollars each.
A state reimbursement.
Private vendor payments.
The ruler suddenly seemed like one part of a machine designed to make frightened families stop asking questions.
Mark opened Elena’s door.
“You need to see this.”
Before she could answer, her phone rang.
She listened.
Then her face changed.
“What happened?” Mark asked.
Elena ended the call.
“Mrs. Carter’s attorney just contacted the district.”
“And?”
May you like
“She claims your son attacked her first.”
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