Over the next few hours, my phone keeps going off with alerts. Emily confiscated Leif’s cell when reporters started tracking down his number.
As my phone goes off again, Leif flinches from his spot on the couch, his fingers tightening around the mug of tea Emily pressed into his hands an hour ago.
I pull it out and tap the side button to activate silent mode. “Sorry.” I slide it back into my pocket. “It’s getting a bit much.”
“It’s okay,” Leif says without looking up.
He barely touched his sandwich, but he kept sipping the tea, and Emily kept refilling his cup with a worried frown she tried to hide. Mixie curls next to him, purring almost nonstop.
“Any word from the board yet?” Emily asks from where she now perches in the window seat.
I shake my head. “No, but they’ve seen it. The superintendent’s assistant called to confirm receipt of my email.”
Jared comes out of the kitchen with a fresh pot of tea, having taken over the duty once Emily settled down. “That’s a start, at least.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket again, but doesn’t stop this time, indicating a call rather than a message. I check the screen and excuse myself to the hallway.
“Grady Finch,” I answer.
“Mr. Finch, this is Amanda Reeves from the Chronicle.” The woman’s voice is brisk. “We’re running a follow-up piece on your article about Dean Whitaker. Would you be available for comment?”
I lean against the wall, watching as Jared sits beside Leif, their shoulders almost touching. “I stand by everything in the piece. The audio speaks for itself.”
“We’ve received statements from two former Westbrook teachers corroborating patterns of behavior described in your article. Would you be willing to connect us with Mr. Hollis for his perspective?”
My grip tightens on the phone. “Mr. Hollis isn’t doing interviews at this time. But I’d be interested in speaking with those teachers, if they’re willing.”
After arranging to receive their contact information via email, I end the call and rejoin the others. Three new notifications have appeared on my screen in that short interval.
“More reporters?” Emily asks.
“Yes, but also...” I scroll through the notifications, scanning subject lines and previews. “Former colleagues from Westbrook are coming forward. Teachers who witnessed Carson’s behavior but stayed quiet at the time.”
Leif’s head lifts. “Who?”
“Bradford from the English department. And Peterson, the vice principal.” I continue scrolling. “There’s an email fromsomeone named Daniels who says he was forced to resign after filing a complaint about Carson three years before you arrived.”
Leif sets down his mug on the coffee table. “I never knew about Daniels. The teachers who supported me never mentioned him.”
I forward the email to my contact at the school board and open another message that just arrived. “Parents are weighing in now. A mother whose daughter had accommodations for anxiety says Carson threatened to review them when she complained about his behavior toward female staff.”
Jared’s jaw tightens. “Send that one to the board, too.”
“On it,” I say, already composing the forward with a brief note highlighting the pattern.
The notifications continue through the afternoon. Shock, outrage, and denial. The predictable churn of people trying to reconcile Carson’s reputation with the evidence in front of them.
I explain as much when Leif flinches at a vicious comment beneath the article.
“People resist evidence that forces them to reconsider their judgment,” I tell him. “Especially when it comes to figures in power that they’ve been taught to trust.”
Emily abandons the window seat to go to the kitchen and start dinner, and Jared tries to distract Leif with a movie.
The hours stretch, marked only by the silent vibration of my phone and the gradual shift of sunlight across the hardwood floor.
At half past four, an email notification comes in with the school district’s official letterhead appearing in the preview.
“It’s from the superintendent,” I say, opening the message as the others gather around me.