Chapter 5: The Summons

Chapter 5: The Summons

The Florida sun was a welcome antidote to the sterile, recycled air of the district office. Alex Carter watched his daughter, Lily, shriek with laughter as a wave chased her up the beach, her small footprints vanishing in the wet sand. For the first time in a month, the knot of tension in his shoulders had finally unwound. David Chen, true to his word, had insisted Alex and Lily use his condo in Naples for a week. "Consider it a signing bonus for a job you haven't taken yet," he'd said. "And for God's sake, turn your work phone off."

Alex had done exactly that. His district-issued phone was sitting in a drawer back home, powered down. His personal phone, however, had started buzzing with an unnerving frequency on the third day of their vacation. First came the emails from Janice Petty in HR, their subject lines escalating from a polite "Following Up" to an urgent "IMMEDIATE RESPONSE REQUIRED." Then came the voicemails, each more frantic than the last.

He listened to one on speakerphone while Lily built an elaborate sandcastle fortress. Janice’s voice was strained, the professional veneer cracked. "...Alex, we really need to discuss the transition. There have been some... unforeseen logistical challenges at Northwood. Please call me back the moment you get this."

He smirked and deleted the message. Let them stew. The "logistical challenges" had names: a fully-funded ceramics kiln, a library of Nickelback lyrics, and a missing donor list worth a small fortune in goodwill.

By the time he and Lily drove home, tanned and relaxed, there were seventeen missed calls from the district office. The final, desperate email, sent an hour before his return, was succinct: "Meeting. My office. Tomorrow. 9 a.m. It is imperative that you attend."

The next morning, Alex strolled into the district office lobby feeling utterly, blissfully unburdened. He hadn't bothered to dress for the occasion. He wore a faded blue t-shirt from Disney World featuring a grinning Goofy, a pair of cargo shorts, and flip-flops that squeaked softly on the polished linoleum floor. He was five minutes late, on purpose.

The receptionist, the same one who had given him a pitying look weeks ago, now stared at him with wide, astonished eyes, her mouth slightly agape. He gave her a cheerful wave.

Janice Petty met him at her office door, her usual beige ensemble looking wrinkled and hastily thrown on. The strained smile was gone, replaced by a look of sheer desperation. "Alex! Thank you for coming. We were so worried."

"Worried? I was on a pre-approved vacation," he said, his tone light and breezy. He sauntered into her office and took the uncomfortable guest chair, leaning back as if he were settling into a poolside lounger. The power dynamic had not just shifted; it had inverted entirely. He was no longer the employee being disciplined; he was the conquering general accepting the enemy's surrender.

"Yes, of course, your vacation," Janice said, fumbling with a stack of papers on her desk. "We hope it was restful. Things have been… chaotic."

"Oh?" Alex asked, feigning mild curiosity.

"Principal Reed and her TOA, Ms. Vance, have been attempting to prepare for the new school year, and they've run into some… obstacles," she said, choosing her words with excruciating care. "They can't seem to locate a number of school assets. And the digital infrastructure seems to be… well, missing."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "Missing? That sounds like a serious security breach. Have you called the police? Notified the IT department's cybercrimes unit?"

Janice paled. "No! No, we don't think it's anything like that. We just think there's been a misunderstanding during the transition." She cleared her throat and slid a single sheet of paper across the desk. It was a list, neatly typed. "Principal Reed compiled a list of items she requires to ensure a smooth opening to the school year. She insists they are district property and has formally requested their immediate return."

Alex picked up the paper, his expression unreadable. He scanned the list.

• 1. Stainless-steel refrigerator from staff lounge.
• 2. Two-way observation mirror from ISS classroom.
• 3. Thirty (30) classroom emergency lockdown kits ('safety buckets').
• 4. Digital files pertaining to master scheduling, student discipline, and parent communication.
• 5. The complete community and business donor database.
• 6. All orientation materials for new staff, including the master template.

He had to suppress a laugh at the last one. He could only imagine Tiff's face when she’d opened the file and been greeted by a confused llama.

"This is quite a list," Alex commented, his voice neutral.

"It is," Janice said, leaning forward, her tone shifting into what she probably thought was a friendly, conspiratorial whisper. "Look, Alex. We know things ended… abruptly. But you have a decade of good service with this district. You're a professional. Let's not let a little unpleasantness tarnish your record. If you just cooperate and return these items, we can put this all behind us."

She was trying to sweet-talk him, to appeal to a sense of loyalty he no longer possessed. They had burned that loyalty on a pyre of spreadsheets and bureaucratic cowardice. He just looked at her, his silence unnerving.

Seeing her approach had failed, Janice sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "She also… added one more item this morning. She was very insistent." She took a pen and scribbled something at the bottom of the list.

She pushed the paper back toward him. At the bottom, in scratchy, hurried handwriting, was a final demand.

• 7. The black ergonomic chair from Office 101.

His chair. After all the chaos, after the scorched-earth campaign that had rendered the school's administration functionally blind and deaf, the one thing Karen Reed couldn't let go of was his chair. The sheer, breathtaking pettiness of it was a thing of beauty. It was the insult that had started the war, and it was the hill she had chosen to die on.

Alex folded the paper neatly in half, his movements slow and deliberate. He looked at Janice Petty, at her tired, pleading eyes, and saw the entire broken, dysfunctional system she represented. A system that mistook loyalty for weakness, that demanded professionalism while offering none in return. A system that had tried to take everything from him and was now begging for scraps.

He let the silence hang in the air for a full ten seconds, enjoying the uncomfortable squirming it produced. He thought of Lily on the beach, of David's job offer, of the liberated teachers currently enjoying their well-deserved prep time. He had all the power. He held all the cards.

He stood up, the squeak of his flip-flops echoing in the quiet office. He placed the folded list on the edge of her desk. He looked her directly in the eye, a faint, cold smile playing on his lips. He gave her the only answer possible, the only one they deserved.

"No."

He turned and walked out of the office, leaving Janice Petty sitting in the wreckage of her failed ambush, the single, resounding syllable hanging in the air like the thunderclap after a lightning strike. The war was far from over, but this battle was decisively won.