Chapter 6 - Receipts
Ms. Reed copied everything she could.
Submission timestamps.
Nomination forms.
Audio metadata.
Her forged digital approval.
Jordan's recording.
Malik watched from the doorway.
“You're allowed to do that?”
“I am allowed to preserve records relevant to suspected misconduct within my department.”
“That sounded lawyerly.”
“My sister is an attorney.”
“You talk like her when you're mad?”
“She talks like me when she's winning.”
Despite everything, Malik smiled.
Ms. Reed removed the flash drive.
“Do not post anything online.”
“Wasn't planning to.”
“I mean it. Evidence stops being evidence when teenagers start editing it into revenge videos.”
Malik thought of his viral humiliation.
“Trust me. I know.”
By lunch, Jordan's version of events had already begun spreading.
Malik had supposedly become jealous after not being selected.
Ms. Reed had supposedly favored him.
The similarities between songs were supposedly “common chords.”
Jordan himself approached Malik in the cafeteria.
Dozens of students watched.
Jordan placed his tray down.
“You got a problem?”
Malik continued eating.
“You tell me.”
“You're telling people I stole your music.”
“I haven't told anybody.”
“Ms. Reed has.”
“No, she hasn't.”
Jordan leaned closer.
“You think one viral clip makes you special?”
Malik looked up.
“No.”
“Then stop acting like it.”
“I'm not the one who needed somebody else's song.”
The nearby tables fell quiet.
Jordan's face hardened.
“You can't prove anything.”
Malik's expression changed slightly.
He hadn't expected Jordan to say that.
Not I didn't do it.
You can't prove it.
Jordan recognized his mistake too late.
Malik stood.
“You know what I like about poor equipment?”
Jordan scoffed.
“What?”
“It teaches you to save everything.”
Malik walked away.
Brianna had heard the exchange.
She found Jordan behind the gym after lunch.
“You need to tell the truth.”
Jordan laughed.
“So now you're his lawyer?”
“I gave you that file.”
“And?”
“And you lied about what you wanted.”
“Congratulations. You've discovered lying.”
“This could ruin his scholarship chance.”
“He didn't have one.”
“Because somebody changed his form.”
Jordan's eyes flickered.
Brianna caught it.
“You knew that too.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Your father?”
“Stop.”
“Did your father have Malik removed?”
Jordan grabbed his backpack.
“You need to decide who your friends are.”
Brianna stepped in front of him.
“No. You need to decide what kind of person you are.”
His laugh was bitter.
“You were laughing with me.”
“I know.”
“You sent me the song.”
“I know.”
“You think admitting it makes you clean?”
“No.”
That stopped him.
Brianna's eyes were wet but steady.
“It makes me responsible.”
For the first time, Jordan looked uncertain.
Brianna continued.
“I have our messages.”
His face changed.
“What messages?”
“The ones where you told me to delete the download log.”
“You recorded them?”
“I saved them.”
Jordan stepped closer.
“Delete them.”
“No.”
“You have no idea what my father—”
He stopped.
Brianna stared.
“What your father what?”
Jordan looked toward the parking lot.
A black Mercedes idled near the curb.
Victor Banks sat inside.
Watching.
Brianna followed Jordan's gaze.
Victor raised one finger.
Jordan immediately picked up his backpack.
He looked almost afraid.
That frightened Brianna more than his arrogance ever had.
At home that evening, Malik's mother spread bills across the kitchen table.
“We can move.”
Malik leaned against the counter.
“With what deposit?”
“I'll figure it out.”
“You already work sixty hours.”
“I said I'll figure it out.”
“And I'm saying this happened because of me.”
Renee stopped.
“No.”
“If I hadn't auditioned—”
“No.”
“If I just let it go—”
“Malik.”
Her voice sharpened.
“You are not going to learn the wrong lesson from this.”
He looked at her.
“When somebody abuses power, the lesson is not ‘I should've stayed quiet.’”
“But if it costs us our apartment?”
Renee's face softened.
“That scares me.”
The honesty surprised him.
She sat down.
“I am terrified.”
Malik pulled out a chair.
“But fear is not proof that surrender is smart.”
She took his hand.
“I raised you to understand dignity isn't something rich people loan you.”
His eyes dropped to their joined hands.
A knock came at the door.
Renee frowned.
It was nearly ten.
She opened it cautiously.
A courier stood outside.
“Delivery for Renee Turner.”
He handed her a thick envelope.
Inside was a letter from Banks Foundation legal counsel.
Victor Banks was offering the Turner family six months of rent assistance at another Banks property.
Malik read the conditions.
One paragraph required them to acknowledge that the lease nonrenewal was unrelated to Jefferson Arts Academy.
Another required Malik to withdraw any complaints regarding the Regional Young Artists nomination process.
Renee read it twice.
Then laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because now they had proof.
She handed the letter to Malik.
“Baby?”
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“Yes?”
“Scan this.”
