Page 83 of Apparently, I’m Torture

I jerked back, stricken. “Five percent? You can’t be serious, Pedro.”

He frowned. “Five percent is still fifty thousand.”

“Not when you take away fifteen of it,” I drawled, standing and pacing. “What can my initiative accomplish with only thirty-five thousand dollars? It’s a state-wide project. You’ve seen the numbers. You know what I need.”

“And we were willing to give it to you, but you didn’t alert anyone after the delivery. How can we be sure you weren’t trying to cover this up? This fundraiser isn’t just about your plans, we have other projects to focus on, and we can’t afford to waste time worrying about your team. Honestly, you were lucky not to be fired yourself.”

“Pedro,” I rebuked, bracing my hands on the desk and leaning into the monitor. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” His expression firmed into something stony, impenetrable. “If the fundraiser wasn’t due to run in a handful of days, you would’ve been let go. Be grateful this is all you have to deal with.”

My screen went blank. They hung up. And I yelled. Angry, deep and loud.

The faces of teachers, my colleagues and employees, turned to watch me, eyes wide through the glass, as I punched the concrete wall closest to me.

When the door opened and shut, Lilly’s wary stare pinned me in place. She looked at my hand, came close, and gingerly touched my grazed knuckles.

“Are you okay?” she whispered, her cautious eyes flickering around my face.

I shook my head. “No. None of this is okay.”

I opened my email and found the forwarded copy Pedro sent. Lilly stood at my shoulder, reading, her fingers tightening around the leather of my chair.

“What the fuck?” she breathed.

The email read:

Dear Education Department,

My name is Lilly Fares. I teach at South Bronx Classical, and have volunteered most of my summer break to work at the New York Educational Arts Fundraiser under Shawn Jackson.

However, due to a misunderstanding between Mister Jackson and myself, I found one of our merchandising projects was grossly underordered. I rectified the issue and signed off on the order myself, using Mister Jackson’s signature.

I was trying to avoid owning up to a mistake by going around my superior.

However, I quickly learned that I’d misheard the original instructions, and I’d ordered an additional thirty thousand cups, totaling $30,000USD instead of $15,000USD. Due to my mistake, I’m afraid the budget has been compromised.

I’ve been completing my work for the fundraiser both in the office and out, and so, when I forged the invoice, I did so from my school faculty computer. You will find the logs attached.

I apologize for this mistake on my part. I await your response.

Regards,

Lilly Fares

South Bronx Classical

I was dumbfounded.

He covered all his bases. He logged into Lilly’s email and pinned everything on her before we had a chance to act.

And I had to fire her.

Once Lilly failed here, Trevor would use what happened as an excuse to let her go. An investigation would open, and she’d lose more than just her job at South Bronx. She’d lose her teaching license.

Trevor ruined Lilly’s career, her life, and he screwed with my initiative, almost drowning my reputation in the process.

Lilly, still drained from last night, burst into a sob and sank to the ground behind me. I dropped beside her and gripped her tight.