Principal Expels Black Farmer’s Son – The Next Day, a Billionaire’s Helicopter Arrives at His School
As Whitmore finished his statement, the camera panned to show several teachers and parents standing behind him in apparent support.
«How can they support him after everything that’s come out?» Malik asked, his hands clenching into fists.
«Fear and self-interest,» Ms. Brooks replied sadly. «Some of those teachers know their jobs depend on staying in line. And those parents… their children benefit from the corrupt system. They don’t want anything to change.»
Malik’s phone buzzed with a text message from an unknown number: Your family is next.
He showed it to Everingham, whose security team immediately began tracing the source. «We need to increase protection here,» Everingham decided. «They’re getting desperate.»
As night fell, the temperature dropped, bringing with it a sense of foreboding. Nathan and Malik had just finished checking the livestock when a sudden flash of light, followed by an explosion, rocked the barn.
An incendiary device had been thrown through a window, igniting the hay inside.
«Dad!» Malik shouted, already running for the garden hose.
Everingham’s security team sprang into action, some fighting the fire while others secured the perimeter. Nathan and Malik worked frantically alongside them, dousing the flames before they could spread to the main structure. As they surveyed the damage afterward, Everingham’s expression was stone cold.
«This stops now. We’re going on the offensive.»
The next morning, Riley arrived with news. He’d spent the night tracking the threatening text message Malik had received.
«I followed the digital trail,» he explained excitedly, setting up his laptop. «Whoever sent it tried to route it through multiple proxies, but they made mistakes. The original message was sent from a phone registered to Teresa Monroe.»
«Whitmore’s assistant?» Malik asked in disbelief. «But she’s the one who gave us the financial documents.»
«Which could have been tampered with,» Everingham pointed out.
«It’s possible she’s been playing both sides,» Ms. Brooks shook her head. «Or someone used her phone without her knowledge. We need to talk to her directly.»
Riley nodded. «I’ve located her. She’s staying at the Pine Ridge Motel on the edge of town, registered under her maiden name.»
Malik and Ms. Brooks decided to confront Teresa, with two of Everingham’s security people following at a distance. When they arrived at the motel, the manager informed them that Teresa had checked out that morning but had left an envelope for anyone who asked about her.
Inside the envelope was a handwritten note: I fear for my life. James knows I took the documents. Meet me at the Old Sullivan Creek Bridge at 2 PM if you want the complete files. Come alone, or I won’t show.
«It could be a trap,» one of Everingham’s security specialists warned when they called to report the note.
«Agreed,» Everingham replied over the speakerphone. «But we need those files. We’ll set up surveillance at the bridge. Malik, you’ll make the approach, but we’ll have eyes on you the entire time.»
The Sullivan Creek Bridge was an old stone structure spanning a narrow gorge outside town. As Malik approached at the designated time, he saw Teresa’s car parked at one end. She stood in the middle of the bridge, clutching a large envelope, constantly looking over her shoulder.
«I didn’t think you’d come,» she said as Malik approached.
«You said you had the complete files,» Malik replied cautiously, stopping a few feet away from her.
«Everything’s here. The real records, not the doctored ones they’ve been circulating.» She held out the envelope. «James kept two sets of books. These are the originals.»
As Malik reached for the envelope, the sound of screeching tires split the air. A black SUV roared toward the bridge from the far side.
«They followed me!» Teresa gasped, her eyes wide with terror.
«Run!» Malik grabbed her arm, and they sprinted toward his end of the bridge.
But another vehicle appeared, blocking their escape. Men in dark clothing emerged from both vehicles. Suddenly, Everingham’s security team burst from the surrounding trees, weapons drawn.
«Federal agents!» one shouted, though Malik knew they were private security.
What followed was chaos. The men retreated to their vehicles and sped away, but not before one of them aimed his car directly at Teresa. She pushed Malik aside just before the impact.
The car struck her, sending her over the bridge railing and into the creek below. By the time they reached her, it was too late. Teresa Monroe was dead, the envelope of documents nowhere to be found.
The local police ruled it a tragic accident, despite witness statements about the deliberate nature of the hit-and-run. Once again, Malik felt the familiar weight of injustice pressing down on him.
«They killed her to silence her,» he said later at the farmhouse, still in shock. «Just like that.»
«And the police report makes no mention of attempted murder or the missing documents,» Nathan added bitterly.
Everingham paced the room, his usual composure cracking. «I’ve contacted the FBI director personally. This has gone beyond local corruption. This is organized crime.»
That night, as Malik lay awake in his bedroom, his phone lit up with a call from a blocked number. Against his better judgment, he answered.
«Malik, it’s Brandon,» came the whispered voice. «I’m not supposed to be calling anyone, but you need to know. My uncle didn’t just run. He’s planning something big.»
«What do you mean?» Malik sat up, fully alert.
«I overheard the federal marshals talking. They found evidence that Uncle Victor transferred millions into offshore accounts right before he disappeared. He’s gathering resources, not just hiding.»
«For what?»
Brandon’s voice dropped even lower. «I don’t know, but he mentioned something about ‘scorched earth’ if he ever went down. Whatever it is, it’s not over.»
After Brandon hung up, Malik immediately relayed the information to Everingham, who looked troubled. «That aligns with intelligence from my sources. Langley isn’t the type to accept defeat.»
The next day brought unexpected momentum. The FBI, finally taking the case seriously after Teresa’s death, conducted a series of raids across town. They uncovered a massive network of financial crimes linking the school board, Langley’s development company, and several wealthy investors.
«They found evidence of mail fraud, wire fraud, money laundering, and conspiracy,» Everingham announced, reading from a report sent by his Justice Department contact. «This goes back decades and involves millions of dollars.»
«What about Whitmore?» Ms. Brooks asked.
«Still walking free, but that won’t last much longer. The FBI has requested all school financial records going back twenty years.»
Using his considerable influence, Everingham managed to freeze the school board’s bank accounts, throwing them into disarray. Board members began turning on each other, each trying to save themselves.
Yet through it all, Principal Whitmore remained strangely calm, even smug during his public appearances. It was as if he knew something they didn’t.
«He still has an ace up his sleeve,» Malik observed. «But what?»
The answer came in the cruelest way possible. Two days later, as Nathan was meeting with their family lawyer to discuss legal strategies, four police cars pulled into the Carter farm. Officers approached with a warrant for Nathan’s arrest on charges of tax fraud.
Malik watched in horror as his father was handcuffed and placed in a police car. «This is a mistake!» he shouted, trying to reach Nathan, only to be held back by the officers.
«It’s okay, son!» Nathan called as they drove him away. «Call Everingham. This is just their last desperate move.»
But Malik knew the truth. This was Whitmore’s ace. While they’d been focused on the school corruption, he had been fabricating charges against Nathan. It was a move to silence the Carter family once and for all.
As morning light streamed through the windows of the Carter farmhouse, Malik sat at the kitchen table, his eyes red from lack of sleep. Ms. Brooks and Riley sat with him while Everingham paced, barking orders into his phone.
«I don’t care what it takes,» the billionaire was saying. «Get Nathan Carter out on bail today. Pull whatever strings you need to.»
After ending the call, Everingham turned to Malik. «The tax fraud charges are completely fabricated, but they’ve been carefully constructed. Someone with access to financial records and legal expertise helped create this fiction.»
«Whitmore doesn’t have that kind of skill,» Ms. Brooks observed.
«No, but he has connections who do.» Everingham’s expression was grim. «The good news is, we should be able to get your father released on bail by this afternoon. The bad news is that fighting these charges will take time—time they’re hoping to use to their advantage.»
Malik stood up, determination replacing his exhaustion. «Then we need to move faster. We need to expose everything now before they can do any more damage.»
Riley had been unusually quiet, his attention focused on his laptop. Now he looked up, excitement in his eyes. «I think I’ve found something important. I’ve been digging into Langley’s business dealings beyond Greenwood, and there’s a pattern. He’s been involved in similar land schemes in at least five other counties across three states, all targeting Black-owned farms.»
He turned his laptop around to show them a map with red pins marking locations. «Each of these represents a property acquired through suspicious means: sudden tax problems, unexplained legal troubles, or pressure tactics. And here’s the kicker: at each location, there was a local official who helped facilitate the deals. In Greenwood, it was Whitmore.»
«So, Langley’s operation is much bigger than we thought,» Ms. Brooks said.
«And someone bigger must be backing him,» Everingham added. «This level of coordination across state lines suggests serious organization.»
Malik studied the map, a disturbing thought forming. «These aren’t random acquisitions. Look at the pattern. They follow major transportation routes. It’s like they’re creating corridors of controlled land.»
«For what purpose?» Ms. Brooks wondered.
Before anyone could answer, Everingham’s phone rang. After a brief conversation, he turned to the group. «The FBI has just raided the school board offices. They’re seizing everything: computers, files, phone records.»
«That’s good news, right?» Riley asked.
«Yes, but we need to be prepared for Whitmore and his allies to retaliate. They won’t go down without a fight.»
True to Everingham’s prediction, the next day brought a new challenge. His company was suddenly hit with corruption allegations, triggering an SEC investigation that froze many of his assets.
«This is their counterattack,» Everingham explained, looking more tired than Malik had ever seen him. «They’re trying to cripple my ability to help you. I’ll fight it, but it means my resources will be limited for a while.»
Malik felt the walls closing in. Without Everingham’s full support and with his father in jail, their position was suddenly much more vulnerable.
That evening, Malik received another call from Brandon. «I need to see you,» the principal’s nephew said urgently. «I found something in the files they’re letting me review for my testimony. Meet me at the Sunset Motel, room 12, in an hour.»
Despite warnings from Everingham’s security team, Malik decided to go. The Sunset Motel was a run-down establishment on the outskirts of town. When Malik arrived at room 12, he knocked, but there was no answer. The door was slightly ajar.
«Brandon?» he called, pushing the door open cautiously.
The room was empty but showed signs of a struggle: an overturned chair, a lamp broken on the floor. On the bed lay Brandon’s phone, a text message still displayed on the screen: Got what we needed. From the kid. Clean up the mess.
Malik backed out of the room, his heart racing. He was pulling out his phone to call Everingham when he received a text message from Ms. Brooks: I had no choice. I’m sorry.
Before he could process what that meant, his phone rang. It was Riley.
«Malik, where are you?» Riley sounded panicked. «Ms. Brooks just resigned. She sent a weird email to the entire faculty saying she was leaving town, but she won’t answer my calls.»
«I’m at the Sunset Motel. Brandon asked to meet, but he’s not here. The room looks like there was a fight.» Malik quickly explained what he’d found.
«Get out of there now,» Riley urged. «Something’s very wrong.»
As Malik hurried back to his truck, he noticed a black sedan parked in the shadows at the edge of the lot. The driver was watching him. When Malik changed direction to avoid passing near the car, the engine started.
He broke into a run, reaching his truck and peeling out of the parking lot just as the sedan began to follow. A high-speed chase ensued through the backroads of Greenwood, ending only when Malik managed to lose his pursuer by cutting through an abandoned farm property he knew from childhood.
When he finally returned to the farmhouse, he found Riley and Everingham in intense discussion.
«We’ve lost Ms. Brooks,» Everingham said as soon as Malik entered, «and possibly Brandon, too. Someone is systematically removing our allies.»
«Ms. Brooks wouldn’t just abandon us,» Malik insisted.
«Her text said she had no choice, which suggests coercion,» Everingham agreed. «The question is, what leverage do they have over her?»
Riley had been investigating on his laptop. «Her mother,» he said suddenly. «Ms. Brooks has been supporting her mother’s medical care. According to the nursing home records I just accessed, Mrs. Brooks was transferred to another facility this morning, one whose location is listed as confidential.»
«They’re holding her mother hostage,» Malik realized, feeling sick.
«And I’ve received news about my corruption investigation,» Everingham added. «The allegations trace back to fabricated documents that appear to have originated from within my own company. Someone I trusted has betrayed me.»
The walls were indeed closing in. With Nathan in jail, Ms. Brooks missing, Brandon possibly kidnapped, and Everingham under investigation, their coalition was crumbling.
Malik paced the room, thinking furiously. «We need to change tactics. They’re picking us off one by one because we’re fighting defensively. It’s time to take the fight public—completely public.»
«What are you suggesting?» Everingham asked.
«A live stream town hall. We invite the entire community, the media, everyone. We present all our evidence, hold nothing back, make it impossible for them to silence us by making everything known at once.»
Everingham considered the idea. «It’s risky, but it might be our best option at this point. They can’t disappear an entire town hall.»
Over the next two days, they worked frantically to organize the event. Riley created a secure website where copies of all their evidence would be uploaded simultaneously with the town hall presentation. Everingham called in favors to ensure media coverage, while Malik prepared to be the voice of the resistance.
The night before the town hall, Malik visited his father in jail. Nathan looked tired but resolute.
«I’m proud of you, son,» he said, his voice strong despite his surroundings. «You’re fighting the way a Carter should.»
«We’re going to get you out of here, Dad. Tomorrow, everything changes.»
As Malik left the jail, a black town car pulled alongside him. The back window rolled down to reveal Principal Whitmore himself.
«Mr. Carter,» he called smoothly. «A word?»
Malik stopped, wary but curious. «What do you want?»
«Just to offer some friendly advice.» Whitmore’s smile was cold. «This town hall you’re planning… I’d reconsider if I were you.»
«You think you’re untouchable? That’s cute.»
He chuckled, the sound devoid of humor. «You have no idea what you’re up against or how far we’re willing to go.»
«Is that a threat?» Malik asked, his voice steady despite the chill that ran down his spine.
«Consider it a reality check. Ask yourself, how many more people are you willing to sacrifice for your crusade? Brandon? Ms. Brooks? Your father? Think about it.»
Before Malik could respond, the window rolled up, and the car pulled away. The threat shook Malik more than he wanted to admit. Back at the farmhouse, he shared the encounter with Riley and Everingham.
«He’s trying to intimidate you because he’s afraid,» Everingham assured him. «The town hall is the right move.»
The day of the town hall arrived. The Greenwood Community Center was packed with residents, reporters, and curious onlookers. Security was tight, with Everingham’s private team supplemented by state police he’d managed to bring in through his remaining connections.
Malik stood backstage, reviewing his notes one last time. Riley was managing the technical aspects, ensuring the livestream was working and secure.
