Marcus slammed the SUV into park right in the fire zone directly outside the main entrance. He didn't bother turning off the engine. He burst through the front doors of Oakridge Academy, ignoring the front desk receptionist who stood up in surprise.
Receptionist: Sir! Excuse me, sir! You can't just run in here without signing in!
Marcus: Get out of my way!
Receptionist: Sir! I will call security!
Marcus: Call whoever you want! Call the police!
Marcus sprinted down the long, linoleum-lined hallway. His heavy footsteps echoed off the lockers as he searched for the sign reading "Classroom 4B - Early Childhood." When he reached the wooden door with the colorful paper cutouts, he didn't knock. He kicked the door open with a resounding bang that shattered the classroom silence.
The heavy wooden door slammed against the wall. The children gasped in unison. Mrs. Vance spun around, her face twisted in shock and immediate anger.
Mrs. Vance: What is the meaning of this?! How dare you burst into my classroom like a maniac!
Marcus: Move away from my son. Right now.
Mrs. Vance: Mr. Davis? You have no right to come in here barging around like this! This is a private learning environment!
Marcus walked straight toward her, his posture rigid and lethal. He stepped past the tiny tables, his gaze locking onto Leo, who was sitting on the floor, clutching his swollen, reddened right hand against his chest.
Leo: Daddy? Daddy!
Marcus: I'm here, buddy. Daddy's right here.
Mrs. Vance: Mr. Davis, your son was being completely disruptive and refusing to follow simple directives! I was merely enforcing basic classroom discipline!
Marcus: Discipline? You call hitting a four-year-old child with a wooden weapon discipline?!
Mrs. Vance: It was a gentle tap on the hand to get his attention! Don't you dare exaggerate!
Marcus: A gentle tap?! I watched you on the camera, Mrs. Vance! I saw you swing that stick with everything you had!
Mrs. Vance's face suddenly went pale. Her eyes flicked toward the small black power outlet near the back corner of the classroom, where a tiny, unobtrusive camera lens gleamed beneath a bookshelf.
Mrs. Vance: What... what camera? What are you talking about?
Marcus: The camera I installed last week after my son came home with bruises on his wrists! The camera that just recorded you committing felony child abuse!
Mrs. Vance: That... that is illegal! You can't record me without my permission! This is private property!
Marcus: You hit my son! You lay your hands on defenseless toddlers who can't fight back!
Mrs. Vance took a defensive step backward, trying to cover the wooden ruler she had quickly tossed onto her desk.
Mrs. Vance: You are wildly out of line, Mr. Davis! I have worked at this academy for twelve years! My record is spotless! Nobody is going to take the word of an overly sensitive father over mine!
Marcus: They won't have to take my word for it. They're going to watch the high-definition 4K footage.
Before Mrs. Vance could reply, the door behind Marcus swung open again. Principal Harrison hurried into the room, out of breath and looking visibly rattled.
Principal Harrison: What on earth is happening in here? Marcus? Why are you shouting? The reception desk said you forced your way in!
Marcus: Harrison, you need to look at your teacher right now before I tear this building down brick by brick.
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