21

Board meetings were held on Saturday mornings at ten in the beautiful wood-paneled conference room downstairs in the administration building. At this particular meeting, in addition to Dr. Gallow and Dr. Bodempfedder, there would be seventeen of the twenty regular directors—all headliners out of Who’s Who—plus nine members of the alumni board, successful Allbright graduates who were no slouches themselves. The parking lot would be full of limousines and, since former vice president Jonas Ford was coming, a lot of Secret Service types would be lurking about. The addition of a tall, angry-looking African-American officer from the Baltimore Police Department would go entirely unnoticed.

Ms. Lollyheart was always at these meetings, taking notes and running the PowerPoint presentations. Being a careful and conscientious person, she liked to have everything set up in advance. So, on Friday afternoons, she would take the equipment into the conference room, check to make sure the data projector hadn’t blown a bulb, pull down the retractable screen, get all the trailing cords taped down so no elderly directors would trip over them, run the PowerPoint presentation through to check for glitches, and lay out the place cards that indicated where each person was to sit at the table. Then, once she was satisfied that everything was as it should be, she would turn off the equipment and lock the door.

The next morning, she would be back again early to open up the room, turn things on, make sure the kitchen staff brought in the coffee and water and sweet rolls and arranged them nicely on the serving table, and check everything out one more time.

This particular Saturday morning, however, Ms. Lollyheart did two additional things. First, she slipped a CD into the laptop. Then she went over to the handsome mahogany bookshelves that lined one wall of the conference room and added another volume to its collection of leather-bound books. She angled it slightly, so that the spine pointed directly toward the conference table, then carefully tucked the attached high-power 2.4-GHz wireless transmitter behind the other books. It was, in actual fact, a Nanny Cam, the best that money could buy, complete with an eight-hour rechargeable battery, X-vision for low-light conditions, and a wide-angle lens. Prescott had ordered it online for overnight delivery to Ms. Lollyheart’s apartment at Larkspur.

Ms. Lollyheart, as you’ve no doubt figured out by now, was helping us. She had overheard Dr. B’s conversation with the police, in which the four of us were mentioned specifically by name, followed by references to children, brownies, and chemicals. Immediately afterward she’d heard Dr. B accuse us of cheating. Knowing us as well as she did, she had the feeling something really screwy was going on. Apparently it hadn’t taken her very long to figure it out.

And so, we were there too, that Saturday morning, sitting in Ms. Lollyheart’s apartment. With the support of our parents, and the assistance of a secretary and a kitchen custodian (Brooklyn had called Reuben and asked him to help), we were about to bring down two criminals. That was the plan, anyway.

We’d arrived early, around five thirty, when everybody at Larkspur was still asleep (except for Cal and Ms. Lollyheart), long before Dr. Bodempfedder or Dr. Gallow would appear on campus. The night guard at Larkspur didn’t know the Allbright kids at all, and he certainly didn’t know who we were or that we’d been expelled. Ms. Lollyheart had simply told him she was expecting several guests, which was something of an understatement. In addition to the four of us—Brooklyn, Cal, Prescott, and me—there were Beamer, Zoë, J. D., and all of our parents (except, of course, for Cal’s dad, who wouldn’t arrive in the States till later that afternoon, and Brooklyn’s mom, who had her own role to play). It was pretty crowded in there.

We had gathered to watch what we hoped would be the grand climax of the Allbright affair, in living color, on Ms. Lollyheart’s TV, the receiving end of the Nanny Cam. There was already a blank tape in her VCR. As soon as people began to arrive and images came up on the screen, we were ready to press RECORD.

Since it’s against federal law to use audio in hidden cameras, there wouldn’t be any sound coming out of the television. And a whole lot of people sitting around talking without any sound wouldn’t be all that informative or exciting. So, for our benefit, Ms. Lollyheart had slipped a baby monitor into her purse. The listening end was sitting next to the television. The sound quality wasn’t great, but it was better than nothing. For posterity—or for possible use in court—she would also make a high-quality recording of the meeting, openly and with everyone’s permission, supposedly to help her later in typing up the notes.

From around nine fifteen, when Ms. Lollyheart put the book cam in place, we could see pretty much everything that went on in the room. We watched Reuben, dressed spiffily in a white waiter’s jacket, set out the beverages and breakfast rolls, while Ms. Lollyheart carefully placed a booklet, neatly bound in a blue paper cover, in front of each chair.

Two of the booklets, we knew, contained the usual material—the agenda for the meeting, the annual budget; the names of the following year’s incoming students, complete with their special accomplishments and remarkable test scores; a list of the early-decision college acceptances of Allbright seniors, and lots of other inspiring stuff—the latest and greatest achievements of their current students and graduates. These two booklets were on top of the heap. We watched Ms. Lollyheart flip through them, double-checking that they were the right ones, and then place them on the table where Dr. Gallow and Dr. Bodempfedder would sit.

Everybody else got the other booklets. Though they too opened with the agenda and the budget, they also contained copies of the most damaging documents we had found: the chemical analysis of the brownies, the list of Moderation/Modification Delivery Products, some choice quotes from Dr. Gallow, Dr. Bodempfedder, and Dr. Planck, plus Prescott’s windfall discovery of just three days before. (Having been sent home, he’d had plenty of extra time to spend going through Dr. B’s files, and the effort had paid off.)

We saw Ms. Lollyheart speaking softly to Reuben. He nodded and smiled. Then he finished setting up, rolled the food cart out of the room, and shut the door.

About twenty minutes later people started to arrive. The first three were graduates on the alumni board. Clearly excited by the prospect of sitting at a meeting with some of America’s most famous and accomplished people, they had made it a point to get there early. Every one of them, in typical Allbright fashion, was good-looking and well dressed in a clean-cut, conservative way. As they came in, they each went over and hugged Ms. Lollyheart warmly, then took water or coffee and sat down. One woman, a wholesome-looking brunette in her thirties, picked up her booklet and started to flip through it.

“Don’t!” Ms. Lollyheart said quickly. “No peeking till the meeting starts.” This clearly surprised the woman, but she did as she was told.

Dr. Gallow came in next, followed by Dr. Bodempfedder. The former students jumped to their feet and went over to shake hands. They remained standing as more and more people arrived. Caroline Kelley and Michael Gates came in together, followed by Jonas Ford and Martha Evergood. It was like watching the show before the Oscars, where all the movie stars come up the red carpet and stop to chat with the press—except that the board members weren’t all young and gorgeous and they weren’t wearing tuxes and strapless gowns.

“I sent Dr. Evergood an e-mail and left a message on her answering machine,” Zoë told the group. “But I don’t know if she had time to check them. She got in so late last night.”

“What did you say?” Mom asked, more or less into Zoë’s hair. Mom had both of us in sort of a bear hug, like she had just pulled us out of the way of a speeding truck and now somehow just couldn’t let go. She had tried to scoop J. D. into this embrace, but he had escaped and was, as usual, sprawled out under a piece of furniture (the coffee table), gazing at the TV.

“I just told her something very important was going to happen at the meeting and to please make sure they watched all of our student video, no matter what. Oh, and I said if she could order some cocoa just before the meeting started, that would really help.”

Brooklyn’s dad, a giant man with a full beard and bright pink cheeks, burst into a fit of operatic laughter. “Ho, ho, ho, ho! Cocoa!” he boomed, at which we all went “Shhhhh.” We were supposed to be quiet in there.

“But such an enigmatic telephone call, my dear,” he said in a quieter voice. “So mysterious. What will the great lady think of it, I wonder?”

“I don’t know,” Zoë said, making a cute, wincing face. “That I’ve gone totally ’round the bend, probably.”

“Hey,” Brooklyn said, “check it out. Saul Roth!”

“And is that”—Prescott leaned forward to stare at the screen—“Leon Marcowicz?”

“Yes, that’s Leon.” This from Dr. Prescott Bottomy Jr., who, together with his wife, Dr. Arlene Clawfoot-Bottomy, was sitting in the back of the room in two of the very few chairs available. “I’ve met him, actually, several times. Brilliant scientist.”

It was the sort of show-offy thing Prescott used to say all the time. Being around his parents made me appreciate how much progress he’d made.

“Look!” Cal said excitedly. “That’s Toby. I’m sure of it.”

“Yup, no question,” I agreed. Mr. Future President himself. I had to admit, he did have star quality, what they call charisma. There was an easy confidence about him; he seemed genuinely modest—and kind, and warm, and funny, too. You sort of knew all that, just by looking at him. Even in a room full of famous faces, you couldn’t take your eyes off him. It seemed weird that somebody so appealing should be the one they chose to undermine our whole democratic system. But then again he would be, wouldn’t he? He needed that personal magic to get where they wanted him to go. After that it was just a matter of controlling him.

Poor Toby, I thought, as I watched Dr. Gallow go over and drape an arm over his shoulder in a friendly way. You have no idea what that dreadful man has planned for you and your brain!

“I wish I knew what those two are saying,” I complained. It was hard to make out their conversation over the buzz of voices.

“Nothing important,” Dad assured me. “Just small talk.”

As it neared ten o’clock Dr. Gallow indicated that anyone who wanted coffee or water should go ahead and get it. Then, if they would please take their seats, the meeting could get started.

Just then Martha Evergood made her way over to Dr. Bodempfedder and touched her arm to get her attention. Dr. B, nearly a foot taller, had to lean way down to hear. Though Dr. Evergood’s voice was lost in the background noise, we knew what she was saying: Might she have some cocoa, instead of the coffee? Would that be possible? Not too much trouble?

Yes! Dr. Evergood had gotten Zoë’s message! We had one more ally in the room.

Dr. B nodded and smiled, then pulled out her cell phone and dialed the kitchen. Could they bring a pot of cocoa over to the conference room, please? Dr. Evergood smiled graciously, like the diplomat she was, and took her seat, folding her hands and looking as innocent and peaceful as your grandma in church.

Finally everyone sat down and Dr. Gallow began.

“Good morning,” he said. “I want to thank you, as always, for taking time out of your busy lives to come here four times a year in support of this remarkable school.”

“They don’t start with the Pledge of Allegiance?” Cal said. “That’s so weird.”

“For a board meeting?” Dad said. “Why would they?”

“They start everything with the Pledge,” I explained. “And ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’ Allbright is very patriotic.”

“Oh?” he said. “So patriotic that they want to do away with democracy?”

“Yeah, ironic, isn’t it?” Brooklyn said.

Dr. Gallow was continuing with his opening remarks. Saying nothing, really, except the obvious: the board was full of really famous and important people, they were so generous to give their time to the school, and yadda, yadda, yadda. When he was done flattering the board, Ms. Lollyheart signaled to him by holding up her tape recorder. Dr. Gallow nodded. “Evelyn is going to tape the meeting, unless anyone objects. Helps her keep the minutes more accurate.”

No one objected. Ms. Lollyheart set the recorder down in the middle of the table and pressed RECORD. Then, while Dr. Gallow got the meeting under way, she reached into her purse, which sat on the floor beside her chair. After some fiddling around in there, she pulled out a tissue and delicately dabbed at her nose. Ms. Lollyheart did not have allergies or a cold. She didn’t really need the tissue. It had just been an excuse to reach into her purse and press the speed-dial button on her cell phone.

Outside, just down the hall, Reuben was waiting with a silver tray and a pot of lukewarm cocoa. He had Brooklyn’s cell phone in his pocket, set on VIBRATE. When it went off, that was the signal for him to walk down the hall to the conference room and knock on the door.

“Evelyn, would you get that please?” said Dr. B. Ms. Lollyheart got up and opened the door. Reuben came in with the tray, laid an empty cup in front of the former secretary of state, and was about to pour cocoa into it. But somehow he lost his balance, and the contents of the pot went not into the cup but on the table—in the exact spot where Dr. Gallow and Dr. Bodempfedder were sitting. Needless to say, it got all over them. That’s why it wasn’t hot.

Dr. B gasped, but—I have to hand it to her—she kept her composure. Dr. Gallow, on the other hand, jumped to his feet screaming and turned on Reuben in a rage. “You idiot!” he hissed. “You’re fired. Get out of here—now!”

Reuben looked appropriately horrified and hurried out of the room.

Meanwhile, Ms. Lollyheart and a couple of the younger alumni dashed over to the buffet table for napkins and did their best to clean up the mess. They even used some of the bottled water to wipe up the sticky remains of the cocoa. But nothing could be done about the ruined clothing.

“Dr. Bodempfedder,” Ms. Lollyheart reminded her, “you have that navy-blue suit in your office closet.”

Dr. B nodded. “I hope you’ll excuse us,” she said to the directors, even managing a smile. “It shouldn’t take us too long to clean up.”

“That is one classy lady,” Cal said. “Evil, but classy.”

“Shall I go ahead with the PowerPoint while we wait?” Ms. Lollyheart asked sweetly.

“Sure,” grumbled Dr. Gallow on his way out.

“What do you bet he doesn’t have a change of clothes on campus?” I said, shamelessly enjoying his misery.

As soon as they left, Ms. Lollyheart flipped off the lights and fiddled with the computer for a second. Then my photo of the Allbright campus came up on the screen and soft background music began.

“This presentation is a student piece,” she said. “Made by eighth graders. I think you’ll be impressed.”

Everyone turned toward the screen, wearing the patient, polite expressions you might expect from brilliant, famous, accomplished people who spend their days running huge corporations or dealing with vital world issues and are then asked to sit through an eighth-grade student presentation.

They would perk up in a minute, though. I was sure of that.

We were sitting there, glued to the TV and waiting for the fireworks to begin over in the conference room, when we heard a gentle knock. We all exchanged terrified glances.

“It’s Reuben,” said a voice from outside the door. With a sigh of relief, Cal ran over and opened the door.

“Awesome job, dude!” Brooklyn said, and we gave him a quiet little round of applause.

“It was a pleasure,” Reuben said. And you could tell by the way he smiled that he’d definitely enjoyed pouring cocoa in Dr. Gallow’s lap.

“Check it out, guys,” J. D. said, pointing to the screen. “Jonas Ford—eyes as big as saucers!” He wasn’t the only one. As the presentation continued, and they began to understand what it was all about, rage and alarm showed on every face.

“Stop it for a moment, Evelyn, would you please?” Vice President Ford said. She reached over and pressed PAUSE. “What is this? You said it was a student film.”

“Yes, sir. That’s correct.”

“And that…,” he said, gesturing toward the spot where the director and headmistress had so recently been sitting, covered in cocoa, “Did you arrange that, too?”

Ms. Lollyheart nodded. “I’m afraid so. It’s crucial that you see this, sir. It was the only way we could think of to make that happen.”

“Let’s keep going,” Dr. Evergood said. “I want to watch the rest of it.”

Zoë grinned. “Yay, Martha!” she said.

Ms. Lollyheart started up the presentation again. Everyone now watched with extreme interest. When the conversation switched from brownies and formulas to Toby Bannerman’s future, heads turned to gaze at him in shock and sympathy. Toby was clearly thunderstruck. He leaned forward on his elbows in rapt concentration, his mouth hanging open just a little. He must have been thinking back over years and years of seemingly innocent events and what they had truly meant.

“I made his world view!” Dr. Gallow was shouting. “I made hers! How could they ‘move apart’?”

“Don’t yell at me, Horace. I’m guessing Ms. Rodriguez had something to do with changing his world view.”

“But he was programmed! Meeting some bleeding heart in law school shouldn’t have made a dent in all that work we did.”

Toby lowered his face into his hands and his back heaved.

Just then Dr. Gallow came in. He had rounded up a clean jacket somewhere, and wore it buttoned up all the way—hoping, I guess, that between the jacket and the tie he could cover up most of the stains on his shirt. His trousers were still wet where he had tried to clean the cocoa off with water. It must have been embarrassing for him. Ah, but just you wait, I thought. Wet pants will be nothing compared to what’s going to happen to you over the next ten minutes.

Dr. Gallow hadn’t seen the PowerPoint presentation that was planned for that meeting; Dr. Bodempfedder was the one who organized them. But he knew what to expect. According to Ms. Lollyheart, they were always uplifting fluff pieces, very inspirational and never too long. They were just to get everybody in the mood and remind them what a great place Allbright was.

So now he stood there, gazing in puzzlement at something very different from what he expected, something very familiar—and we could see the realization washing over him. That was his picture up there. That was his voice. That was his private conversation with Dr. B, and he had no clue how it had been recorded and why it was being played for the board.

Suddenly, he lunged toward the laptop to stop the presentation. But he hadn’t noticed upon entering that the policewoman who had opened the door for him (he’d assumed she was part of Jonas Ford’s detail) had slipped in behind him. She now had a firm grip on his arm.

“Not so fast, Doctor,” she said. With her other hand she pulled his chair out, away from the table and well out of reach of the laptop. “Sit!”

He glared at her viciously, but she gave him another yank on the arm. “I do mean it,” she said, and you could tell that she really did. “I have handcuffs, if you want to do this the hard way.”

Dr. Gallow sat.

Every face in the room was turned in Dr. Gallow’s direction. These were people you didn’t want to mess with, people with immense power and influence, people with a lot of pride. And the timing couldn’t have been better, because just then the recorded voice of Dr. Gallow said, “And, Katrina, make sure this current chaos on campus doesn’t get back to the board. I’ve got enough on my plate already. I don’t want Jonas Ford or Martha Evergood snooping around out here.”

Ford rose to his feet in outrage. Toby still had his head in his hands.

“Excuse me, please, Mr. Vice President,” Ms. Lollyheart said. “There is actually quite a bit more you need to see. Then you can have your meeting and decide what you want to do about all this.” Ford sat down, but he was boiling with anger.

Now Linnaeus Planck came up on the screen. It was a still picture, taken from the beginning of the interview. He looked elderly but elegant, sitting there in his wing chair, the sunlight from the window shining on his neatly combed white hair. Beamer had recorded a brief voice-over at this point, introducing him as co-founder of the school and an eminent scientist, recipient of the Nobel Prize.

For many of the board members, Planck had been their original link to the school. He was a public figure in a way Dr. Gallow had never been, and he had a lot of influential friends. In his younger days, he’d been on television a lot, had testified as a science expert before Congress, and had written a couple of bestselling books. It was due entirely to him that people like Jonas Ford and Martha Evergood had donated money to the school and given their time to recruit and mentor students and sit on its board of directors.

Heads turned. You could tell they expected something positive from him—something hopeful—just as we had. The illustrious Linnaeus Planck to the rescue. The still picture began to move. You could hear the gentle strains of Bach in the background and Prescott’s voice asking that first question.

“So, Dr. Planck, you have just watched our presentation. Can you tell me what you thought of it?”

“You did an excellent job.”

“I mean, about the information it revealed? About the chemicals being given the students at the Allbright Academy to change their personalities and make them docile and accepting of authority?”

“Well, Horace is a brilliant chemist. I never doubted he could do it.”

We heard an intake of breath around the table, and just then Dr. Bodempfedder came in, looking good as new in her navy-blue suit. As Dr. Gallow had done before her, she stood for a few seconds, gazing at the screen with a puzzled expression on her face. That was just enough time for Officer Offloffalof to pull out another chair and invite her, very firmly, to sit in it.

“Stop that!” she snapped. “Who are you? What’s going on here? Horace?”

“You and Horace are going to sit right where you are and keep quiet till this little show is over,” the officer said.

I could see why Brooklyn had been so careful about when to get his mom involved. She was a pretty scary lady. Dr. Bodempfedder turned and looked at this beautiful woman wearing a police uniform and a menacing gaze, and visibly recoiled.

“Like I told your friend, here, I’m not fooling around. We can do handcuffs if you want to.”

“Your mom is so cool,” Cal said.

“Yeah, she is. But you really don’t want to mess with her.”

The board was not paying much attention to the little face-off going on at the far end of the room. They were too busy watching, with horror, as their esteemed and trusted friend and colleague, Dr. Linnaeus Planck, revealed his true nature.

“…Would you mind telling us—was it part of the original plan for Dr. Gallow to come up with chemicals that would be, um, useful at the school? Or was that something he came up with later?”

“Of course it was part of the plan,” Dr. Planck said. “And it wasn’t his idea, either, though he may like to take credit for it. It was mine. That’s why I went to Horace in the first place. I needed a top chemist.”

Dr. B, who was clueless about what had been going on while she was out of the room, leaned forward, yanked her arm away from Officer Offloffalof, and said in a loud voice, “That man is very old and has severe dementia. It’s absolutely disgusting and disrespectful to film him like that. He’s raving. Whose idea was this? Evelyn?”

“Please shut up, Katrina,” Michael Gates said. “You’re in way over your head.”

Her jaw literally dropped.

“Woo hoo!” I cheered as we watched it on TV.

“Shhhh,” Prescott said.

Then came our last piece of evidence, Prescott’s big discovery. It was titled “Overview,” and Dr. Bodempfedder had written it for Dr. Gallow, at his request, basically laying out every detail of how they created what Dr. Bodempfedder so charmingly referred to as “first-rate final products.” Allbright graduates, that is.

It was a long document, and though it was extremely creepy to read the whole thing, we’d decided to pick out only the most incriminating sections for the presentation. We included the full document in their packets for future enjoyment. I was thinking that it had been a good call; the board looked exhausted.

And so, without going into every grim detail, we showed how the teachers and PD counselors had been carefully programmed by Dr. Gallow during monthly in-service meetings (occurring right after lunch, at which Big Brother was served in the form of brownies), turning them into unwitting accomplices. But it was during Dr. Gallow’s weekly lectures—also held after lunch, when students would be most vulnerable to outside influence—that the real programming work was done. Week after week, year after year, Dr. Gallow had gradually formed the students’ attitudes and beliefs. In short, he was building little human guided missiles to be sent out into the world to forward his agenda.

“The Allbright experiment,” Dr. Bodempfedder’s memo concluded, “the result of many years of creative thought, dedicated effort, and constant fine-tuning on both our parts, can be judged an unqualified success. America is now in the capable hands of a small army of right-thinking Allbright graduates, and the future looks bright.”

Jonas Ford gripped his head in his hands, completely beside himself. “This is an absolute disaster,” he said.

Ms. Lollyheart closed the laptop and went over to turn the lights on.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the board, I know you have a lot to discuss,” she said. “But if you’ll bear with me for another thirty seconds, I need to let you know what happened after this presentation was made, in case you still have doubts as to the truthfulness of all this.”

Heads nodded all around.

“Go ahead, Evelyn,” Michael Gates said.

“Thank you. I mentioned earlier that this presentation was put together by students—a small group of eighth graders, to be exact. They were the ones who first discovered what was going on at Allbright. They investigated the matter and began gathering evidence. When they felt they had enough, they went to Dr. Planck, hoping he would help them. When that failed, they reported it to the police. The police, as you might imagine, didn’t take the matter very seriously, but they did make a token visit to the campus. As a result, Dr. Bodempfedder found out that the children were onto her.

“In an effort to control the damage and make anything the kids might say about Allbright in the future seem suspect, she had them expelled on a trumped-up charge of cheating. Please believe me, they are completely innocent.

“Fortunately, one of the students has a mother in the Baltimore PD, Officer Offloffalof.” Ms. Lollyheart gestured toward Brooklyn’s mom, who nodded and smiled. “She brought the documents you just saw—you have copies of them in your packets, if you’ll just turn to page six—she brought those documents, and the transcript of the conversation you heard, to the attention of the police once again. This time with better results. They obtained a search warrant for Dr. Bodempfedder’s computer and files, as well as everything in Dr. Gallow’s office and lab over at the National Science Institute. I expect they’re probably over there right now, busy as little bees.”

Dr. B sprung to her feet and sprinted for the door.

Officer Offloffalof made no effort to stop her. “Secret Service is out there, you know. Just scads of ’em. But go on ahead if you want to.”

Dr. B paused with her hand on the knob and didn’t move. She froze there, like she was playing statues.

“Why don’t you just sit down, Katrina,” Martha Evergood said.

Dr. B sat down.

“Is there anybody here who wishes to dispute the truth of the things you’ve heard this morning?” Dr. Evergood asked. “Because I, personally, am quite convinced.”

“Horace?” Jonas Ford said, “Katrina? Do you have anything to say? Any possible sort of explanation?”

Dr. Gallow’s expression was frightening, or at least it would be if he’d looked at me like that. Vice President Ford, however, didn’t bat an eye.

“The results speak for themselves,” he said, gesturing angrily at Toby and the other alumni board members sitting at the far end of the table. “Just look at them. Are they not far superior to any leaders we have in this country today?”

“Superior final products?” Saul Roth said with disgust.

“Merely a turn of phrase,” Dr. Bodempfedder said. “Unfortunate, perhaps. But Horace is right. Our graduates, these perfectly educated, extremely dedicated young people, are wonderful treasures; they constitute an immeasurable gift we have given to this great nation.”

“Excuse me, Katrina,” Ford said, “but that is utter hogwash. And since you don’t deny that you have betrayed this board, this school, and most of all its students, I suggest you save the rest of your explanation for the courtroom.”

Officer Offloffalof raised her eyebrows in question. “Time to go?”

“I believe it is,” Martha Evergood said.

“My pleasure, Madame Secretary. It’ll take just a minute.” She pulled out her phone and called for a squad car.

There was a moment of silence. Then, for the first time, Toby spoke. “Dr. Evergood? Members of the board? May I say something here?”

“Of course, Toby. Please go ahead.”

“I understand that everyone here has been grossly taken advantage of, and I can just imagine how angry you are. But I am—surely you will agree—the biggest victim here. They planned to turn me into the front man for their hateful agenda. This very afternoon I was supposed to have lunch with Dr. Gallow, apparently to have my ‘brain scrubbed.’ You all heard it.”

The others nodded sympathetically, then turned again toward Dr. Gallow, who now sat with his head resting on one hand, staring defiantly at the bookcase.

“Having said all that,” Toby went on, “let me add something on a more positive note. There is one issue that hasn’t been mentioned yet, and it’s potentially the most disastrous aspect of this whole disastrous mess: the hundreds and hundreds of ‘final products’ out there, people like me and Janice and Saul.” He gestured toward the other Allbright graduates on the board. “The problem of putting the toothpaste back in the tube, as the saying goes. I just wanted to assure you that, despite their best efforts, Dr. Gallow and Dr. Bodempfedder failed. The human spirit is not that easily captured.

“When I went off to college, I carried all of Dr. Gallow’s—and I am sorry to learn, Dr. Planck’s—odious ideas and opinions with me, along with a thousand little ‘improving’ habits of behavior and manners, some of which actually proved to be helpful. But rather quickly those ideas began to fall away. I found myself evolving, learning to question authority and think for myself. My friends from Allbright, at least the ones I’ve kept up with, have evolved too.”

Janice nodded in eager agreement.

“Yes,” Saul said. “Me too.”

“We truly benefited from the education we got here,” Toby went on. “The rigorous curriculum, designed for our unique talents and learning styles, the incredible teachers, the mentors, the internships, the enrichment program—they were all fabulous. What a wonderful gift! But the twisted theories—once we got away from Allbright, we gradually sloughed them off. If anything, our quality education helped us do it. We are not irretrievably damaged.”

“What a relief to hear you say that, Toby,” Caroline Kelly said. “I desperately hope you’re right. Because there are so many of you out there, so many graduates.”

“I think we’ll be okay. I really do.”

“Toby,” Martha Evergood said, “Janice, Saul, we—as representatives of this school—owe you the most profound apologies for what was done to you. It was generous beyond belief for you to be so positive about your time here. Thank you. And I must say, I’m pleased that Horace and Katrina got to hear it too. It will give them something to think about in prison—how their efforts failed. Officer Offlofalof, how long before that squad car arrives?”

“Momentito,” she said, and dialed again. “Ready? Thank you.” Then she dazzled the room with a beautiful smile.

“You have the right to remain silent…,” she began.

And over at Larkspur Cottage, students in their rooms, in the dining hall, and in the common room that Saturday morning, were astonished to hear a loud and triumphant cheer.