And from under his desk, he brought out a cardboard box—one of those boxes that used to contain half a dozen reams of paper, before the days of the paper-free office and the ubiquitous e-mail. It was sealed with packing tape, and felt surprisingly light in my hands. I’d expected something heavier.

“You know what it is?” said Harrington.

I nodded. “Yes. I think I know.”

“Well, it’s all yours,” said Harrington. “I hope it gives you peace of mind. And—speaking of which—Rupert Gunderson.”

“Gunderson?” I’d been so lost in the past that I’d almost forgotten him. “Listen, the boy’s a bully. I dealt with the situation. And it’s hardly my fault if the parents think—”

Harrington looked pained. “Roy, please. There’s more to this than meets the eye. Gunderson has some serious emotional problems. In fact, Marcus Blakely’s been looking into his case.”

I made the Old Head’s favorite sound. Oof. From what I’d seen so far of Dr. Blakely, the boys would run circles around him.

“I’ll thank Dr. Blakely to leave it to me where any of my boys are concerned.”

He sighed. “I appreciate your feelings, Roy, but it looks as if in this case, young Allen-Jones may be mostly to blame.”

“What, for being bullied?”

He shook his head. “I think we should both leave this to Marcus. It’s what he’s best at, and besides, you and I both know how easy it is to let a personal preference get in the way of the facts of a case. Marcus is new. He doesn’t have any—preconceptions.”

Preconceptions? Personal preference? Was he accusing me of favoritism?

Ira furor brevis est. If I’d had the chance to reply, I might have ended my career. And maybe Harrington knew that, because when Danielle came in with the news that the Chairman of Governors was on the phone and needed a word, I saw a look come over his face—just for a second, but it was there: the look of a cat disturbed with its prey—and I wondered if he’d been trying to make me rise to the bait, to push me into an argument that could only end in my resignation—

Then the look was gone; in its place, a wry smile and a shrug.

“Sorry, Roy. Have to go. We’ll talk about this another time.” He indicated the cardboard box. “Don’t forget your legacy.”

I left the office, box in hand. Danielle was back at the front desk. I like Danielle; in spite of her big hair and hoop earrings and unquenchable enthusiasm for television reality shows, her instincts are generally good. I was certain that, at another time, she would have fielded the call from the Chairman of Governors and left the Head and Yours Truly to finish their conversation. I owed her something, I told myself.