Principal Stewart paused the recording, his expression grim, "Sean's guilt is not in question. As you can see, the evidence is unambiguous..."

"It's anything but," Winona Cook interrupted angrily, "What about the two unconscious boys taken into custody? The illegal tranquilizer found in their possession? The fact that my son was tied up when Kaitlyn found him? The injection marks on his arm? And my son's statement that Kaitlyn recorded?"

"Mrs. Cook," sighed the woman presiding over the hearing, her voice like sandpaper, "As Principal Stewart has pointed out, none of those facts are inconsistent with the allegation, that your son orchestrated destruction of school property."

Sean studied the speaker warily, under no illusion as to the authority she wielded. He had a pretty good idea what would happen to him if she wasn't convinced of his innocence. Stewart had introduced her as Julia Thornton, president of Portsmouth School Board, sort of his boss's boss. She was of medium height with shoulder length graying hair and matching gray business suit with the uppercase symbol Sigma and number '0' stitched on the lapel. Crow's feet radiated from the corners of piercing grey eyes set in a hard weathered face. Sean had taken the time to lookup all members of the school board, to understand which way they voted in board meetings, to see if there was anything he could use as leverage if push came to shove. So far he'd learned that Julia was a business owner, obssessed with the district's financial health and often at loggerheads with the rest of the school board on how best to achieve it. Her nickname, Titanium Bitch, didn't exactly inspire warm fuzzy feelings.

"Your honor," Sean ventured, "if I may..."

"You may not," snapped Julia testily, "address me as such. This isn't a court of law, young man, as I'm sure you're aware. So if you're trying to butter me up, spare me. I deal with enough sycophants as it is."

"Mrs. Thornton," Sean looked suitably chastised, "I had no incentive to destroy the chemistry lab. After all, I'm here trying not to get suspended... the obvious outcome of a stunt like that. Why would I do that? The only explanation is that I was framed. By Jason Fuller. As Kaitlyn's audio evidence shows."

"The only explanation?" Principal Stewart sputtered in outrage, "It's more likely that you were trying to make Jason look bad by pulling this reprehensible act of vandalism. Your antagonism towards the Fuller boy is well known. The Collection Agency? Mind control serums? Never heard a more ludicrous tale in all my years."

"But why?" Sean's voice rose, his simmering rage against Jason bursting out, "Why would I dream up a half-baked scheme that sets me up for disciplinary action? If I wanted to make Jason look bad, I'd do a fucking better job."

"Sean!" Winona hissed, "your language..."

"Mr. Cook," the Principal looked grave, "you aren't exactly a paragon of thoughtful restraint, are you? It's rumoured that you were caught at the Fuller residence committing a possible act of felony, not too long ago. I do not know the vercaity of these rumors since no charges were filed, but if you insist on accusing their son of causing destruction of school property, the Fullers might be persuaded to reveal details of your actions. Do you have any specific reason for claiming that Jason Fuller was behind this? Other than your long running feud, that I know all too well? "

Sean swallowed in frustration. Was one mistake, one bad judgement going to haunt him the rest of his life? Tarnish all his future actions? Besides, he couldn't reveal that Tiffany had tipped him off. Her warning had motivated him to brush up on basic self-defense which had caught the Collection Agency by surprise. If his serum-fueled audio recording was to be believed. He couldn't... wouldn't rat on her by summoning her as a witness, now that he knew the lengths Jason was willing to go. He owed her one. No telling what Jason would do to her, even if her warning had been inadvertent. Part of him wondered if he'd feel quite so protective if Tiffany hadn't been so hot...

"Besides," Julia cleared her throat, reading from a report on the table, "the police subpoena shows that your blood tests from the ER were inconclusive. The two hooligans apprehended - highschool dropouts from Bridgeport - admit to be muscle for hire, but conveniently plead amnesia regarding who hired them. Exterior cameras show them entering the premises alone. Sure, there were female students entering or leaving in the time window of interest, many of them in jacket and hood which makes identification impractical."

"What about..." Sean leaned forward.

"Let's say for argument's sake your story is true," Julia continued as if uninterrupted, "By your own logic, testimony under truth serum cannot be considered reliable. But, doesn't that call into question your own story? After all, your recorded statement was allegedly made under influence of said serum. Which you are unable to confirm due to claimed amnesia."

"I do have amnesia!" Sean protested, "The last thing I remember is walking into the atrium with Kaitlyn."

"Um, Mrs. Thornton?" Kaitlyn hesitated, "The annonymous tip I received that led me to the lab? Isn't that evidence of Sean's innocence?"

Sean shot her a grateful look. That sounded better coming from her. Kaitlyn had been summoned as a witness, chaperoned by her mother to ensure that her daughter wasn't being initimated either by the accused (Sean) or by the administration. Melissa Lambert possessed a no-nonsense demeanor, shoulder length blond hair and a tall pleasantly plump figure quite unlike her daughter's. To Sean she seemed like the stereotypical soccer-mom, if such an entity did indeed exist. Melissa glanced at Sean with a guarded look, as if unsure if he was good or bad news. Sean's attempt at helping the girls soccer team probably weighed in his favor.

"Why would it be?" Stewart shrugged dismissively, "Annonymous tip from a student who didn't want to be involved. So what."

"From a burner phone?" demanded Winona, "Not something a highschool kid carries around everyday, is it? Someone set this up."

"Hmmph," Stewart snorted, "For all we know Sean arranged it."

"I'll admit it's weak evidence in Mr.Cook's favor," Julia frowned, "Can't see what he'd gain by it."

"Sean loved that lab," Mrs. Holt the chemistry teacher spoke up for the first time, the pain evident in her voice, "I can't believe he'd do this on his own volition. Besides, he's an excellent student, one of my best."

Winona looked startled at the show of support. Sean blinked at the sudden mositure in his eyes.

"Neverthless," the Principal cleared his throat, giving the chemistry teacher a wounded look, "vandalism on this scale cannot go unpunished. Cardiff prides itself on the quality of its infrastructure..."

"I'm more interested in finding the creep who booby-trapped that door handle," growled Melissa, "Kaitlyn was knocked out by military-grade chemical ordnance. Of high potency and unknown side effects. I want the perp identified and locked up."

"Mom," Kaitlyn rolled her eyes, "the cops are already..."

"Justice might be better served if everyone waited their turn before interrupting," Julia rasped testily.

"Give me a break," snorted Melissa, "We aren't here for justice. From the way the administration is tiptoeing around the Fuller boy, Sean is going to be thrown under the bus no matter what. Might as well get it over with, so I can go back to work."

”Mom!” protested Kaitlyn.

"I am not biased even if it seems that way," Stewart sighed, “Certainty is impossible, what matters is determining guilt beyond reasonable doubt. Even if Sean is innocent which seems unlikely, I need to set deterrence so no one dares repeat this stunt. I recommend a Superintendent’s Suspension. One month would send the right message.”

"Sadly, I see little reason to disagree with Mr. Stewart, given the balance of evidence," Julia looked grim, "I will so instruct the superintendent."

”A month!” Winona shrieked, “that’ll play havoc with my son’s schoolwork.”

Sean stared aghast. He wasn’t concerned about lessons, having passed far beyond school curriculum in his insatiable binge for knowledge. But a suspension of that duration would standout to college recruiters in the worst way. Even if his power made college redundant for knowledge acquisition, he still needed the piece of paper certifying that, yes, he could be taken seriously. To achieve his dreams Sean needed the industrial capital that prospective employers - the Fullers of the world - controlled. Dreams that this suspension could turn to dust. Kaitlyn looked glum. Mrs. Holt seemed hearbroken but resigned.

"Another student can bring Sean his schoolwork," Mrs. Thornton looked at Winona, not without sympathy, "That will count toward assignments."

"The school needs me," Sean blurted, causing Julia to raise an eyebrow, "I am advising the girls soccer team on winning strategies that'll give us a shot towards the regionals. Ask Susan Kaminski."

"Really, Mr. Cook," Stewart's lip twisted with derision, "I'm sure the girls soccer team can manage without you. I don't recall athletic skill as your strong suite."

"It's not about specialized skill," Sean protested, "it's about misaligned incentives. Erasing inefficiency by profiting from it."

"What did you say?" Julia seemed taken aback.

"Exploiting inefficiency, it's what I do," Sean shrugged, "I illuminate the path to impossible dreams for others, so I may achieve my own. Well, that was the idea before I landed in this mess."

"It seems you've been looking up my company motto, Mr. Cook," Julia's eyes narrowed, "but ..."

"Parcel 8, otherwise known as Old Hemlock Mill," Sean drummed his fingers nervously, "I know why you're willing to sell it to the state, when half the schoolboard wants to sue the state and invite bids from private developers instead."

"It's not exactly a secret, Mr. Cook," Julia's tone was disinterested, but her gaze was wary, "though I'm always glad to see youngsters take an interest in local politics. The state wants it for the Business Spur shortcut. Private developers won't bite. Not when the state will grab it from them anyway, by invoking eminent domain. The state will pay a pittance, what a shocker, but beggars can't be choosers."

"It's not like you to fold over without a fight," Sean's lips twisted in a parody of a smile, "if your record is anything to go by. But this is different, isn’t it. Your granddaughter founded Green Teen Conservancy. She's running a passionate campaign to save historic Hemlock Mill, as everyone knows. So you blocked any sale, thwarting the school board from trading prime real estate in the middle of downtown."

"Enough," snapped Stewart angrily, "Your suspension hearing is concluded, Cook. It's not your place to be interrogating the..."

"It's alright, John," Julia lifted a placating hand, sounding bitter, "Let Mr. Cook have his say. I did try to preserve a piece of history in dereliction of my financial duty. But I'm curious to see where he's going. After all, my efforts came to nothing. The state wants to grab that piece of land for a bloody road."

“Ah, yes,” Sean grinned, “just when the school board out-voted you, the state saw an easy way to relieve traffic congestion. That old lumber mill sits in the shortest gap between the turnpike and Route-1, both heavy traffic routes to the Industrial Estate. Fuller Dynamics and Gibbs Corp have been pressuring the state and federal goverments for years to upgrade infrastructure.”

“I don’t blame them,” Julia shrugged, turning to an enlarged map of Portsmouth that adorned one wall of Stewart’s office. She tapped a fingernail on a blue squiggle that slanted across roughly parallel lines marking the turnpike and Route-1, like a not-equal (=/=) symbol, “Commute times are ludicrous and they’re having trouble attracting young workers from New York. Hemlock Mill just happens to be in the wrong spot.”

“Which isn't entirely a coincidence,” Sean nodded, “Saw mills being powered by waterwheels were built on rivers. Old Hemlock Mill sits on a river that both routes cross over on old narrow bridges which are bottlenecks. The real solution is to tear down those rusted bridges and build new ones with lots of lanes. But no, the state jumped at the cheap option instead."

On the map, eastbound Route-1 made a wide northern detour before crossing the river, and the eastbound turnpike swung south around Portsmouth after crossing the river. The routes eventually converged towards New Haven to disgorge traffic bound for the Industrial Estate, but the detours added miles to a commute already choked by inadequate bridges. The only place for a band-aid shortcut was between the two bottlenecks where the two routes almost kissed on either side of Old Hemlock Mill.

"The state is short on funds. Do you have a point?" Julia pushed back her chair, sounded annoyed, "Besides stating the obvious. Now, I really must be going..."

"But that shortcut will make the commute worse!" Sean exclaimed, "which the Dept. of Transportation will realize once they complete a formal analysis. It will never get built and Old Hemlock Mill will be untouched, safely beyond the reach of the school board. I wondered why you were so willing to sell to the state. Then I looked at your day job, and it all made sense. Your run a think-tank consultancy named Zero Sum that models all kinds of trade-off scenarios. You already know what the DOT study will find eventually."

”Sean, what are you rambling about!” exclaimed his mom, looking shocked, “The Business Spur cuts down the total distance. Which should definitely help.”

”Not if it connects two existing bottlenecks, mom,” Sean shook his head, “The time to drive through a bottleneck scales with the number of drivers. That’s intuitive during lane closures, right? Now each bottleneck on either route deals with only half the total commuters. What do you think will happen if the shortcut is added? Each driver will take the shortest route which is through both bottlenecks. Time saved by shorter distances will be more than wiped out by all the traffic flowing through both bridges. If the commute is bad now, better hope the ‘shortcut’ never gets built.”

“You’re obviously delusional, Cook,” sneered Stewart, “if it gets that bad, the drivers will simply switch back to their original routes, now won’t they?”

Julia said nothing, simply watching Sean without expression.

“But why would they, sir?” Sean waved his hands, “On their own, each driver faces an even longer commute on their old route which is after all longer. If they all agreed together to go back to their old routes, that might work. But its not like these drivers are talking to each other. Each is doing what makes sense for themselves. So they end up trapped by the shortcut into an unfavorable Nash Equilbrium, that they cannot climb out of without an external agency. Such as the DOT shutting down the shortcut before it gets built. The classic Prisoner’s Dilemma applied to all humanity. Commuters trapped in cages of their own selfishness. It’s happened more than once already, when cities add roads to existing networks. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mrs. Thornton actually suggested the shortcut to Mr. Fuller or Mr. Gibbs, knowing full well they’d take it up with the governor. She’s playing the elite and the state against the schoolboard, for her granddaughter’s pet cause. Not bad... not bad at all. My, what a tangled web you weave, Mrs. Thornton... tell me I’m wrong."

There was half a minute of silence in the office. Winona stared at her son in astonishment. Melissa and Mrs. Holt looked startled. Stewart’s mouth opened and then closed like the proverbial goldfish. Kaitlyn merely grinned.

”My granddaughter means the world to me,” Julia bit off each word, her voice cold as frost, “and I made her a birthday promise I intend to keep. Are you blackmailing me, Mr. Cook?”

“Not at all, Mrs. Thornton,” Sean replied hurriedly, “wouldn’t dream of it. I was merely illustrating how my own skills could be useful to the school...”

”Very well,” Julia smiled a ghastly smile, “I see your point. Superintendent’s Suspension is withdrawn. Five days of Principal’s Suspension instead. And that’s final. Don’t push me.”

”But...” the Principal opened his mouth in protest, and closed it again seeing Julia’s glare.

“Just do it, John,” Julia snarled, “And congratulations... your students are smarter than I gave credit for. Not a word of this leaves the room, if everyone knows what’s good for them. And Mr. Cook? A word in private, if you please.”

Sean got up to follow Julia out of Stewart’s office, with lingering resentment against the unfairness of his punishment. He frowned. Funny to run across Zero Sum’s CEO so soon after his physics teacher had mentioned the firm.

END OF CHAPTER