Teacher Is Fired from School, Moments Later SUV Picks Her up & Takes Her to Private Jet – Story of the Day

As a recently-fired Linda contemplates how to help her daughter pay off expensive medical treatments without an income, an SUV swerves in front of her bus, forcing it to stop. The SUV driver rushes inside and tells Linda his boss needs to see her urgently.

Linda sat opposite Mr. James, the principal of the school where she worked. The scowl on his face and the restless way he fiddled with the pages on the dark, wooden desk between them suggested he'd summoned her to his office for a serious discussion.

"Linda, I've recently heard some very serious allegations about you," Mr. James said.

"Oh?" Linda folded her hands together on her lap.

"It's come to my attention that you've been helping one of your students cheat by giving the boy higher marks." Mr. James set his elbows on the desk now and glared at her. "I have proof, Linda, so please don't make this harder than it needs to be by denying it."

Linda smiled. "Now, why would I do that, Mr. James? While I do think your wording is highly inaccurate, the gist of it is entirely true. I have been giving one of my students higher marks. Without my assistance, he'd definitely have failed the first semester."

"Why on Earth would you do such a thing?" Mr. James said.

"Have you looked at the records for the student in question?" Linda asked. "Kyle has consistently scored in the top percentile of his class since he started at this school. His grades only started falling after his parents died in a car accident."

"Which is very sad, but we can't mark students based on sympathy. You know this! You've been teaching for, what, forty years now?"

"Forty-two, Mr. James. Long enough to know that sometimes you have to allow for a little leeway. Kyle is an intelligent, hard-working student with a very bright future. It would be a terrible shame to penalize him simply because the boy needs time to adjust after suffering a personal tragedy."

"Unfortunately, the school board doesn't share your sentiments or your soft heart, Linda. I'm going to have to let you go."

"No...Mr. James, please don't do this. I made one mistake, you can’t fire me for that. I need this job! My daughter recently underwent major surgery and I've been helping her pay for rehab...I won't easily get another job at my age."

"I'm sorry, Linda." Mr. James stared down at the paperwork on his desk. "You've served this school faithfully for many years and I hate to let you go, but you've left me with no choice."

"You're mistaken, Mr. James. I've served my students faithfully. In Kyle's case, that meant making some allowances and bending the rules. It's not the heinous crime you make it out to be! Please, have a heart! My daughter and I both depend on my income. You can't fire me!"

"There's an inspection coming up near the end of this semester, Linda. The school board will find out what you've done. If I don't fire you then they'll start asking questions and my head will be on the chopping block!"

"Typical bureaucrat! All you care about is maintaining your red tape and covering your own behind! Have you never done anything in life because it was the right thing to do, regardless of the consequences?"

Mr. James looked at Linda as though she were insane. It was all the answer she needed.

Linda walked toward the school gates carrying her personal items in a cardboard box. It was heavier than she'd thought it would be, and her arms ached by the time she reached the bus stop at the end of the road. She took an aisle seat near the middle of the bus.

The woman beside Linda glanced at her box, gave her a sympathetic look, then pointedly turned away to stare out the window. Linda stared at her box and held back tears as she contemplated the end of her career and how this would impact her daughter's recovery.

"What is that maniac doing?"

Linda glanced sideways. The woman beside her had her face pressed to the window, watching something happening on the street. Other passengers on that side of the bus were also looking out the windows and muttering.

Linda craned her neck. She glimpsed the top of a large car as it wildly overtook another vehicle in the next lane. It swerved just in time to avoid a headlong collision with a car coming from the opposite direction and entered the same lane the bus was in.

Seconds later, brakes squealed as the bus suddenly stopped in the middle of the street.

"Are you mad?" The bus driver rose to confront the snappily-dressed man that climbed onto the bus. "You could've gotten us all killed, stopping in front of me like that!"

"I'm sorry, sir, but I had to make you stop the bus somehow. I urgently need to speak with one of your passengers." The man studied the passengers. "Which one of you is Linda? I'm looking for a teacher named Linda."

"I'm Linda. What is this all about?"

The man hurried down the aisle. "I work for Mr. Robinson. He's been searching for you, Linda. He sent me to invite you to meet with him. It's urgent. Please come with me."

"Mr. Robinson?" Linda couldn't recall meeting anyone by that name, although it did seem oddly familiar. She wondered if he might be a former student of hers.

But in any case, this was a weird encounter, and a weird expectation from her.

"Look. I don't know what this is about. But I'm not just going to come off with you, young man. Whatever this is—"

"Ma'am, this is about your job!" The young man raised his eyebrows and spoke with earnest eyes.

My job? What is this? Am I getting it back? Is this 'Mr. Robinson' the new chair of the school board? Did they change their mind? Oh, please let them have changed their mind! Linda's mind raced.

"All right, I'll come with you to meet your Mr. Robinson," she said, standing up.

"Thank you, ma'am! Here, let me carry those things for you."

"Please buckle up, ma'am. Mr. Robinson was very insistent that I deliver you to him as fast as possible if you agreed to meet him."

"But who is this Mr. Robinson? I've been trying to think how he might know me, but the more I consider it, the less certain I become. I thought he might be a former student, but I truly don't recall teaching a Robinson boy."

"I don't know anything more than what I was told: Go to this school and find Linda, deliver my invitation, and get her here as fast as possible."

"Well, I hope Mr. Robinson mentioned driving safely as well! You almost drove straight into that cab!"

"Don't you worry, ma'am, I know what I'm doing."

"I certainly hope so! I won't be much good to your Mr. Robinson if I have to be scraped off the road with a spatula, you know!"

Twenty minutes later, the SUV was speeding down the runway at a small airport outside the city. Linda clung to her seat and didn't dare to glance at the speedometer as the car raced toward a hangar. A private plane was parked outside. A man standing nearby waved as they approached.

"That's Mr. Robinson."

"Really? I don't recognize him at all."

"I'm sure everything will become clear once you've spoken to him, ma'am."

Mr. Robinson opened the door for Linda when the driver parked the car. He grinned widely at her.

"It is you!" Mr. Robinson said. "After all these years...Do you recognize me at all, Linda?"

"I'm sorry, but no. I don't remember even meeting somebody with your name either."

"Then you'll be shocked to hear that I owe my life and all of my success to you, Linda. That's what the judge told me, at any rate,” Mr. Robinson continued. “Maybe this will refresh your memory: twenty years ago, you were summoned for jury duty. You served in the trial of a fourteen-year-old boy accused of murdering his father."

"That's true, but I don't see what it has to do with...oh my God. It's you!"

Twenty years earlier

A bailiff escorted Linda and the eleven other jurors to the jury room. It was a plain, white-painted room barely large enough to contain the table and chairs in the center. An open door on the far side of the room led to a bathroom. There was a small refreshments area against one wall.

"Okay, we all know how this works," the jury foreman said as he took his place at the head of the table. "This is a murder trial so we have to return a unanimous verdict."

"Yes, yes, you don't have to repeat everything the judge just said," Juror Twelve replied. "Let's just get on with it. I'm sure we all know the boy did it."

"Oh yeah." Juror Nine took his seat and cleaned his glasses on his shirt. "It's a real shame what the kids of today are like. Let's vote so we can all go home."

"Sure, it can't hurt to start with a vote so we all know where we stand. Everyone who thinks the boy is guilty of murdering his father, raise your hand."

All the jurors at the table raised their hands except one. Linda glanced around at her fellow jurors as her hands rested calmly on the table.

"Are you kidding me?" Juror Two gestured to Linda. "Were you even in the same courthouse as the rest of us? That boy is guilty."

"He might be...but we were told not to vote guilty if we had a reasonable doubt."

"Reasonable doubt? There are two witnesses, lady! The old man downstairs heard the kid threaten his dad, heard the body falling and the boy's footsteps as he fled. He saw the kid running down the stairs and the woman in the tenement across from them saw the stabbing! What doubts could you possibly have?"

"I'm not sure...I just feel like something doesn't add up." She turned a sharp gaze on the other jurors. "And honestly, I'm surprised the rest of you are so willing to vote on this when we haven't even discussed the evidence. This boy is fourteen years old! There’s so much he could do with his life. We can’t make snap decisions. We have to be certain before we deliver a verdict, whatever it may be."

Twelve snorted. "What doesn't add up here is why you're so determined to waste everyone else's time! Maybe you were napping through the testimonies so let me remind you of the facts."

"One, this kid has had several run-ins with the law before, one of them for mugging an old lady at knife-point. Two, he's from a slum...everyone knows those kids are destined for a life of crime. Three—"

"Excuse me?" Juror Three crossed her arms. "Growing up in a rough neighborhood doesn't mean a kid is destined to be a criminal!"

"She's right," the foreman said. "Let's stick to the facts."

"Sure, I can be PC if you people are too sensitive to handle the truth," Twelve replied.

"Now, as I was saying: The pawnshop dealer recognized the knife as the same one the boy bought from him earlier that day. We all saw that it's a pretty distinctive knife too. The only one of its kind the pawnshop dealer has ever seen."

"I've certainly never seen a knife like that before," Juror Five interrupted. "Beautifully engraved handle—"

"Do you mind?" Twelve glared at Juror Five. "And lastly, like Two over there mentioned, there are the witnesses. The old man downstairs and the lady across the street. It's clear to everyone here who has a brain that the kid is guilty so why waste time chatting about it?"

"Because of this, for a start." Linda pulled out a knife that looked exactly like the murder weapon.

"Where'd you get that? It's supposed to be in evidence," the foreman said.

"Thank you for proving my point. I went for a walk last night and bought this knife from a store two blocks from the boy's building. Maybe the murder weapon isn't so unique after all."

"So what? It was still the boy's knife that was found in his father's chest." Two gave Linda a bored look.

"But he said it fell from his pocket when he left the house after arguing with his father earlier that evening. Anyone could've picked it up."

"And gone back to his home to stab his father? Yeah right."

"It's not probable, but it is possible." Linda glanced around the table, holding everyone's gaze for a few seconds. "And this is what I mean about reasonable doubt. There are too many questions the defense lawyer didn't pursue in cross-examination. It now falls to us to figure it out."

"Now, I'm not saying this knife proves the boy didn't do it, but it does show that the testimonies we heard in court aren't as clear-cut as they seemed. That's what got me thinking—"

"Yeah, it's got me thinking too." Juror Eight gestured to Linda. "May I see that knife?"

Linda passed the knife down the table. Eight turned it over in his hands, examining it closely.

"It's almost exactly the same as the murder weapon," Eight declared. "It seems the pawn shop owner was mistaken."

"Let's vote again, by ballot this time." Linda eyed her fellow jurors.

"I see on many of your faces that you resent me for not voting guilty alongside all of you, so I'll abstain from this vote. If everyone is in favor of a guilty verdict, I'll change my vote. But if someone else votes for acquittal, we'll discuss it further."

"Deal." Juror Two gestured to the foreman. "Let's get done with this so we can all go home."

"...Guilty, guilty, guilty...wait." The foreman paused at the last vote, frowning. He glanced around the table and raised the final slip of paper. "Not guilty."

"Oh, come on!" Two slapped his palm against the table. "One of you changed your vote just because the pawn shop owner was wrong about the knife?"

"That's not why I changed my vote. I've been thinking about what Seven said." Three turned to Linda. "I was watching the boy's defense attorney throughout the trial. It's like he wasn't even trying to clear the kid."

"Because he knew the kid was guilty!" Two made a sharp, slicing motion with his hand.

"Or, because he's a bad lawyer." Three pointed at Juror Two. "These state-appointed legal guys tend to be a little...you know, overworked, super-stressed, and can barely remember which case they're on when they enter the court. Maybe a better lawyer would've fought harder."

"None of this matters! The woman saw the kid stab his father!"

"Through the windows of a passing train," Linda replied.

"And the prosecution proved that it was possible she recognized him because the train was empty. What's your point?"

"The train...didn't the old man say he heard the boy threaten his father, and the sound of the body falling to the floor?"

"You really were sleeping through testimony." Twelve crossed his arms and glared at Linda.

"No, she's right." Five leaned forward.

"If the train was passing when the lady saw the kid stab his father, how did the old man hear anything? The train would've been too loud."

"So you're saying the old man lied under oath? Why would he do that?"

"He might not have lied," Three chipped in. "The pawn shop owner was mistaken, maybe the old man was too. Maybe he thought he heard the boy shouting. Mr. Foreman, I'd like to change my vote to 'not guilty.'"

"Oh great! I hope you're happy now." Two rounded on Linda. "What the hell even makes you so sure this kid didn't do it?"

"I'm not sure...but I'm also not convinced he did do it. I'm not prepared to gamble with his life unless I'm completely certain he committed this murder."

"Fine, say the old man didn't hear the murder because the train was too loud," Twelve said, "he still heard the boy fleeing afterward. He said he rushed to the door and saw the kid tearing down the stairs."

"I'm glad you brought that up. He said he made it to the door in, what, fifteen seconds?" Linda asked.

Twelve nodded.

"But how? The old man walked with a cane and had to be helped onto the stand."

"The layout for his apartment was the same as the one upstairs," Three said. "He said he was in bed when he heard the commotion, that would mean he covered, like, thirty-four feet, from his bed to the door, in fifteen seconds."

Five shook his head. "My dad lives with me...he's about the same age as this guy, doesn't need a cane, but thirty-four feet in fifteen seconds? It doesn't sound right."

Linda shrugged. "Let's test it."

The foreman asked the bailiff to bring the floor plan for the apartment that was admitted into evidence. Linda and Juror Five plotted out a route that mimicked the layout from the floor plan.

"Okay, let's see how long this takes.” Linda laid down on two chairs as though she were reclining in bed. “Will you time me?"

"Sure." Five raised a hand to check his watch. “Go.”

Linda carefully copied the way she'd seen the old man walk in court and shuffled along the route.

"You're purposefully going too slow!" Two said.

"Come on," Three said to Two. "You think that old man was breaking land speed records in his hallway?"

Linda reached the end of the route. "What's my time?"

"Twenty-eight seconds," Five replied. "Even if we only take this as an estimate, there's no way he could've reached the door fast enough to see the boy in the stairwell."

"I think we should have another vote," The foreman said. "Everyone in favor of voting guilty, raise your hand."

Only eight jurors raised their hands.

"You've got to be kidding me." Nine removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I promised my daughter I'd be done in time for my grandson's birthday party."

"And I have tickets to the game tonight!" Two said.

"I have to be in L.A. for a meeting on Monday. My flight leaves in..." Juror Twelve checked his watch, "2 hours! If you make me miss my flight because of this bull—"

"How about we all get to work figuring out if the boy is guilty or not?" Linda interrupted. "We all have places to be, but our first responsibility is to ensure that the law is upheld."

"No! I've had enough of this!" Two stood. "All you people going over these minor details like they make a difference...what are you trying to prove? So what if the old man didn't hear the murder or see the boy? The woman across the street still saw it!"

"He's right." Twelve pointed at Two. "And don’t forget this kid has a proven record of violence! He's just like every other miscreant from the slums. All they do is drink and get high. Violence is their first language, this boy killing his dad—"

"Quit talking like every kid from a poor neighborhood is a thug!" Nine yelled. "I grew up in a tenement just one block down from where this kid lives. Do I look like a thug to you? You want to tell me I'm a miscreant?"

Everyone stared at Nine. An unassuming man in a plain suit with a buzzcut and glasses, he looked more like a nerdy military man than your typical lowlife. Twelve muttered an apology.

"Hang on...Juror Nine, may I ask you a question?"

Nine frowned at Linda. "What is it?"

"Do you remove your glasses when you wash your face?"

"This woman is crazy," Two interjected. "Why are you people even listening to her? Can we all agree just to vote guilty, send this killer to jail, and go home?"

"This is important. We've established that the old man couldn't have heard the murder because the train was passing but, as you pointed out a few moments ago," Linda gestured to Twelve, "the woman across the road said she saw the boy do it."

"Yeah!" Twelve threw his hands in the air. "She was washing up and saw it happen through the bathroom window."

"Exactly! If I remember right, she specifically said she was washing off her make-up."

Three nodded. "That's right."

"But every day she appeared in court, the woman was wearing glasses."

“So? What are you trying to say?” Two asked.

Nine sighed. “Everyone who wears glasses takes them off while washing their face."

"So how could she possibly have recognized the boy through the train windows while she wasn't wearing her glasses?"

The jurors all glanced awkwardly at each other around the table. Slowly, Nine raised his hand and told the foreman he wanted to change his vote to 'not guilty.' Several others spoke up to change their votes too.

"It's now 11 votes 'not guilty' and 1 'guilty.'" The foreman looked at Twelve.

"I'm not changing my mind. You people...you've forgotten our role here. We're meant to decide on this case based on the evidence, but this lady," Twelve pointed at Linda, "is acting like a lawyer, casting doubt on everything that happened in that courtroom. What are you trying to prove here?"

Linda shrugged. "I'm just posing questions... I wish the defense attorney had raised these points, but he didn't."

"I told you what it's like for these guys," Three said, "heavy caseload, bad pay—"

"Yeah, whatever," Twelve said. "There's an easy way to fix this problem. If we declare a hung jury then the case will be retried."

"What good does that do?" Nine started from his seat. "Do you think the kid will suddenly get appointed a better lawyer, one who will raise all the questions we've discussed here?"

"A different jury will just send this kid to jail," Five said.

"Which is where he belongs!"

"Why?" Linda made eye contact with Twelve across the table and held it. "Explain to us why you're still so convinced he's guilty."

"Well, the woman testified under oath that she saw the murder. Glasses or not, she must've been pretty certain."

"Do you think she still would've been so certain if the defense brought up her glasses in cross-examination?" Two asked.

"I don't know!"

"Exactly. You’re right, number Twelve, we shouldn't have to play lawyer, but we do need to ensure justice is served. This boy’s future depends on us now. We’re all he has! I don’t know if he’s guilty, but I do know that there are holes in the prosecution’s argument. If nothing else, can you at least acknowledge that the legal system failed to provide this boy with an adequate defense lawyer?"

Twelve sighed. "Yeah...I guess."

"Now, we've examined the evidence, like we were supposed to, and found gaps we can't fill in because the defense never pursued these issues." Two leaned back in his seat. "The witnesses were the backbone of this case, but if neither of their testimonies can be trusted..."

Twelve shook his head. "The kid killed his father. He doesn't deserve to go free."

"But did he kill his father?"

Twelve opened his mouth but said nothing. All the other jurors stared at him silently, waiting. Linda studied his face, but there was nothing in his expression to tell her whether he'd been convinced by their deliberations or not.

Twelve leaned his elbows on the table and buried his head in his hands. When he spoke, it was almost too soft to make it out.

"Not guilty."

"We're now unanimous," Linda said, "but I feel our duty is not done yet. I propose we present our doubts to the judge. Whether it was the boy or not, somebody must answer for this crime. Do the rest of you agree?"

Present time

"Thanks to you, the case was reopened," Mr. Robinson said. "The police later found out that our downstairs neighbor's son killed my dad. Dad had been having an affair with his wife. He found the knife that fell from my pocket when he went to confront him... I think you can figure out what happened from there."

"I'm so sorry..."

Mr. Robinson shook his head. "I was so certain I'd be sent to jail that day. When I was acquitted...it was like getting a second chance at life, and I promised myself that I wouldn't let it go to waste."

Linda smiled and gestured to the luxury interior of the private plane. "It certainly looks like you kept that promise."

"It's all thanks to you. If you hadn't been prepared to fight for what you believed was right, to fight for me, I would've had a very different life, Linda. I owe all my success to you, and now I intend to repay you for the good deed you did for me."

"Repay me? What on earth do you mean?"

"You looked out for me when nobody else did, now I want to do the same for you. It took me a long time to track you down, and when I finally found the school where you worked and called this morning, they told me they let you go. Their loss! From this day on, you will never need to worry about work, rent, or anything like that. It's time you lived for yourself."

Linda smiled sadly. "That's very kind of you, but you're wrong. I can't live for myself until my daughter is back on her feet and free from pain. She had to have surgery recently..."

"Say no more. Money can't fix all of life's problems, but I'll gladly pay for any treatments your daughter needs. Just let me know where she is."

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