Here she was, sixty years old, twenty five of those working
at Belmont, with never even as much as a traffic ticket citation,
facing a university hearing panel. Here she was--accused of forging
seven student feedback forms. The lump in her stomach and the one
in her throat were trying to join together and drag the rest of her
down into a black, empty tunnel of fear. Resisting the pull,
she looked around the hearing room and met the eyes of the stenographer
who smiled at her encouragingly.
Janet Parks had attended many hearings. Her job was to
faithfully record every spoken word on her transcription machine.
Most of the time, she plied her trade in the courts but
occasionally she was called out into the private sector.
She had seen a lot of people on trial and her observant eyes
took in every detail.
The configuration of the hearing room had not been lost on
her so when she met the eyes of the accused, Diana Trenchant,
she felt a tug of sympathy. She noted Diana's pale, drawn features
and erect bearing. Here was a woman, thought Janet, who would
never use makeup or any other cover up. She has such a direct,
honest look it's hard to believe that she is the one in trouble
here.
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