If there was one thing Allison Blake—sorry, "Nancy"—excelled at, it was putting on a show.
The trick was knowing your audience.
In this case, her audience consisted of the pompous, powdered faces of the board members at the prestigious Carter Academy for Young Achievers. The private school was legendary for molding the offspring of the elite into slightly less insufferable versions of their parents. It was also the very institution where her son, little Max, was enrolled.
Today, Allie wore a cardigan so drab it practically apologized for existing. Her makeup was barely there, just enough to look like she'd made an effort but had tragically run out of time because of her "three other jobs." Her hair, usually a glossy waterfall, was pulled back into a humble ponytail, with a few artfully escaped strands framing her face.
She looked, in a word, desperate.
"Name?" asked the headmaster, a tall, thin man whose glasses magnified his judgmental eyes to the size of dinner plates.
Allie smiled timidly. "Nancy." Pause. Blink. "Just Nancy."
The headmaster blinked back. "I see. And your credentials?"
She slid over a folder, one she'd painstakingly forged. It was filled with glowing recommendations from schools that didn't exist, diplomas from universities that only she could find on a map, and a list of accomplishments that would make Marie Curie look like a slacker.
He skimmed through it, frowning. "You've taught at... the East-West School of Global Harmony?"
"Yes," Allie said earnestly. "It's very prestigious. Small class sizes. Big emphasis on personal growth. Unfortunately, it burned down in an unfortunate candle-making experiment."
"I'm... sorry to hear that," the headmaster said, visibly puzzled.
"It was tragic," Allie said solemnly, lowering her voice. "We lost a lot of great candles."
The headmaster's frown deepened, but he moved on. "What drew you to Carter Academy?"
Allie clasped her hands together and looked down as if summoning the strength to answer.
"I've always dreamed of teaching at a school like this," she said softly. "Where I could… give back." She sniffed for dramatic effect. "You see, I grew up with nothing. My parents were…" She let her voice tremble. "…trapeze artists. They worked so hard, but it wasn't enough. I had to fight for every opportunity, every morsel of education. That's why I want to help children. So they don't have to fight like I did."
"How inspiring," murmured one of the board members, a woman with pearls the size of ping-pong balls.
"Yes," Allie said, dabbing at an imaginary tear. "I believe every child deserves a chance to succeed, even if their parents aren't trapeze artists."
The headmaster looked unconvinced. "We take the safety and well-being of our students very seriously," he said. "Have you ever had… disciplinary issues?"
Allie straightened up, putting on her best "I'm so shocked you'd even ask" face. "Of course not. I've always been firm but fair. Children thrive on structure, you know. And hugs. But not too many hugs, because boundaries are important. It's a delicate balance."
"And what would you say are your greatest strengths?" another board member asked.
"Oh, where to begin?" allie said, tilting her head as if she hadn't already rehearsed this answer in front of her bathroom mirror ten times. "I'm patient, resourceful, and… creative."
"Creative?"
"Yes," she said brightly. "For example, once, when my class ran out of paper, I taught the students to write on banana peels. It's eco-friendly and nutritious."
The board exchanged skeptical glances, but the pearl-wearing woman looked charmed. "How innovative," she said.
The headmaster sighed. "Do you have any questions for us, Miss… Nnacy?"
"Just Nancy," she corrected, smiling sweetly. "And yes, I do. I was wondering about the… educational philosophy here. For example, do you believe in fostering emotional intelligence alongside academics?"
This was a calculated risk. The headmaster's type usually loved to drone on about pedagogy, and sure enough, he launched into a lengthy explanation about balanced curriculums and holistic approaches.
Allie nodded thoughtfully, throwing in the occasional "Mm-hmm" and "Exactly!" to keep him going. Meanwhile, her eyes discreetly scanned the room for any signs of security cameras or hidden safes. You could tell a lot about a school by how they protected their secrets.
Finally, the interview wrapped up. "We'll be in touch," the headmaster said, which was code for "Don't call us, we'll call you."
Allie stood, bowing slightly. "Thank you for your time. It's been an honor."
As she exited the room, she allowed herself a tiny smirk. The board might not know it yet, but Nancy was about to become the Carter Academy's most unforgettable teacher. She'd made sure of it.
Later that evening, back at her penthouse, Allie dropped the Nancy act and slipped into her hacker persona.
The interview had given her all the intel she needed: the school's internal network was laughably outdated, the security cameras were poorly positioned, and the staff login credentials were written on a sticky note taped to the headmaster's desk.
"Honestly, it's like they want to be hacked," she muttered, typing furiously on her laptop. "Alfred, connect me to the school's server."
"Right away, ma'am," the AI replied.
Within minutes, Allie was inside the system. She navigated through student records until she found her son's profile. There he was: Max Carter, age three, class designation "Bright Little Stars."
She couldn't help but smile at the photo. He was pouting in it, clearly unimpressed with whoever had dared to take his picture. "That's my boy," she whispered.
But this wasn't just about reconnecting with him. Allie needed leverage, and the school's database was a treasure trove of blackmail material. Financial records, disciplinary reports, even the occasional hushed-up scandal—she downloaded it all onto an encrypted drive.
"Anything juicy?" Alfred asked.
"Oh, you have no idea," Allie said, grinning. "Did you know the headmaster's wife is funneling school funds into her dog's fashion line?"
"How avant-garde," Alfred said dryly.
Allison leaned back in her chair, spinning the flash drive between her fingers. This was just the beginning. By the time she was done, the Carters wouldn't know what hit them.
Her phone buzzed with an email that immediately put a smile on Allie's face.
"Phase two, complete," she said to herself. "Nancy is in. Now it's time to make some waves."