“Then you can print a correction before the official programs go to press on Friday,” I said. “There are still four days left.”
He tapped his finger against the edge of his desk, his gold pen lying untouched beside his keyboard. The sound was flat against the wood.
“The layout is already locked into the press templates,” Vance said, his voice carrying a practiced, soft politeness. “We cannot stop the print run for one adjustment.”
“A student name is not an adjustment,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “It is her entire four years.”
He picked up his mug again, looking past me at the window that faced the student parking lot.
“We have to follow the production schedule the school board approved,” he said.
I picked up the paper, the corners softening under my fingers from the heat of my hand.
“I will pay the fee to halt the press,” I said. “Tell me what the printer charges for a redraft.”
Vance shook his head, a small, patronizing smile appearing for a second before his face went blank again.
“It is not a matter of money, Margaret,” he said.
