The weight of the accusation finally hit her. Evelyn Marrow wasn’t just a woman who lost her purse; she was a woman of influence who had reported a theft less than an hour before Lena arrived. Evelyn claimed she’d withdrawn the money for a private transaction and that someone had brushed past her in the park.
“I didn’t take a penny,” Lena whispered, her head in her hands. “There was no cash.” Harlan slid a photo across the table—it was the withdrawal slip from the bank. “The money exists, Lena. It’s gone, and you’re the one holding the bag. Literally.” He watched her for a reaction, his eyes searching for a crack in her story. To him, the narrative was perfect: the desperate job-seeker finds a windfall and tries to play the hero to deflect suspicion.
For the first time, Lena felt the terrifying reality of the legal system. It wasn’t about the truth; it was about the most believable story. And her life—the unpaid bills, the failed interview, the lonely walk in the park—was the perfect script for a crime. “She’s lying,” Lena said, her voice trembling with a sudden, sharp anger. “Or if there was money in there, someone else took it before I got there.”