Clara’s heart thudded. “That was the shirt I found. The one we fought over.” Marc leaned back, stunned. “She set us up. On purpose.” Clara’s eyes narrowed. “Check the office next.” She scrubbed through hours of footage until she paused again—Rosa, entering Clara’s office, alone.
This time, Rosa didn’t bother with pretense. She looked around, then slipped something from her apron. Clara’s stomach twisted. The camera caught a glint—a small object placed behind the desk, near the baseboard. Rosa adjusted it, stood back, then walked out.