Clare’s thoughts felt slippery, like she couldn’t hold onto them long enough to form questions. By the time she heard the voices outside—firm, official—her heart had already begun to race. The officers were polite. Almost apologetic. They asked her name. Asked if the bag belonged to her. Then one of them reached inside and removed a small, unmarked sachet sealed in clear plastic.
White powder. Clare stared at the sachet on the desk, her mouth dry. “That’s not mine,” she said immediately. “I’ve never seen that before.” No one argued with her. That was worse. One of the officers turned to the manager. “Can you show us the footage?”