“And I do?” I demanded, my voice rising with frustration.
The officer didn’t flinch. “Yes, people like you always cause trouble. Now, come with us.”
Ginger smirked, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “See? Look at her. She’s wearing stolen jewelry. There’s no way she could afford that.”
“I’m not a thief!” I screamed, my voice shaking with fury. “I’m Tracie Whitaker, the daughter of Europe’s wealthiest family!”
The room went silent for a moment before a ripple of laughter spread through the crowd.
Bobbie leaned in close, his voice a mocking whisper. “See how quickly they judge? Do you understand what I mean now about justice?”
I glared at him, anger and helplessness roiling inside me. “You did this,” I said, grinding my teeth.
“No, babe,” he replied softly, his tone laced with mockery. “They did this to you because they think you’re poor.”
His words sank in like a heavy weight, crushing any hope I had left. I was trapped, and no one would believe me.
The interrogation room felt like a prison—cold, stifling, and oppressive. I sat motionless in the metal chair, my wrists resting on the table as I refused to acknowledge the officers looming over me.