An hour later, Jerica sat in the living room, her phone clutched in her hand. Harold had left several messages in the past week, his concern evident. She'd avoided calling him back, not wanting to invite more chaos into their already fragile situation. But now, she knew she had no choice.
The phone rang twice before Harold picked up. "Jerica," his voice was sharp, but it softened almost immediately. "I've been trying to reach you. Is everything okay?"
"No," Jerica said bluntly, her voice low but firm. "I need to know the truth, Harold. About the accident."
There was a pause on the other end, and she could almost hear the wheels turning in his mind. "I told you before, Jerica," Harold began cautiously. "The Braddocks weren't behind it."
Jerica tightened her grip on the phone. "I believe you. I've... done my own thinking, and I'm inclined to agree. But that leaves only one possibility, doesn't it?" Her voice faltered, her throat tightening. "The Glovers."
