Faced with their accusations, a question flashed in my mind.
Why, after I had been locked in a police station for three days, were these people still coming after me?
But unlike the panicked, frantic me of my past life, I was incredibly calm.
“I think you have the wrong person,” I said, unhurriedly. “The person who did those things is named Stella, not Melody Reid. If you don’t believe me, check the securi- ty footage.”
“We knew you’d say that!” one of them sneered. “We came prepared so you can’t deny it when we hand you over to the police!” They all pulled out their phones and played the footage
The person in the videos, committing all those crimes, was still me.
The livestream chat exploded with comments.
[Wow, it takes all kinds. I’ve never seen a thief so brazenly accuse someone else.]
[Not only does she refuse to admit her crimes, she tries to pin them on someone else. Why doesn’t this woman just die?]
Seeing this, my heart sank.
Before I was taken into custody, I had considered the possibility that Mark and Stella wouldn’t give up, that they would still try to frame me.
But I hadn’t expected the worst–case scenario to still happen.
My silence was taken as guilt, as if their accusations had hit their mark.
The restaurant owner shoved his bill in my face. “You bitch! You eat at my place, then you smash my plates and bowls! How can you be so disgusting?”
“The bill is $888.88, and the damage to the tableware and lost business comes to $200. You owe me $1,088.88 in total!”
The mall manager, with a salesclerk in tow, stepped forward, frowning “You took a popular handbag from a luxury boutique. That bag alone is worth ten thousand, thirty with the required extra purchases. Add in the damage to mall property, and you owe us forty thousand dollars. Pay up!”
