Hannah's fingers trembled as she reached for her earrings—the delicate gold ones Jake had given her for Christmas. The officer held out an evidence bag, waiting with mechanical patience as Hannah fumbled with the clasps.
Next came her necklace. Jake had fastened it for her countless mornings, his rough hands so gentle against her skin. She'd loved the contrast—his carpenter's calluses catching on the delicate chain as he'd whispered "morning, sweetheart" against her lips.
The metal links caught the fluorescent light as they dropped into the evidence bag.
"Stand here." Another command, another step in a process that felt like a nightmare. "Look straight ahead."
The camera flash blinded her. Once. Twice. Three times.
Turn left.
Turn right.
Hold the placard higher.
Her muscles moved automatically, obeying commands while her mind screamed that this wasn't real. That any moment she'd wake up in Jake's arms, safe and warm and normal.
The fingerprinting came next.
The ink was cold and sticky against her skin. Foreign. Wrong. These were her baker's hands—meant for kneading dough, for piping delicate frosting flowers, for threading through Jake's hair when he kissed her. Not for this. Never for this.
"Remove your apron."
Hannah's fingers clenched in the flour-dusted fabric. Her grandmother's apron. The one she'd worn every morning since taking over Sugar & Spice. The last piece of her real life.
"Ms. Everett." The officer's voice sharpened. "The apron."
She untied it with numb fingers. The fabric still smelled like home, like safety, like everything that had been ripped away from her in the space of a morning.
The officer took it without ceremony, adding it to the growing pile of evidence bags. Evidence. Like her life was something to be cataloged and filed away.
Hannah wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold in just her T-shirt and jeans. The flour dust on her clothes felt like a ghost of who she'd been just hours ago. Hannah Everett, the baker. The girl who danced to oldies music while making cinnamon rolls. The woman Jake Cooper loved.
Now she was just Hannah Everett, suspect.
The interrogation roomwas exactly like the ones Hannah had seen on TV—a metal table bolted to the floor, uncomfortablechairs, and a mirror that was probably a window. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, making her head throb.
She folded her hands in her lap to hide their trembling.
Two agents entered. The woman was sharp-featured and elegant, with dark eyes that seemed to cut right through Hannah's defenses. The nameplate on her jacket read "Martinez." The man was older, gruffer, with the kind of face that had forgotten how to smile.
"State your name and date of birth for the record." Martinez's voice was cool, professional.
"Hannah Elizabeth Everett." Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard. "March fifteenth."
Martinez opened a file, spreading photos across the table like playing cards. Hannah recognized her father's office. The theater he was renovating. Sugar & Spice.
"How long have you been laundering money through your bakery, Ms. Everett?"
The question hit like a slap. "What? I'm not—I would never?—"
"When did your father bring you into the operation?" The male agent cut in. "Was it when you took over the bakery, or before?"
"No, you don't understand." Hannah's chest tightened. "My father isn't—he wouldn't?—"
Martinez's eyebrow arched. "We have financial records tying you directly to fraudulent transactions. Would you like to explain those?"
"I don't know anything about fraudulent transactions." The words felt small, useless. "I just run a bakery. I make bread. I frost cakes. That's all."
