The room tilted sideways.
"What?" The word came out strangled.
"The Harrisons were the perfect mark." Her father's voice took on that tone he used discussing business opportunities. "Medical bills, college funds—desperate people make careless investors."
Hannah's stomach lurched. "The Harrisons trusted you."
"Everyone trusted me." He smiled, pleased with himself. "That's what made it so easy. A few renovation projects here, some community investment there—" He waved a hand dismissively. "People see what they want to see."
"Mrs. Harrison can't afford her heart medication." The words felt torn from her throat. "Michael's sister had to leave college. They lost everything."
Richard's eyes hardened. "They should have read the fine print."
Hannah stared at this stranger wearing her father's face. Where was the man who'd taught her about integrity? Who'd shown her the value of community? Who'd made her believe in something bigger than profit?
"How can you—" Her voice cracked. "These people were our friends."
"They were marks, Hannah." His tone sharpened. "Business is business. Don't tell me you're getting sentimental about it."
"Sentimental?" She pushed back from the table, the chair scraping against concrete. "You destroyed people's lives!"
"I made a profit." He studied her like she was a disappointing investment. "And you helped me do it."
The accusation hit like a slap. "I never?—"
"All those meetings in your bakery. All those papers you signed." His smile turned sharp. "You really never wondered where the money came from?"
Hannah's legs felt unsteady as she stood. "I trusted you."
"Then you're as naive as they were." He leaned back, unconcerned. "Sugar & Spice was the perfect cover. Who would suspect Richard Everett's innocent daughter with her quaint little bakery?"
The guard approached, indicating time was up. Hannah gripped the back of her chair to stay upright.
"You know what your problem is, sweetheart?" Richard's voice followed her as she turned to leave. "You're too much like your mother. All heart, no business sense."
Hannah walked out without looking back, her father's words ringing in her ears. Each step felt mechanical, disconnected from her body.
Her father wasn't innocent.
He wasn't wrongly accused.
He was exactly what they said he was.
And she had served coffee and smiled and never questioned a thing.
The town's hatred suddenly made terrible, perfect sense.
Hannah stumbledthrough the prison doors, sunlight harsh against her tear-stained face. She made it three steps before her legs gave out.
Then familiar arms caught her.
Jake.
Of course it was Jake.
"I've got you," he murmured, and the gentleness in his voice broke something in her chest.
Hannah let herself collapse against him, face pressed into his shirt. His arms came around her automatically, one hand cradling her head while the other held her steady. She breathed him in—smoke and coffee and that unique Jake-scent that still meant safety, even now, even after everything.
