Chapter 2

Then Max's mother lunged at me.

This time even the two officers couldn't grab her in time.

She seized a fistful of my hair and yanked it down hard.

"Kneel! Kneel to my husband!"

Pain tore across my scalp.

The pull dragged me a stumbling step forward.

The officers finally pried her off.

She used the momentum to drop onto the ground, slapping her chest as she wailed.

"The killer's abusing the victim's family!"

"She ran my husband down, and now she won't even kneel!"

"Where's the justice in that!"

Frieda's eyes were red raw from crying.

She thrust the memorial portrait right up in front of me.

"Kneel! Bow your head to my father."

I looked at Max Walker in the photograph.

Two months ago, he'd been hospitalized with a stroke.

The Walkers couldn't cover the deposit for surgery.

I was the one who wired over eighty thousand overnight.

After he was discharged, he came to see me carrying a box of fruit that had already gone bad.

He said he'd pay it back for sure.

I told him there was no rush.

But now Frieda was saying that eighty thousand had been her father lending money to me.

I looked at her.

"That eighty thousand was the surgery cost I fronted for your father."

"The transfer record is right here on my phone. I never owed him anything."

Frieda looked like she'd been waiting for exactly those words.

She covered her mouth, tears pouring harder.

"So you finally admit it!"

"I knew it, you've been holding that eighty thousand over my father this whole time to shame him!"

Max's mother chimed in at once.

"When you gave the money you clearly said it was a gift!"

"Now that he's dead, you're calling it a loan!"

"Are you planning to hound the two of us to death too?"

The officers stopped them and said they were taking me to the garage.

I got my phone back and found over two thousand unread messages in the neighborhood residents' group.

【A murderer actually lives in our neighborhood?】

【It's terrifying. My kid walks past her door every single day.】

【So having money means you can drive a sports car and kill people?】

【She has to move out!】

Frieda had already posted the surveillance footage, the photo of her father lying in a pool of blood, and the video of me refusing to kneel to the group.

The head of the homeowners' association put out a notice:

【Until the case is resolved, Louise Gilbert's access to the neighborhood clubhouse, the shared parking lot, and all other common facilities is suspended.】

【The residents have already started a petition demanding she move out immediately.】

I looked at that petition list. It was full of familiar names.

Last year, during the heavy rains, the basement of Building Three flooded.

I was the one who opened up my studio so a dozen or so neighbors could store their valuables for a while.

In winter, a water pipe burst.

Again, I was the one who found the repair crew and fronted the emergency costs.

The same people in that group who used to say "Louise is such a good person," over and over.

Now they were debating what color paint to throw on my door.

I took a deep breath and called the company lawyer.

"Secure the evidence for me."

I had just stepped out of the police station.

A crowd of reporters closed in.

The microphones were almost jabbing into my face.

"Ms. Gilbert, do you admit to the hit-and-run?"

"Someone says you and the victim had a long-standing debt dispute. Is that true?"

The flashes were so bright I couldn't keep my eyes open.

I didn't answer, but Frieda suddenly came running up from behind.

Clutching her father's portrait, she slammed headfirst into my back.

"Don't you leave! My father's still lying in the morgue! What gives you the right to go home and sleep!"

She threw herself to the ground, crying like her heart was breaking.

In the reporters' shots,

it looked like I'd shoved down a pitiful woman who'd just lost her father.

Someone screamed curses at me:

"Are you even human?"

"You kill someone and then bully the victim's daughter!"

"Everyone, get a clear shot of her face!"

A bottle of water flew out of the crowd.

It hit me in the forehead.

Right after, eggs and half-finished bubble tea came flying at me.

The police tried to hold order.

But there were too many people.

Someone yanked my hair in the chaos.

Someone kicked me hard.

And someone pressed close to my ear and spat:

"Murderer, you'll get what's coming to you sooner or later!"