The other janitors crowded around, watching with pity in their eyes. This trash had no name, no owner, and certainly couldn't speak for itself—how on earth was Ruby supposed to prove it wasn't hers?
To them, Ruby had already lost before the whole thing even began.
Soon, a group trailed after Ruby and Fiona out onto the street.
Along the curb where they'd been the day before, cigarette butts, plastic bags, dirty napkins—every kind of trash, wet and dry—were piled up in the flowerbed, so obvious and foul that people instinctively pinched their noses.
Ruby couldn't help glancing up at Darell. He stood behind Fiona, smug and unbothered, not the slightest hint of guilt on his face. It was as if none of this had anything to do with him.
Ruby dropped her gaze.
"I don't admit it."
"You—!" Fiona scoffed, folding her arms, a cold, sneering light in her eyes. "There's hard evidence against you. You really think just denying it will fix everything?"
If Fiona wanted to, she could have pulled rank and punished Ruby on the spot. Ruby wouldn't even have a chance to defend herself. This whole charade—dragging things out in public—was just for show.
But Ruby spoke calmly: "I have a witness."
"A witness?" Fiona snorted, glancing around with a smirk. "Where are they then?"
Who could possibly back Ruby up? One of these cleaning ladies on her payroll? Fiona almost burst out laughing.
Ruby twisted her fingers anxiously, her heart pounding. Would that old woman really show up as promised?
As she agonized, a luxury car pulled up to the curb. A woman in a black dress and white apron stepped out first, then respectfully helped an elegant older lady from the back seat.
"Ma'am, is that the cleaner you were talking about?"
"That's right, it's her."
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