The Jacket
“That’s mine,” she said with furrowed brows, remembering she’d lost it a week earlier.
“We know it’s yours, Yolanda,” one of the lecturers, a salt and pepper-haired Middle Eastern man, answered.
“This is the only evidence of a breach we found at the archives. It leads us straight to you.” Yolanda almost fell back. “What are you insinuating, sir?”