“I’m a history teacher,” Jenny started, her voice steady but tinged with anxiety. “These are just replicas I use for my classes.” She laid out her explanation, trying to convey the innocence of her intentions. But as she spoke, she could feel their disbelief growing. Their expressions remained unchanged, unyielding, as if her words were just floating in the air, unheard.
The other officer, a young man with a sharp gaze, leaned forward. “And you expect us to believe these aren’t the stolen items from the museum?” he asked, his tone suggesting the question was rhetorical. Jenny’s heart sank. It was like speaking to a wall. Desperation crept into her voice. “Please, you have to believe me. I haven’t done anything wrong.”