I watched in disbelief as they took my grandson, Ricky, away in handcuffs. His head hung low, and no matter how many times I called his name, he wouldn’t look at me. Ricky was a good kid—stubborn, but good. He made mistakes, but I knew he wasn’t a criminal.
The officer barely met my gaze as he shut the squad car door. “He’ll be booked downtown, ma’am,” he said, before driving off.
Hours passed, and the silence in the house was unbearable. Then, late that night, a knock at the door. It was the officer, Detective Owens.
“Where’s Ricky?” I asked, stiffening.
“He’s being processed,” he replied, but his tone was different now. “Ms. Halloway… there’s something you need to know.”
I frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Owens hesitated, then admitted, “I made a mistake. Ricky shouldn’t have been arrested… the evidence was planted.”
I froze. “Planted?”
“Someone set him up,” Owens confessed. “A cop. Sheriff Dwayne Miller.”
My blood ran cold. Sheriff Miller, the corrupt man who had controlled this town for decades, wanted my grandson gone.
I stood tall. “Tell me everything. We’re bringing him down.”
