It wasn’t a fruit stall. It was a drop point for a criminal network.
The elderly woman had been used as a courier, her innocent appearance serving as cover.
Her Story
“My name is Elena Markham,” she said. “I don’t know how it all works. A man came to me after my son got sick. He said I could earn money if I just stood on the street with my vegetables. He said I shouldn’t sell to anyone except the people who ‘knew.’”
Her hands shook as she spoke. “He told me if I refused, he’d take our room. He knew where we lived. He knew about my son’s medicine. I was scared.”
“Do you know his name?” Ruiz asked.
“They call him Mr. Mercer,” she whispered. “But I don’t think that’s his real name. They watch me from across the street. Always watching.”
Jake looked down at her calloused palms — the rough lines of someone who’d worked the soil for years. She wasn’t a criminal mastermind. She was a desperate mother who had been used.
Compassion Meets Justice
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