Sure enough, after Hazel slammed her door shut, the voices of the three people downstairs rose once more. Their argument did not shrink. It grew louder, more frantic, filled with the bitterness of plans that had collapsed in front of their eyes. Hazel lay silently on her bed, staring at the cracked ceiling. The boards were old, painted over many times. In some corners, she could still see chipped paint peeling like old memories exposing hidden layers beneath.
She tried to ignore them.
But their voices traveled easily through the thin walls and the hollow staircase.
“This little b***h ruined my big plan,” Jacob shouted, his tone furious yet full of complaint. “Now the company is short of funds and has offended someone surnamed Ned.”
The accusation cut through the floorboards. The words
