As Nicole chased after Jarrod to the door, his silver sports car, with Vicki already seated inside, had started up.
âJarrod!â Nicole shouted.
The silver sports car sped off without pausing, leaving a trail of arrogant smoke.
Nicole clenched her fists.
He had definitely seen her.
Yet, he drove off, his face smug as if he had already triumphed.
This deepened Nicoleâs worries, fearing Jarrod might harm Roscoe.
Her hands shook so violently that driving was impossible.
She hastily flagged down a taxi and rushed to Roscoeâs workplace.
In the taxi, Nicole replayed the dayâs events over in her mind.
She figured the Hampton family would have harbored resentment for Jarrod and wouldnât lend a helping hand to him because of the humiliation caused by Jarrod and his harsh ways of dealing with the relatives of the Hampton family.
Coupled with the blow Loweâs disdainful behaviors had brought, she guessed the Hampton family would defend themselves at all cost, turning a cold shoulder to Jarrodâs dilemma.
Nicole had guessed correctly on all counts except for Vicki.
Vicki was fond of Jarrod and might seek her familyâs assistance for Jarrodâs pickle.
Jarrodâs brief exchange with Vicki previously had confirmed her suspicions.
Jarrod was exceptionally vindictive, and Nicole was sure he had already figured out how to deal with her.
She knew what was on his mind.
It felt like a sinister game of cat and mouse, where Jarrod enjoyed prolonging the chase before striking a devastating blow.
However, he would not show the same patience toward Roscoe.
Plus, Roscoeâs decision to turn against the Watts family and present that evidence would spell disaster for him.
As Nicole watched the Landscape recede through the car window, she made a firm decision.
She had to protect Roscoe.
He was such a kind soul who had greatly supported her.
If anything happened to him because of her, she would never forgive herself.
The taxi finally pulled up in front of the building where Roscoe worked.
Nicole stepped out of the taxi and headed for the entrance but the receptionist blocked her path.
âMiss, Iâm sorry, do you have an appointment?â
âNo, Iâm looking forâ¦â Nicole paused, struggling with the formality.
âMr.
Watts.
â
âIâm sorry, he didnât come to the office today,â the receptionist informed her.
Nicole felt a knot form in her stomach and asked urgently, âWhat about yesterday? Did he come here then? When did he leave?â
âIâm sorry.
I canât disclose his whereabouts,â the receptionist replied, shaking her head.
Nicole recalled her phone conversation with Roscoe from the previous day.
He had told her he was still at work and hadnât left for home yet.
If he hadnât returned home last night, then surely something must have gone wrong.
The more Nicole pondered, the more her fear grew, causing cold sweat to bead on her forehead.
After finishing a phone call, the receptionist noticed Nicole frozen in place and asked, âMiss, may I have your name? I need to register it.
â
âNicole Lawrence.
â
âMiss Lawrence, correct?â The receptionistâs voice lifted slightly in inquiry.
âYes,â Nicole responded, oblivious to the receptionistâs look of surprise.