"Hello?" Phoebe Faulkner was at her desk, brows furrowed as she worked on a design sketch, when the phone on her table started ringing. She answered without checking the caller ID. "Who is this?"
"Phoebe, it's me. It's your uncle."
At the sound of that familiar voice, Phoebe Faulkner's hand, holding the phone, froze for a moment.
When Phoebe didn't reply, the man on the other end coughed, then began to speak again, his tone awkward. "Phoebe, I know now that you were framed. It's all my fault. I didn't understand the situation, I misunderstood you, and I did what I did. But, Phoebe, I had no choice. After you were framed, the Faulkner Group's stock kept falling. I could only… I could only… Phoebe, can… can you forgive me?"
Phoebe Faulkner still said nothing.
