It wasn’t fair, of course. He only led me, I followed. Now that he’s gone, I’ve got no one to blame but myself.” JACOB SCHROCK Sitting alone in the interrogation room, Jacob realized that he’d never sincerely given thanks for his parents or for their store. He should’ve, he knew that. Schrock’s Variety Store was a part of who he was. It was his legacy. His earliest memory was sitting on a counter, his father holding him steady while a pair of customers chatted with them both. When he was older, he used to work beside his mother, folding bags for people who checked out, or straightening a shelf. Often, he’d been given a job like holding a kitten or sitting with some customers who had come inside for ice cream in the summer. Through the years, there had always been something eventful going on. When he was younger, Jacob, like his father, had fed off the chaos.
