<div style="text-align: justify;">Jessica kept an eye on Carl as he drove. Somehow, following the man's movements kept her from freaking out. Or from freaking out more than she was, at least. Feeling in desperate need to focus on anything, the woman decided she might as well focus on a living, breathing person to keep from obsessively thinking about a dead one. It was a nice change, hopefully. Eventually, Jessica would look at the cars around them and the stop signs. She didn't really complain that he didn't actually stop. It wasn't like they were on a leisure drive, after all.<br/><br/>Jessica's mind hadn't really place much importance in her missing handbag. Sure, it would be a pain to have to get her ID card done again. And the keys to the house where in there. The woman felt a chill down her spine and an unpleasant feeling of nausea. <span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-style: italic">Oh, God, the keys</span></span>, she thought to herself, closing her eyes. The silence in the car now felt like a third person, and the woman tried to think about something, anything, to break it. Breathing a sigh of relief when Carl did it for her, Jessica turned her head slowly.<br/><br/>"He is a bank clerk, for the <a class="postlink" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/J.P._Morgan_%26_Co."><span style="color: #00FFFF">House of Morgan</span></a>", she replied. After a pause and some consideration, she added something, almost as an afterthought. "The keys to my home were in my handbag. You don't suppose someone could...?". Her voice faded there, all the worst case scenarios rushing into her mind. Feeling tears burn in her eyes, Jessica turned her face away from the man and waited for him to reassure her - or confirm her fears.</div>