Jerome Sanford was the most reluctant person on Autumn's list. He lived in a rented room behind a barber shop on the south side of Carthage, where the rent was low because the room had a window that faced a brick wall and a radiator that made more noise than heat. He worked part-time at a car wash and carried his pay in cash because opening a new bank account had felt like one more task the world expected him to complete after releasing him from prison. When Autumn first called, he hung up.
She left a message explaining who she was and why she wanted to talk. Two days later, Jerome called back from a borrowed phone and asked whether she could meet him somewhere he would not be seen entering with a reporter. They chose a picnic table behind the barber shop after closing time. Jerome arrived in work clothes, with soap residue still visible near the cuffs of his jeans, and sat facing the parking lot.
"Everybody wants a story now because a general got arrested," he said before Autumn had begun recording. "I got arrested and nobody came." She did not argue. She asked whether he wanted to tell her what had happened and assured him she would not use his name without permission. Jerome watched a car turn at the corner, waited until it disappeared, and then began.
He had been twenty-three when Cheney stopped him near Grace Fellowship, late on a Thursday afternoon. Jerome was driving home from an evening shift at a distribution warehouse. He had never been arrested before and had no reason to believe the stop would be anything more serious than a warning about a broken tail light. Cheney said he smelled marijuana, searched the vehicle, and produced a small bag Jerome had never seen.
Jerome refused to admit it was his. At the station he was told that denying the accusation would only make things worse and that his refusal to cooperate showed he had something to hide. He was charged with possession and held until his mother could arrange bond, which took longer than she expected because the family had little savings. While he waited, he lost his job for missing shifts without explanation.
The lawyer appointed to defend him had dozens of cases and little time to investigate a traffic stop where the only official evidence came from two officers. Jerome insisted that the substance had been planted, but he had no video, no independent witness, and no money for experts. He eventually accepted a plea rather than risk a much longer sentence after trial. He served fourteen months in prison, a term that outlasted his lease, his relationship, and his mother's ability to keep up payments on her house.
"I thought admitting something I didn't do would be the hardest part," Jerome said. "It wasn't. The hardest part was watching my mother sell the place where she raised me because I didn't have any way to prove I was telling the truth." Autumn did not interrupt. Jerome rubbed his hands together and added, "When I came home, people saw the conviction. They didn't see what it cost to survive it."