The police car smoothly headed towards the city.
In front of the Beldon Police Departnt, a large crowd could be seen gathered from afar.
Caras flared, and reporters lingered, all eyes fixed on the intersection.
As soon as the police car reached the intersection, the crowd stirred and rushed forward instantly.
Silhouettes jostled against each other.
The flashes blinded one’s vision.
Holly peered out the car window at the throng, those twisted faces making her heart sink bit by bit.
These reporters were clearly waiting for a long ti; she feared as soon as she stepped into the police car, they caught the scent and ca.
How could there be such a coincidence in the world?
This was obviously soone trying to ruin her reputation.
The crowd outside surrounded the police car, making it difficult to move.
Ulysses Grant signaled to the two police officers in the front seats, and they got out to attempt dispersing the crowd.
But as soon as the car door opened, the reporters clung to the door fra, thrusting caras and recorders inside, their noisy questions bombarding Holly’s ears one after another:
"Holly, please answer directly; were you really involved in a DUI accident tonight?"
"According to insiders, the victim was not only pregnant but also the current partner of your ex-boyfriend; is this revenge?"
"As a public figure with a certain social influence, don’t you know the dangers of drunk driving? Does this an you disregard the law?"
The reporters’ questions were becoming increasingly sharp and vicious, as if they had already convicted her.
Holly instinctively shrank back into her seat; the flashes made it almost impossible for her to keep her eyes open. In front of her was blinding white light, and in her ears were piercing questions.
Just as she felt she was about to be engulfed by this montum, beside her, Ulysses Grant turned sideways, shielding Holly securely behind him.
His piercing hawk-like gaze swept coldly over the most aggressive reporters just now.
The cold harshness and toughness in his eyes were entirely revealed at this mont, as if they could pierce through one’s heart.
The noisy reporters felt a chill down their spines from his glance; the words they wanted to say got stuck in their throats, and their hands holding the recorders trembled.
Ulysses Grant pointed at one leading male reporter, his voice cutting through all the noise at the scene.
"The case isn’t even investigated, the evidence isn’t established, and yet you’ve already convicted soone? Why don’t I take off this police uniform and let you wear it? Do you want to be the police officer in my place?"
The male reporter shivered, his face turned white from being confronted, but he forced himself to say, "You... you are covering up! You’re being unreasonable!"
His peripheral vision caught sight of the badge on Ulysses Grant’s police uniform; seeing it was just a junior rank, his fear subsided a bit, and he stiffened his neck to retort: "You’re just a junior officer, speaking such nonsense! Are you involved with Holly or sothing?"
Ulysses Grant scoffed, tugging at his uniform collar with an air of ruthless authority, "The criminals I’ve handcuffed personally are more than the alive people you’ve interviewed. The first murder case I handled, you kid were still wearing crotchless pants playing in the mud, crying for your mom’s milk, weren’t you?"
The officer beside him imdiately sternly admonished, "This is our Detective Captain Ulysses Grant, watch your language!"
Upon hearing this title, the reporter’s face changed.
And upon hearing his surna was Grant, his face turned pale directly.
Ulysses Grant... In Beldon, the Grants are surely not....
His legs began to shake, losing all arrogance.
At that mont, there was a disturbance on the outermost part of the crowd.
In the depths of the night, dazzling car lights approached, casting an imposing presence, cutting through the night, and carving a path through the chaotic crowd.
The crowd instinctively turned back, seeing five black rcedes-AMG G63s lined up, parked steadily not far away.
The doors opened almost simultaneously, and four bodyguards, dressed in black, from each car moved in coordinated precision, forming a human wall that separated the reporters, forcibly clearing a way.
The situation was instantly brought under control.
On either side of the road, the streetlights wove a dim yellow halo, and at the end against the light, a tall silhouette stood with notable presence.
Blake Sinclair, dressed in a black suit, the hem slightly moving in the night breeze, emanating a powerful aura that commanded respect without anger.
He walked straight ahead, the surrounding clamor miraculously quieting due to his authoritative presence.
Blake Sinclair approached the police car, his gaze through the window landing on Holly, who was shielded by Ulysses Grant; his eyes, usually deep and tranquil, showed a slight ripple of pity.
He exchanged a glance with Ulysses Grant without any apparent emotion.
Then he turned to face the guilty reporters, "Treat these reporters well; don’t let a single one slip away."
His words were firm, like a verdict.
With the road cleared, the police car was finally able to enter the police station.
From the mont Blake Sinclair appeared, Holly felt like she was supported from behind, suddenly having a reliance, a point of emotional anchorage.
Blake Sinclair almost couldn’t hold back, striding forward, but halted at Holly’s gesture of shaking her head.
She was led off the car by a policewoman into the building.
Blake Sinclair silently followed at a distance, like a silent mountain, wordlessly blocking the storm outside for her.
Ulysses Grant ca over holding a bag, a cigarette between his lips, his tone casual yet reassuring, "Just follow the procedures; for now, go inside for a statent."
Holly understood the routine, nodded to indicate her understanding.
He handed the bag to a nearby policewoman, "Take her to change her clothes first."
"Got it, Captain Grant."
Holly changed into the clothes Blake Sinclair had prepared, a simple t-shirt and pants, loose and comfortable, with a faint scent of cedar, the familiar fragrance calming her.
The place she imagined for making the statent turned out not to be a dark interrogation room like in TV dramas, but a small cubicle next to the police officer’s working area, brightly lit.
Through the glass window, she could see Blake Sinclair standing outside.
Throughout the statent process, Ulysses Grant was present, frowning slightly when he heard her ntion the perfu scent she noticed when she got into the car.
After the statent was completed, several police officers left the room, leaving only Ulysses Grant and Holly sitting across each other.
The door was pushed open, and Blake Sinclair entered, holding a thermos cup.
He didn’t speak, rely opened the cup and poured out a cup of water, placing it in front of Holly, the sweet aroma wafting out, heartwarming.
Ulysses Grant glanced up at him, snorted, "Really treating the Beldon Police Departnt as your Sinclair family backyard?"
Blake Sinclair didn’t take his bait, his gaze falling on Holly’s swollen bitten lip, and the pain in his eyes almost overflowed.
Just then, a police officer jogged over to Ulysses Grant and whispered a few words in his ear.
Ulysses Grant’s previously indifferent eyes suddenly darkened.
His hand, holding the cigarette, paused as he looked at Blake Sinclair, "News from the hospital, Mia Chapelle is awake. She specifically asked to see Holly and demanded the entire eting be live-stread, with reporters recording."
"Live streaming?" Holly reflexively clenched her fingers and looked at Blake Sinclair.
Blake Sinclair returned the grip on her hand, his expression turning cold.
Ulysses Grant cursed under his breath.
He removed the cigarette from his lips and casually extinguished it in the ashtray beside him, "Tell her that the police have their own procedures when conducting investigations. It’s not up to her demands. Such unreasonable requests should be outright denied."
Holly had cald down significantly, and the overlooked details gradually beca clear.
She looked at Ulysses Grant: "Officer Grant, I will go see her."
Ulysses Grant raised an eyebrow, sowhat surprised: "Have you thought this through? According to the latest news, she just ca out of the delivery room, and the child didn’t survive.
Right now, the internet is full of news about you drunk driving and hitting a pregnant woman. If sothing goes wrong during the live stream, public opinion will swallow you whole."
"The child didn’t survive?"
Even though she was prepared, hearing this news caused her body to sway, the glaring red flashed before her eyes again, and her stomach churned violently.
Blake Sinclair imdiately supported her, gently patting her back to comfort her.
Holly bit her lip to stay clear-headed. After overcoming the nausea, she looked at Ulysses Grant again with composure, "Avoiding won’t solve the problem."
Ulysses Grant saw the resoluteness in her eyes, clicked his tongue, then turned to Blake Sinclair, half-teasing, half-serious: "You’re not stopping her and just letting your wife make a scene?"
Blake Sinclair’s gaze remained fixed on Holly, seeing her try to maintain her strength made his heartache like being pricked by needles.
But he respected her choice, only holding her hand tighter.
He looked at Ulysses Grant, with absolute protection in his voice: "If she wants to go, she goes. Even if the sky falls, I’ll hold it up."
Holly felt reassured by his words, the two exchanged a look, a silent understanding passing through the air.
Ulysses Grant rolled his eyes helplessly: "Fine, you two are united, your strength can cut through gold."
Holly looked at him, "Officer Grant, could you do a favor?"
...
Hospital, VIP ward floor.
The sll of disinfectant was strong and penetrating.
Outside the deluxe ward at the end of the corridor, two plainclothes officers stood up promptly upon seeing Ulysses Grant and gestured to him.
Ulysses Grant pushed open the ward door, with Holly and Blake Sinclair following behind him.
They were followed by five or six journalists, the very sa ones who were the most disruptive at the police departnt entrance just earlier.
At the mont, their caras were already focused on the ward.
Inside the ward, Mia Chapelle lay weakly on the hospital bed, wearing a mask, exposing only a pair of swollen, tear-filled eyes,
Zion Pence and his mother Ruby Ford were at her bedside.
Upon seeing Holly, Ruby Ford scread and charged forward: "Holly, give back my grandson! What did our Pence family do to deserve such a calamity from you, you pay with your life!"
The police officer beside her reacted quickly, stepping forward to stop her imdiately.
Ruby Ford continued swearing, while Zion Pence hurried to pull her back.
He looked at Holly, his eyes complex, filled with pain and disappointnt, "Holly, why did you do this? The child was innocent."
Holly couldn’t care less about his phony act.
At this mont, Blake Sinclair stepped forward and shielded Holly behind him, coldly staring at him: "Mr. Pence, please mind your language."
Zion Pence was intimidated by Blake Sinclair’s aura, and seeing his protection over Holly, a strange jealousy and resentnt surged in his heart.
He began to blurt out: "President Sinclair, the one lying on the hospital bed is my wife! The one lost is my child! Who caused all this? You’re here protecting her, but who’s going to look out for us?"
He pointed a trembling finger at Holly.
Feigning pitifully wretched.
Mia Chapelle, lying on the bed, saw Zion Pence’s loss of control, Blake Sinclair’s protection, and the respectful attitude of the police towards Holly, a slight unease crossed her mind.
Feeling things weren’t going as planned.
But upon seeing those familiar journalists’ faces, her anxious heart finally eased.
She spoke weakly, her voice floating, full of grievance, "Officers, please tell , has the live streaming started yet?"
A female officer stepped forward, officially reconfirming: "Ms. Chapelle, we’re confirming with you once again, do you still wish to proceed with the live stream under this condition?"
Mia Chapelle shot a resentful glance at Holly, tears rolling down.
She looked toward the cara: "I’m sure, my child can’t just vanish in vain! I want everyone to see, I demand justice!"
The female officer looked at Ulysses Grant, who nodded.
The journalists imdiately began to act, setting up the positions, lenses focused on Mia Chapelle and Holly, the live stream officially began.
Mia Chapelle, with reddened eyes, looked straight at Holly, starting her accusation: "Holly! You disregarded the law, drunk driving, injuring others, causing to lose my child, why can you stand here unhard?
Is it just because you have Blake Sinclair backing you, you can act with impunity? Today, in front of all the live viewers, you must give , give my deceased child an explanation!"
She cried her grievance, each word piercing, trying to use public opinion and morality to corner Holly.
Holly quietly listened to her accusation, watching Mia Chapelle’s performance, her gaze growing colder.
"What kind of explanation do you want?"
Mia Chapelle didn’t expect her to be so calm, stunned for a mont, and cried out in grief, "All I want is justice! Fairness! Drunk driving, a living life taken! I’m a mother who lost her child, I only want justice for my child!"
She kept emphasizing "drunk driving," trying to firmly plant that label on Holly.
The ward was filled with oppressive sobbing, the cara captured Holly’s expression closely, everyone waiting for her breakdown or defense.
However, Holly rely raised her chin slightly.
"But, I didn’t drink at all that night," her voice wasn’t loud, yet it transmitted through the cara to every corner of the live stream, "So where does the claim of drunk driving co from?"
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