The sky changed instantly when she looked at the four people opposite her. Arguing with people who are mentally unstable seemed like a losing proposition.

The rather robust old lady strode forward, using her body to shield the others, craned her neck and confronted her: “What are you doing? Why are you glaring? Don’t think I’m afraid of you! If you’ve got the guts, step over this old woman’s body! I’m telling you, I have high blood pressure, high blood sugar, heart disease—if I fall, I might just die right here. Go ahead, try touching me!”

The Vault was amazed.

In ancient times, women, children, and the elderly would form human walls to resist invading armies. She hadn’t expected today’s criminals to be so well-equipped, coming out with their own high-level meat shields—truly a deadly weapon against law-abiding citizens like herself.

The Vault’s eyes darted around. The anger from being disturbed and sleep-deprived cast a dark shadow over her face. She said coldly, “Who are you?”

“You killed my son, and you still ask who I am?” the old lady wailed. “My son died so unjustly! His body’s not even cold, and you’re already slinging mud at him, trying to keep his soul from resting in peace! What kind of poison is in your heart? You, Harry Forrest, and that bitch Andrew Forrest, you’re all a curse! After all the evil things you’ve done, aren’t you afraid they’ll come for you in the middle of the night?”

The Vault now knew who these people were, and couldn’t help but look at them a few more times.

Their faces were ordinary, even a bit plump and kindly when calm or smiling, thanks to their round cheeks and thick earlobes. Unfortunately, the downward lines at the corners of their mouths and eyes added a touch of meanness, and the way they squinted when speaking made them seem a bit sleazy.

Before this incident became public, these people had been the objects of public sympathy. They constantly played the victim in front of the media, showing their faces, boasting about their son’s excellence, describing their endless grief, and accepting donations from many in society. Harry Forrest owed much of his reputation to their efforts.

After this incident was exposed, they must have experienced what it’s like to become infamous and lose everything overnight.

Though they couldn’t be judged by the law, their indulgence harmed Andrew Forrest, their malice murdered Logan Carter, and their deceit disrupted order—none of which society could tolerate.

They had once profited from public opinion, but now, like rats crossing the street, they had to pay it all back, and then some.

They were used to the privilege of being cared for and looked up to—how could they accept such a fall from grace? No wonder they’d gone mad and come after The Vault.

“Oh?” The Vault sneered. “Is it because your public image collapsed, the authorities are demanding you return the donations, or is it something else that’s got you so desperate?”

A woman behind them shouted, “What nonsense are you spouting!”

The Vault lifted her chin arrogantly and said with utter contempt, “Get out of my house.”

The old lady was infuriated, raised her hands, and lunged at The Vault.

“Today I’ll fight you to the end!”

The Vault was already on guard. Without hesitation, she drew out a stick and held it up. The old lady couldn’t stop in time and crashed her abdomen straight into it.

The impact made the old woman’s vision blur. Though she managed to avoid a dangerous spot, the pain still made her cry out and tremble. She doubled over, staggering backward from the force, until her husband caught her in his arms.

The others stared in disbelief, screaming, “Are you crazy? You dare hit an old lady?”

“She ran into me herself—at most, it’s a scam for compensation.” The Vault pointed at the camera. “Surveillance, get it?”

A younger woman stepped forward, jabbing her finger right at The Vault’s nose, enunciating every word as if she could drown The Vault in her spit.

“I’m telling you, for being so heartless, you’ll get your retribution! I’ll make sure everyone knows what you did—”

Before she could finish, The Vault flicked her wrist and struck her across the face with the stick.

“Ah—!” The woman screamed, stumbling in a half-circle before collapsing to the floor.

“You dare hit me!” The woman clutched her face, feeling the burning, swelling pain beneath her fingers.

The searing pain overwhelmed her senses, making her deaf to everything else. She glared fiercely at The Vault, baring her teeth as if she might go berserk and bite The Vault at any moment.

“You entered my home without permission.” The Vault, in her loose white pajamas and with a casual, mocking tone, recited, “‘The crime of unlawful entry into a residence refers to entering a citizen’s home against the will of its occupants or without legal grounds, or refusing to leave after being asked to do so.’ So, either get out, or get beaten. Your choice.”

The woman broke down and screamed, “Honey!”

The young man rolled up his sleeves, eyes red, ready to teach The Vault a lesson.

By now, residents from upstairs and downstairs had rushed out in their coats, some not even bothering with shoes, just slippers. They reached The Vault’s floor and were startled by the red paint splashed all over the stairwell. After a moment’s shock, they hurried over to help.

On one side was a solitary, seemingly defenseless former university lecturer.

On the other, a fierce, outnumbering group of outsiders.

The neighbors knew exactly where they stood. Without hesitation, they blocked the young man. Two of them worked together to restrain his shoulders and pull him back, shouting for more help.

The man hadn’t even done anything yet, but was pinned against the wall by a group, his face smeared with wet paint, unable to even turn around, reduced to useless howling.

When the police on duty arrived, the four were in the middle of escalating their insults from personal to family attacks. The disgusted officer slapped handcuffs on them and hauled them away.

·

A little after 3 a.m., Julian Grant was having a bizarre dream. One moment he was catching employees and beating them, the next, The Vault and his underlings were catching and beating him. Just as he was about to fight back, his phone on the nightstand suddenly rang.

The vibrating noise jolted him awake, making his heart and blood race uncomfortably.

Julian Grant groped for his phone, squinting at the screen without seeing who was calling, and answered.

“Hello.”

It was a man’s voice.

The other party had only said one word when Julian Grant, thinking it was his immature employee, cut him off.

“Susan Scott, if you call to bother me in the middle of the night again, I’ll drag you to the police station myself. Do you even know what time it is? Overtime tomorrow!”

The person paused, then continued, “…This is the police station. Are you available now—”

Julian Grant hung up and cursed the lunatic.

·

The Vault, still in her pajamas, sat calmly in the empty police station, a steaming cup of tea in front of her.

The curling steam made her face look even paler, as if she might collapse at any moment.

…In reality, her fighting power was not to be underestimated.

The Vault asked, “What did he say?”

The officer on duty, holding the phone, looked confused for a moment and said, “He said if you bother him again, he’ll drag you to the police station.”

The Vault was silent, then said, “Perfect, let him bring himself over.”

The officer couldn’t help but laugh. “He really is your friend, right?”

The Vault: “He is.”

Officer: “Anyone else we should call?”

The Vault: “No one.”

She hesitated, then said, “Otherwise, just follow normal procedure. I’m an adult, I don’t need a guardian.”

Not long after, apparently realizing something was wrong, Julian Grant called back.

“Hello?” The officer answered, “This is the police station.”

Julian Grant sounded a bit embarrassed, laughing it off: “Really?”

“Really,” the officer said. “Your friend is at the XX Street police station. Please come pick her up.”

Julian Grant immediately gave in: “Okay, okay, I’ll be right there. What happened to her?”

The officer replied, “She was in a fight.”

“She got beaten up?” Julian Grant’s voice rose. “I’m coming right now! Don’t let her leave!”

The officer glanced at the two young people in the corner, faces bruised and swollen, cowering like quails, then at the young woman calmly sipping tea like a Buddha…

Did he ever say The Vault was the one who got beaten?

Chapter 57: Bailing Someone Out

Julian Grant deliberately chose his most expensive car and tidied up his appearance. Dressed in a suit and tie, hair perfectly styled, he made sure he was fully presentable before heading out.

So, when the impeccably dressed Julian Grant strode into the old, long-unrenovated police station in his shiny leather shoes, the few disheveled, sleep-deprived people inside were nearly blinded by the sight.

The messy-haired, plainly dressed The Vault ran a hand through her hair. The young officer couldn’t help but wipe the sleep from his eyes as everyone looked up at Julian Grant approaching step by step.

Julian Grant leaned one hand on the table, bent down, and examined The Vault from less than ten centimeters away.