He carried a faint scent that drifted over, giving The Vault every reason to suspect that he had deliberately taken a shower before going out. After all, the smell of body wash inexplicably had a calming effect on her.

Julian Grant asked, “Are you alright?”

The Vault shook her head.

Julian Grant asked, “Where are the people who hit you?”

The young police officer shivered. He thought to himself, with those four big guys standing right there, President, can’t you see them?

The Vault proactively raised her hand to indicate.

Julian Grant turned around to look, raising his eyebrows, and a perfectly timed look of disdain appeared on his handsome face.

All four of them had red paint stains on their bodies, which at first glance looked as if they were drenched in blood. Especially the young man, whose face was covered in a bright red patch. He had tried to wipe it off, but it wouldn’t come clean. Even Julian Grant was startled by his fierce appearance.

“You’re sure you were the one who hit them?” Julian Grant raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Are you sure they’re not just faking it?”

The four on the other side couldn’t stand such humiliation and started shouting. Judging by their voices, they were still full of energy, so it seemed they were fine.

They cursed at Julian Grant in their local dialect, which he couldn’t understand. The young police officer banged on the table, urging them to calm down for the moment.

Once everyone quieted down again, The Vault finally said, “There was also a little help from some enthusiastic neighbors.” Just a little.

Julian Grant laughed and said, “Looks like the residents in your community are all pretty decent and willing to help others.”

The young police officer: “??” Can you stop stirring things up? Man.

Julian Grant leisurely sat down next to The Vault.

The young police officer pointed his chin at The Vault and asked, “Is that your boyfriend?”

The Vault was at a loss for words. How was she supposed to answer that? Would you even believe me if I said no?

The Vault: “No.”

Julian Grant said, “Friend.”

The young police officer played with his pen and drawled, “Oh… Young people these days, who knows what they’re thinking. Their relationships are so complicated.”

The two of them: “……”

What are the police imagining these days? He’s pretty young himself, after all.

The officer pointed with his pen, signaling for The Vault to discuss a solution with her friend first.

The Vault shifted slightly, adjusted her posture, and kept sneaking glances at Julian Grant out of the corner of her eye. She was a bit touched that Julian Grant had come to the police station in the middle of the night, looking so put together, just to support her.

But actually, it wasn’t necessary.

Just showing up was enough; whether he cared or not didn’t really matter.

Julian Grant felt gratified, even flattered, that The Vault would think of asking him for help first after something happened. If it weren’t for the late hour, which made it inconvenient to disturb a lawyer, he would have brought the core members of his company’s legal department to back her up.

Julian Grant was about to comfort The Vault when he suddenly felt a cold touch on the back of his hand—a pair of slender hands grabbed him.

Then he heard The Vault say, “It’s him.”

The Vault lifted his hand and, turning to the injured group, said, “Look, he’s a staff member of Trident. The scenario was created by them, and the clues were designed by them. If you want to blame someone, blame the right person. I’ve brought him here for you, so don’t come looking for me again.”

Julian Grant: “??”

Maybe it was the intensity of his accusatory gaze, but The Vault explained, “They’re Tiffany Dawson’s in-laws. After I cleared the scenario, they felt I had insulted their son’s departed soul, so they came to my door in the middle of the night and splashed paint. Don’t you think that’s going too far?”

Julian Grant said angrily, “And you’re not going too far?”

The Vault thought for a moment and didn’t argue. “Both can be true at the same time. If you insist.”

Julian Grant pulled his hand back mercilessly.

He said incredulously, “You can still joke at a time like this?”

The Vault shrugged. “They’ve been joking with me the whole time.”

Julian Grant: “So you think you got the short end of the stick?”

The Vault: “I just think it’s all very boring.”

“Stop chatting nonsense!”

The young police officer controlled his expression and advised Julian Grant, “Brother, the main reason we asked you to come is to see if you can help persuade your friend. If both sides can negotiate, you just need to sign and you can leave. If neither side will give in, things will get complicated. Everyone’s time is valuable, right? You’re all respectable people—it’s a shame to waste time on this.”

Julian Grant turned his head and raised his eyebrows, silently asking The Vault what she wanted.

The Vault said, “Unlawful entry. Depending on the severity, it can be punished with up to three years in prison.”

The young man shouted, “But you hit me!”

“I hit you, but it doesn’t even count as minor injury. If you don’t believe me, go to the hospital for an exam. I didn’t break the criminal law—at most, it’s administrative detention, and the outcome depends on the police’s attitude.” The Vault said, “You were clearly in the wrong first, and besides, you have a record of using public sympathy to scam donations. Me hitting you is, at best, a case of a concerned citizen reasonably defending herself against violent offenders. I shouldn’t face any administrative punishment, right?”

The young police officer sighed deeply and covered his face.

The man pointed at his swollen, bruised face and shouted, “Look at my face, and look at my wife’s! You even dared to hit my aunt—do you know how old she is? Can you guarantee nothing will happen to her? And you still want to walk away unscathed? Officer, we’re done negotiating—arrest her!”

The old lady groaned, leaning against her husband.

The Vault sighed and said, “Negotiation means both sides state their views. I’ve finished, now it’s your turn. You haven’t said anything, so the negotiation hasn’t even started.”

The man said, “My demand? My demand is fairness! This isn’t a violent society—how can you just hit people?”

The Vault picked up her teacup and took a sip. She almost thought she was hearing things.

Julian Grant let out a “heh” and said, “So you want compensation?”

The man shouted loudly, “Is this about money?”

Julian Grant replied quickly, “That’s great, because I didn’t want to solve it with money either.”

The man was instantly at a loss for words.

The young police officer tried to smooth things over: “Actually, money is the simplest solution.”

Julian Grant clicked his tongue and shook his head. “But for people who have both money and time, it’s not the most satisfying solution. I prefer things to be straightforward. Mainly, I can’t let this go.”

The Vault slowly turned to face him, meeting his gaze. Their eyes met in the air, and both nodded in satisfaction.

Kindred spirits.

The young police officer was filled with regret.

He’d really brought trouble upon himself!

The four on the other side were extremely agitated, shouting for justice.

The young police officer banged the table and shouted in his hoarse voice, “Listen to me first, okay! Can everyone stop playing games and be sincere for once? Do you actually want to resolve this or not?”

Of course, The Vault didn’t want to go to court. She hated trouble, hated tedious procedures, and hated being asked the same question over and over.

And the other side was clearly even more afraid.

After some discussion, both sides decided to take responsibility for their actions.

The people were hit by The Vault, so she would cover their medical expenses.

The walls and door of The Vault’s residence were dirtied by them, so the four of them had to clean everything thoroughly and repair and repaint the walls.

As for their injuries, a bottle of herbal oil would be enough. If they wanted to go to the hospital, they’d have to hurry, or else once the injuries healed, the doctor wouldn’t be able to prescribe anything. But paint and cement work were different—no investment, no return.

After thinking it over, the four realized that not only did they lose two buckets of paint and a day’s labor, but they also got beaten up for nothing.

A real loss.

The Vault generously said, “If you ever need this kind of thing again, remember to come find me.”

The four of them were so angry they gnashed their teeth and stomped their feet, but there was nothing they could do about her.

Most people would be cautious, but these two in front of them seemed to have no such concerns. When a bully meets someone with no scruples, all they can do is back down.

The young police officer, finally seeing things wrapped up, felt as if a great weight had been lifted. Waving his pen, he urged Julian Grant, “Guardian, come sign here and take her away.”

Julian Grant was stunned by being called “guardian.” He savored the term silently, rolled up his sleeves, and signed his elegant name at the bottom of the page.

He signed all the required documents as instructed and successfully got The Vault out.

The young police officer waved them off, pulled out a box of instant noodles from under the table, and didn’t want to look at them anymore, telling them they could leave.

Julian Grant thought this grassroots officer must be exhausted, and, holding back a smile, said, “I’ll go get the car. Wait for me at the door.”

The Vault nodded.

When Julian Grant drove out of the parking lot, headlights on, and stopped by the roadside, The Vault limped out from the side door.

Julian Grant stared at her through the car window for a long time before realizing something was wrong. His face darkened, and he strode over to ask, “Are you hurt?”

The Vault looked up and replied calmly, “An accident.”