He spun around, his voice rising before he could stop himself. “You think I enjoy being stuck working overtime? You think I wanted this?”

“I just got off the phone with two of the most powerful names in this entire city — one who controls half the economy, and one who commands the entire navy. If I mess this up, it won’t just be my career at stake. You want us living hand-to-mouth?”

That silenced her. She looked away, eyes turning red. She muttered, “Suit yourself,” and walked off.

Boswell watched her retreat, tempted to explain himself but too frustrated to speak.

He pulled off his clothes and changed in haste. Once dressed, he placed a call to the Crolens police. His tone was clipped, but the fury bled through. “Who gave you permission to make that arrest? What in the world do you people think you’re doing? Have you lost your minds?”

At the police station, Rylie stepped out of the car with a group of veterans, cameras from the trailing media vans fixed on them.

The middle-aged man with a scar on his face looked at Rylie with guilt. “I’m sorry. We acted on impulse and dragged you into this.”

Rylie shook her head. “It’s not your fault. You did what you thought was right. I didn’t handle it well enough.”

Nearby, a few rejected job applicants clustered together, whispering, their attention fixed on one man.

Inside the station, Rylie noticed a deputy handing that man a cup of coffee, his tone laced with familiarity.

“You’ve had some bad luck, but at least your uncle’s our boss,” the deputy leaned closer, murmuring. “The boss has already given instructions. Don’t worry, this will be settled.”

The man chuckled and glanced at Rylie with a smug expression. “I don’t desperately need this job; I just want answers and fairness for those who’ve been mistreated.”

“Right, right. I get it. Have your coffee. We’ll talk once this blows over.”

“Sure.”

The exchange reached Rylie’s ears, and she immediately recognized the face linked to the resume she had rejected. She turned away, letting out a low, mocking laugh.

“Alright, follow me to the interrogation room.” A different officer tapped the desk in front of her. “Stand up.”

The interrogation room was cold, its lighting harsh.

Rylie sat on a metal chair that felt like ice, facing two officers with stern expressions. One of them tapped the desk, his tone sharp. “You’re Rylie Owen, right? I’ve heard troubling rumors about you. How on earth did you open a hospital? Tell me the truth — is your hospital using these disabled veterans to scam government subsidies?”

Rylie lifted her gaze and answered calmly, “You’re making assumptions. Do you have any proof?”

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