His eyes had a sharp, dangerous gleam that frozen the head of the Tax Bureau in ce.
The man couldn’t suppress the sudden wave of dread washing over him; he instinctively took a step back, his throat tightening as he struggled to swallow the lump that had formed.
Vince’s imposing presence felt like an invisible hand around his neck, choking him with sheer intimidation in full view of the crowd.
"W-What are you doing here? You shouldn’t even be able to post bail! We’re talking about hundreds of millions of dors here—it was supposed to require special approval from the higher-ups!" the head of the Tax Bureau stammered, his voice a mix of confusion and disbelief.
Seeing Vince walking freely, apanied by police as though they were his baby sitters, only deepened the unease in the room.
It was a brazen move, and the implications of the head of the Tax Bureau were clear.
Vince must have struck some sort of deal with the authorities—or, worse, bribed his way out.
The head of the Tax Bureau’s panicked question inadvertently added fuel to the fire, confirming to the press that Vince had likely leveraged his wealth and influence to escape custody and crash the press conference, setting the stage for more chaos.
No one could tell if the head of the Tax Bureau’s blunder was intentional or a result of genuine confusion.
After all, he was the one leading the investigation and had a deep understanding of the case.
Yet, his careless remark earlier had just exposed to the media that he suspected Vince to be the mastermind behind the entire scheme.
Now, standing face-to-face with Vince, the weight of his own words hit him like a sledgehammer.
A wave of guilt washed over him, and for reasons he couldn’t exin, he suddenly felt small—vulnerable—under Vince’s cold, calcting gaze.
"Why does it feel like you’ve already convicted me of this crime?" Vince sneered as he strode confidently across the stage, joining the head of the Tax Bureau at the podium.
"In court, there’s a principle—’ Innocent until proven guilty.’ Yet here you are,beling me a criminal without so much as a chance to defend myself."
"You made it nearly impossible for me to post bail, to get out and present the evidence that proves my innocence. Don’t you think that’s a bit... suspicious?"
Vince’s words hung in the air as he nced at the cameras, his gaze steady. What he said was undeniably true, and the weight of it lingered, undeniable.
Embezzlement and tax evasion were indeed serious crimes, but they weren’t on the same level as murder or other more heinous offenses, where immediate jail time before a court hearing was mandatory.
In such cases, bail was often granted so the used could prepare a defense.
Vince, however, remained inside, unable to gather his evidence and present his side of the story, but it was supposed to be that as long as the authorities could secure the necessary documents from the archives or secure the entire archive, with proper warrants and protection against those who might try to conceal the evidence.
Everything was in order while Vince awaited the court’s judgment, free until proven guilty.
As long as Vince remained in the city, under the watchful eye of the authorities, and behaved ording to thew, he was free to go about his life like any other citizen.
His reminder about Barcelona’sws shifted the focus of the press, nting seeds of doubt about the entire situation.
Reporters now turned their cameras and attention squarely on Vince.
Despite his unshaven face and the dark circles under his eyes fromck of sleep, he still exuded a rugged charm.
The beard gave him a mature, almost maic appeal, and viewers couldn’t help but find him undeniably handsome.
The mood in thement section shifted dramatically; the hatements faded as people began to appreciate his strong stage presence and good looks, their tone turning far more sympathetic.
As soon as Vince approached the podium, a microphone was handed to him. He scanned the crowd, his eyes searching for someone in particr.
When he didn’t find what he was looking for, a flicker of disappointment crossed his face, but he quickly regained hisposure.
Straightening up, he masked his emotions and turned his attention to the press in front of him.
"First, I’d like to thank everyone for attending today’s press conference. I’m here to present the evidence and clear up any misunderstandings."
A reporter shot a pointed question in his direction. "Vince Caway, are you seriously suggesting that the evidence presented earlier wasn’t legitimate?"
"Are you implying that you did not orchestrate this entire scheme just to line your own pockets?" one reporter pressed. "Or are you suggesting that the Tax Bureau staged all of this?"
"Do you realize that ndering a government official is a crime? That would only add to your charges, wouldn’t it?"
As more reporters jumped in, bombarding Vince with questions, the buzz around the podium grew louder.
Each one seemed eager to dig deeper into his involvement, questioning his integrity and his future.
Yet, Vince remained unfazed, hisposure as cool as a cucumber.
Despite the gravity of the usations—embezzlement, tax evasion, the looming threat of prison if he couldn’t clear his name—he didn’t flinch.
"What misunderstandings?"
"While you were in prison, did you even have the chance to gather any evidence?" one reporter questioned, their voiceced with skepticism.
"Everyone, please calm down," Vince responded, his voice unshaken and smooth, exuding an aura ofposure as if the entire circus unfolding around him didn’t even faze him.
The crowd, however, remained unconvinced.
Their eyes scrutinized him, as though searching for cracks in his calm fa?ade—looking for any sign of desperation from someone who seemed to be fighting for survival, on the verge of being condemned.
Meanwhile, Hera watched the live interview on the screen, her heart racing.
At the backstage, employees gasped in disbelief.
Some were ovee with emotion, while others were on edge, unsure of how Vince would navigate this mess.
With Vince still locked away during the investigation, they were left in limbo, unable toplete the files and dealing with constant setbacks.
The pressure was mounting, and a sense of resignation was settling in among some. Yet, for others, Vince remained the only beacon of hope, the one person who could still turn things around.
"Well..." Vince began, his piercing gaze sweeping over the press below.
The intensity of his stare was enough to silence the room, putting a temporary halt to the barrage of questions.
He didn’t need to say a word—his presence alonemanded the stage, signaling that it was his turn to speak and present the evidence.
Yet, despite his confidence, a wave of skepticism lingered.
The reporters exchanged doubtful nces, and even the Head of the Tax Bureau, standing off to the side, couldn’t hide his disbelief.
How could Vince possibly present solid evidence when he’d been locked away, and his employees had been left scrambling in disarray like headless chickens without their leader?
Soon, Vince shed a knowing smile at the camera, his confidence radiating through the screen. With a subtle gesture, a file was projected onto the disy behind him.
What had once been aparison of archived documents and server files was now reced by apletely different set of information—something that immediately captured everyone’s attention.
A hushed silence fell over the press conference, as if the entire room held its breath.
All eyes were fixed on the screen, waiting in anticipation for Vince to exin what they were seeing.
Vince, however, wasn’t in a rush to exin.
He smirked, relishing the tension in the room as everyone, even the Head of the Tax Bureau, seemed on edge.
The Bureau head could make sense of some of the information on the screen, but when it was all pieced together, it looked like aplex puzzle—almost like rocket science.
He was lost, unsure of how it all fit together, and he knew that unless Vince broke it down for them, they wouldn’t understand a thing.
Everyone sat in tense silence, waiting for Vince to speak, but he didn’t rush.
He let the moment drag on, savoring the difort that rippled through the crowd.
His gaze swept over them, deep and unflinching, as if he was taking pleasure in the anxiety building in their stomachs, savoring the anticipation before he finally chose to break his silence.