Chapter 156

Benjamin stood in the Sinclair family's garden, meticulously trimming the hedges. He set the shears down, stepped back to inspect his work, and asked evenly, "Did Vivienne call today?"

The butler hesitated. Since Vivienne's departure, Benjamin had asked this question daily. The answer remained unchanged—she hadn't called, not once.

Maintaining composure, the butler replied, "Sir, Miss Hayes has just assumed control of the company. She's likely preoccupied."

Benjamin scoffed, his grip tightening on his cane. "Preoccupied? That's a weak excuse!"

He turned and strode towards the house, his sharp gaze catching a group of servants huddled together, eyes glued to a phone screen. So engrossed were they that they didn't notice him until the butler cleared his throat.

Startled, they scrambled to their feet. "Sir!"

Benjamin barely acknowledged them. "What are you watching?"

"N-nothing, sir…" the servant holding the phone stammered, attempting to conceal it. In her panic, the phone slipped from her grasp, landing at Benjamin's feet.

He picked it up, his eyes narrowing as he recognized Vivienne on the screen. She was at the police station, cameras flashing, reporters thronging around her with microphones.

Benjamin, though elderly, understood the modern world. Live streaming had revolutionized news dissemination; reputations crumbled instantly, and such moments became public spectacles. The sheer number of reporters suggested a far more serious situation than he'd anticipated.

Benjamin studied Vivienne's image for a long moment before returning the phone. His expression darkened. "Get the car. Now!" He turned and strode towards the gates.

The butler hurried after him, struggling to keep pace.

Once they were gone, the servants huddled again, their eyes fixed on the live stream. "See? I told you it was Miss Hayes, but you wouldn't believe me!"

"But why would she be involved? She's always had a comfortable life with the Sinclairs."

"Maybe she got bored and sought excitement?"

"Wait—look! Who are those people?" A voice, laced with excitement, drew them closer.

On-screen, the interrogation room doors swung open as several men in black suits entered. The leader, in a sleek black executive jacket, stood out—not only for his graying hair but also for his undeniable authority. His attire was slightly less formal than the others', yet his presence clearly indicated superior rank.

Falco, upon seeing the man, stiffened before rising to greet him. "Mr. Gideon! What brings you here?" His words were polite, but his expression betrayed his unease. Why would someone of his stature be present for such a case? This station was hardly significant enough to warrant his attention.

Gideon Malachi offered a casual smile. "I heard the suspects are linked to the smuggling case from three years ago, so I stopped by while delivering documents. Seems I arrived at quite a spectacle."

"One way to put it," Falco muttered.

Gideon patted him on the shoulder before turning to Vivienne. "Looks like I made it just in time."

Vivienne met his gaze, unperturbed. "Took you long enough."

"You know how messy digging up old files can be," he said lightly, though the gravity of his words was undeniable.

The reporters remained silent, engrossed in the unfolding scene, oblivious to the palpable tension.