Framed for a Hit-and-Run Reborn to Expose My Wife and Her Ex

Chapter 5

A man in sunglasses pushed through the crowd and stopped right in front of me.

"I can prove Zach Sullivan never left the detention center," he announced, his voice cutting through the noise like a gunshot.

Liam Reed's face twisted in a scowl. "And who the hell are you? Talking big without a shred of proof?"

Hannah, my soon-to-be ex-wife, wasn't about to let that slide. She jabbed a finger at him, eyes blazing with fury.

"The evidence is right here!" she snapped. "And you're seriously standing there defending this piece of garbage? Are you even human?"

Before the man could respond, one of the nearby officers suddenly stiffened, his expression shifting from confusion to shock. Then, in a flash, he rushed forward to shake the guy's hand.

"It's Detective West!"

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

Then, a reporter at the front sucked in a sharp breath, eyes going wide.

"Wait—that Detective West? The one who cracked those three high-profile murder cases?"

"No way," another voice cut in. "Didn't he track down that serial killer? The one who left blood threats outside his house?"

"Yeah, and he still worked the case! Took the guy down himself."

"And what about that case where a suspect tried to drown him? Barely made it out alive."

The energy shifted. Suspicion wavered, uncertainty creeping in.

If this man was saying I was innocent… could it really be true?

But the victim's family wasn't buying it. The husband, his face twisted in grief and rage, clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white.

"You're all in this together!" he shouted. "Protecting this murderer!" His voice cracked with raw pain. "He killed my wife—she was eight months pregnant! She was my whole damn world! And you expect me to stand here and listen to this bullshit?"

Detective West took a step forward, his face calm, his voice steady.

"I don't lie," he said. "I deal in facts."

He turned to the grieving family. "Please, trust me when I say Zach Sullivan is innocent."

"For the past seven days, he's been inside the detention center. He never left. It was impossible for him to commit that hit-and-run."

The air was suffocating with tension.

Liam, still lurking in the crowd, wasn't done. He sneered, his voice sharp with fake confidence.

"Oh yeah? Where's the proof? You expect us to just take your word for it?"

The victim's family held onto their fury, their desperation.

One of them stepped forward, glaring daggers at Detective West.

"Fine! We'll listen—but only if you show us real proof!"

Hannah took that moment to strike, her voice smooth and venomous.

"I can testify against him," she declared, loud enough for everyone to hear. "We're in the middle of a divorce. Zach's been bitter about it—furious. That's why he snapped. That's why he took it out on the world."

The victim's husband shook with rage, his nails digging into his palms.

"Detective West, we're not saying you're lying," he growled, voice raw with grief, "but we need proof."

"Something real."

"You can't just defend this bastard with empty words!"

Detective West gave a curt nod.

"You want proof?" His voice was cold, controlled. "I'll give you proof."

He pulled out his phone and tapped the screen.

"This," he said, holding it up, "is footage from a body camera I placed on Zach Sullivan. It recorded every second of his time in the detention center."

A heavy silence fell over the crowd.

Hannah's smirk faltered. Liam's bravado flickered.

I let my gaze settle on them, cold and sharp as steel.

"You see," I said slowly, voice dripping with contempt, "I specifically asked Detective West to install this camera on me while I was in detention."

"It tracked my every move. Every minute. Every second."

I let that sink in before I raised my voice, letting the entire crowd hear me loud and clear.

"So tell me—how the hell could I have committed this crime while wearing it?"

The mob, which had been roaring for my blood just moments ago, suddenly fell silent.

Detective West handed the footage to the victim's family.

The husband took the phone with shaking hands, his bloodshot eyes locked onto the screen.

The video played.

And there I was.

Inside the detention center.

Time-stamped. Accounted for. Every second.

As they watched, their expressions crumbled.

Grief, anger—confusion.

Tears welled up, hands trembled—but the truth was staring them in the face.

I hadn't left.

I couldn't have.

Hannah let out a sharp, mocking laugh, desperate to hold onto control.

"Ha! And who's to say this footage isn't fake?"

Detective West's expression hardened.

"This footage is synced with official surveillance cameras in the detention center," he said. "It can't be tampered with."

One of the officers nodded firmly.

"I can confirm that," he said. "The body camera was issued by us. It's synced with our system."

Liam, still scrambling for a way out, shoved forward.

"Fine!" he snapped. "But what about the other evidence? The traffic cameras? The dashcam footage? They show Zach's face!"

"And the footage from the detention center's front gate—someone left wearing a yellow coat. That was Zach!"

The victim's family latched onto his words.

"Exactly!"

"The traffic cameras don't lie! It was his face in those videos!"

Reporters swung their microphones back to Detective West, hungry for his response.

The pressure in the air was thick, crushing.

And then—

My father stepped forward.

His face twisted with disgust, his voice dripping with pure hatred.

"I regret ever bringing this bastard into the world," he snarled.

"He should've been put down already!"