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

Chapter 6

Just as Detective West was about to speak, my father's furious voice cut through the noise like a blade.

"Justice belongs to the people! Scum like him doesn't deserve to take another breath!"

His eyes burned with self-righteous fury as he turned to the grieving family.

"We don't need to wait for the courts. We handle this ourselves—right here, right now!"

I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my skin. His face was a twisted mask of outrage, but I knew the truth. He didn't care about justice. He just wanted me dead.

And the crowd?

They were eating it up.

The victim's family, already drowning in grief and rage, tipped past the edge. Their eyes darkened, their hands shook with barely restrained violence.

The mob felt it—fed on it.

They surged forward, crashing against the police barricade like a rising tide.

"He deserves to pay!"

"Let the family handle it!"

"This is justice!"

The victim's husband and father pushed through the chaos, their hands trembling—one clutching a knife, the other white-knuckling his fists.

Their eyes locked onto mine.

Final. Unwavering.

This wasn't about the truth anymore.

This was a public execution.

For a split second, my father's face blurred into a memory.

A memory of a man who walked away when my mother and I needed him most.

She raised me alone, running a small business while making sure I never went without. She worked herself into the ground, gave me everything other kids had.

And when her business thrived—when she finally had millions to her name—life repaid her with exhaustion, stress, and an early grave.

She never even got to enjoy the success she bled for.

Then, like a bad debt collector, my father came crawling back.

Not to mourn her. Not to make amends.

To take what wasn't his.

When I shut him down, refused to give him a cent, his hate festered.

And now, here he was—shoulder to shoulder with a furious mob, fueling their rage, lying through his teeth—just to see me destroyed.

The police struggled to hold the barricade.

The crowd shoved forward, cracks forming in the wall of officers.

The victim's family was coming for me.

Faster. Closer.

A knife glinted under the streetlights.

Then—

"WAIT!"

Detective West's voice ripped through the chaos.

His hand shot up, commanding attention.

"Everyone, listen up!"

A hush rippled outward.

West lifted his phone, the video still frozen on-screen.

"First—look at the timeline. It doesn't add up."

A murmur swept through the crowd.

"Second—look at this shadow." His finger hovered over a shape in the footage. "The sun was setting. The shadow doesn't match Zach Sullivan's build."

Before anyone could process it, an officer suddenly snapped his fingers.

"Oh, damn—I remember now!" He turned to his fellow cops, eyes wide. "That night, our captain borrowed a yellow coat to grab dinner!"

Silence.

The anger in the crowd wavered. Reporters exchanged glances. Even the victim's family—still drowning in grief—hesitated.

They wanted justice.

But they didn't want to kill the wrong man.

West seized the moment.

"There's more." His voice was sharp, cutting through the lingering tension.

He turned, locking eyes with Liam Reed—who stiffened, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Zach Sullivan came to me earlier, asking me to look into something."

The weight in his voice was suffocating.

"And during my investigation, I found something—something critical—about Hannah and Liam."

The air tightened.

Then, with the weight of a judge's verdict, Detective West announced—

"Liam Reed was involved in a hit-and-run."