Chapter 186: Disappearance or Prison?

Chapter 186: Chapter 186: Disappearance or Prison?

The Prescott Family instead came to him in tears, lamenting how pitiful their daughter was, claiming she suffered from severe psychological disorders, and saying they only indulged her out of concern and heartbreak.

President Warren clutched at his chest, wanting badly to recommend them a doctor; frankly, the whole family could use a brain scan.

"The chief you mentioned must be Chief Sullivan..." President Warren said, massaging his brow in frustration, already anticipating the worst outcome, but still offered comfort: "If things really get out of hand, it’s best for Morgan to lay low for a while..."

Lay low?

For Renee Morgan to suddenly disappear at the height of the scandal – how would the public interpret that?

Warren shook her head without hesitation.

President Warren: "That may be the best possible outcome. If things get any worse, Chief Sullivan’s office might issue an official statement, and Renee Morgan will become a tainted celebrity."

A tainted celebrity – that’s the end of the road in showbiz.

Warren’s heart sank, but she still picked up her phone, contacting the PR team, preparing to respond.

President Warren sighed: "Let me go with you. Maybe the Prescott Family will give me a little face, let Renee Morgan disappear for a while, so things don’t get too ugly."

The Prescott Family has money, compensation isn’t an issue. Most likely, they’ll mete out some lenient punishment, slap Renee Morgan with a charge, make her sit in there for a year or so.

Warren could easily hear it in President Warren’s tone; he clearly wasn’t hopeful.

Renee Morgan’s bag was confiscated, just like a felon chained to a metal seat.

She’d never sat in this kind of room before, and subjected to treatment like this—humiliation, anger... all sorts of emotions flooded her mind, but miraculously, she calmed herself in the end.

Three officers sat across from her; one was taking notes, the other two watched her grimly and began their questioning.

"Name."

Renee Morgan: "...Renee Morgan."

"What?" They thought the name sounded familiar; their voices rose.

Renee Morgan: "Renee Morgan."

After confirming several times that she really was Renee Morgan, the top actress, and not just someone with the same name, they stared at Morgan’s heavily made-up face and gestured for someone to bring in a basin of water for her to wash up.

They needed to take photos, record her height, measure her weight...

Renee Morgan cooperated, and while washing her face—probably too curious—the officer saw she was having trouble moving, and came over to unlock her handcuffs; a female officer even handed her some wet wipes.

"Thank you." Renee Morgan took the wipes and wiped the makeup off her face.

Returning to her seat, Renee Morgan recounted what happened: she was walking at a normal pace, Nicole Prescott must have slipped in her high heels and lost balance, then crashed into her; Morgan instinctively took a step back, but Nicole grabbed her arm, and both fell to the ground together—Morgan landed on her back, Nicole landed on her knees.

The others listened to her clear narrative and exchanged glances. Just a moment ago, they’d felt a bit of schadenfreude, thinking, "Of all people to collide with, how unlucky to crash into Miss Prescott."

Now, looking at the girl in front of them—the makeup washed clean, eyes bright and watery, strikingly beautiful, her expression calm and collected—perhaps even she didn’t realize how compelling her face was.

The officer taking notes put his pen down and looked at the interrogating officer, his gaze saying: Is that it?

How are we supposed to get the valid evidence Chief Sullivan wants?

"Ahem, Miss Prescott claims you hit her?" The interrogating officer couldn’t help but ask, though he felt uncomfortable.

"The law is impartial. You can’t just listen to Nicole Prescott’s side. Both of us have the right to speak, but evidence—what you can see—is what matters most, isn’t it?" Renee Morgan’s tone was steady, her eyes cold and resolute, a determination no one could shake.

"What you can see is, you’re just fine, but Miss Prescott’s knees are swollen." The other officer couldn’t help but butt in.

There was disdain in his eyes; others might be swayed by Morgan’s looks, he wouldn’t.

"Oh, her swollen knees count as evidence?" Renee Morgan looked at him, lips pulling taut in a calm smile. "Is this how you handle cases?"

"You..." He was about to rebuke her about her attitude.

She answered evenly: "There are no cameras in or outside the bathroom, but the floor’s slipperiness can be established.

One of us wore high heels, the other flat shoes—which shoes are more likely to slip?

If I had hit her, with that momentum, she should have fallen backwards, landing on her back, or sideways; she wouldn’t have gone down on both knees. I should have tipped forward, landing on my knees. As it stands, it’s the reverse for us now.

Also, even if we both collided at once, the impact would cause both of us to bounce back, fall backwards. How is it that she went down on both knees?

Isn’t that also direct evidence?"

The camera in the interrogation room was on, and the place was utterly silent; the officers, despite years of experience, were at a complete loss for words.

Renee Morgan tapped her knuckles against the hard chair and continued: "I know the Prescott Family isn’t simple—that’s why you’re so biased. Others might give in and confess, but I won’t."

"Renee Morgan..." The standing man yelled, both angry and embarrassed, "What’s with your attitude?"

Renee Morgan looked straight at him: "However you work, that’s my attitude."

"Fine, you don’t want to tell the truth? Then stay here until you’re willing to talk." His voice was darkly threatening.

So whatever they lead me to say, that’s ’the truth’?

Renee Morgan let out a cold laugh: "If you’re not afraid of getting yourself locked up, be my guest."

"What’s that supposed to mean?" he asked, angry and finding it laughably unbelievable.

All his years on the job, never had he seen a suspect in the interrogation room threatening to get him locked up before—a colossal joke.

Renee Morgan’s smile held no warmth: "I’m a senior member of the base, a state-level protected person. If you officers falsify evidence with the complainant, disregard my rights, and force me to change my testimony to wrongly convict me—have you considered the consequences?"

Hurried footsteps faded into the distance, and the interrogation room fell completely silent, with only Renee Morgan and a female officer left.

The female officer had stopped taking notes, her face full of anxiety.

Matthew Sullivan and a few friends were in Robert Sullivan’s office. Nicole Prescott was in a nearby lounge getting her knees treated, her shrill screams echoing from time to time.

"Get out... It hurts so much! Go away!" Nicole Prescott kicked at the approaching doctor, yelling and flailing her legs.

Wyatt Prescott had already called home when he was at the mall; the Prescott Family was on their way.

Wyatt knew he couldn’t handle Nicole Prescott alone.

After some crying and yelling, Nicole Prescott saw no one was coming to comfort her. She got off the bed and pushed open the lounge door, screaming down the hallway.