Chapter 221: The Shield

Chapter 221: Chapter 221: The Shield

Across the capital, digital newsboards, financial portals, and independent media outlets exploded simultaneously as the file drop hit the public domain.

Header tickers on major streaming platforms flashed red with breaking alerts, broadcasting raw digital checksums of forged medical records, wire transfer logs, and private clinic receipts. Bold, glaring headlines dominated the feeds:

[LIVINGSTON HEIR EXPOSED: LEAKED FILES DETAIL FORGED RECORDS AND ILLEGAL MEDICAL COERCION]

[THE DARK SIDE OF THE LOGISTICS MOGUL: ANONYMOUS DROP DOCKS ALEX LIVINGSTON ON WEDDING NIGHT]

Online journalists who were nowhere near the Grand Pavilion treated it as the ultimate blindside scoop, rushing to publish sensationalized pieces on the dark, calculated underbelly of high society.

Yet, notably missing from every single article and broadcast was the name Aliya Rivers. The leaks had been stripped clean of her identity, focusing entirely on the documented corporate fraud and illegal coercion. Furthermore, none of the digital reporters knew what was actually transpiring inside the Pavilion. They had no idea Alex had just been marched out in handcuffs, nor did they know about his meeting with Derrick Roys.

Inside the Grand Pavilion, the veteran mainstream journalists and network camera crews who were present sat in uneasy silence, scrolling through the loud online coverage on their phones. They exchanged quiet, pitying looks, shaking their heads at the amateur digital news outlets currently celebrating their "breaking scoop."

Those online outlets were completely clueless about the shield Alex held. Every senior journalist in the hall knew that by tomorrow morning, when the weight of Derrick Roys’ name bore down, those independent platforms would be facing heavy regulatory suits, revoked licenses, and sudden blackouts.

Because of that, the journalists inside kept their lips strictly sealed. Not a single word, photo, or snippet regarding Alex’s arrest or his outburst on the altar reached the airwaves. The moment the name Derrick Roys had been invoked inside the hall, every media mogul in the city ordered a complete blackout on the wedding coverage, terrified that reporting on a project tied to the future patriarch would bring absolute ruin down on their networks.

---

The back of the police cruiser smelled of stale coffee, industrial floor cleaner, and old vinyl.

Alex sat in the center of the rear bench, his cuffed hands resting comfortably on his lap. He didn’t lean back against the cheap upholstery, nor did he look out the reinforced wire-mesh window at the flashing red-and-blue strobe lights reflecting off the downtown high-rises.

In the front seat, Detective Lawson kept his eyes fixed on the road, while his partner, a middle-aged officer named Miller, glanced repeatedly into the rearview mirror. Miller’s knuckles were white against the steering wheel.

"You’re making a massive mistake, Lawson," Miller muttered under his breath, keeping his voice low enough so the radio chatter almost drowned it out. "Division Chief Morris is already calling my personal cell. He’s furious. He said the moment we pull into the sally port, we’re suspended pending internal review."

Lawson didn’t turn his head. "The summons was entered into the municipal system before we left the station, Miller. It’s public record now. If he wants to pull us off the case, he’s going to have to sign off on deleting a verified felony file manually."

Sitting in the back, Alex let out a soft, dry chuckle.

"Listen to your partner, Detective," Alex said, his voice smooth and entirely unbothered. "He actually understands how this city functions. You think you’re standing up for justice, but all you’ve done is waste your own evening and guarantee yourself an administrative suspension by midnight."

Lawson didn’t take the bait. He reached forward, turned down the police radio, and kept staring straight ahead into the rain-slicked avenue.

Alex smiled, shaking his head slightly. ’Let him act tough,’ he thought, adjusting his posture so his tailored tuxedo jacket wouldn’t wrinkle. ’The moment we hit the interrogation room, Chief Morris will personally step in. Derrick’s name isn’t just a political title—it’s an absolute barrier.’

Ten minutes later, the cruiser turned down the steep concrete ramp into the basement sally port of the Central District Precinct.

When the car came to a complete stop, the heavy security gates hadn’t even finished rolling closed before the door to the precinct elevator hissed open.

A tall, balding man in a sharp grey suit stormed out into the bay, flanked by two senior police captains and a pair of high-priced defense attorneys carrying sleek leather briefcases. It was Division Chief Morris—and right beside him was Harrison, the senior managing partner of Livingston Group’s retainer firm.

Miller immediately scrambled out of the driver’s side, looking like a man awaiting execution. "Chief—"

"Shut up, Miller," Morris snapped, his face flushed red with rage. He turned his glare onto Lawson, who was unbuckling his seatbelt and stepping out of the passenger side. "Lawson, you ignorant, reckless idiot! Who gave you authorization to execute a high-profile detention summons at a private high-society event without division clearance?!"

Lawson walked around to the rear door, pulling it open. "The evidence met the threshold for an emergency summons under Section 4 of the Criminal Procedure Code, Chief. The hospital logs were verified by digital signatures."

"I don’t give a damn about your section codes!" Morris barked, stepping right into Lawson’s face. "You bypassed the chain of command! You logged an unverified, politically sensitive file directly into the central index!"

Alex stepped out of the vehicle, holding his cuffed wrists out toward Harrison, his lead attorney.

"Harrison," Alex said smoothly, offering a brief nod. "I assume the bail paperwork is already processed?"

Harrison quickly pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his brow. "Mr. Livingston, we haven’t even needed to file for bail. Chief Morris is voiding the detention order on procedural grounds right now."

"Uncuff him immediately," Morris ordered the uniformed officer standing by the door.

"Chief," Lawson said, his tone firm. "The intake procedure requires at least an initial statement once a summons is executed—"

"I said uncuff him!" Morris shouted, his voice echoing loudly against the concrete walls of the parking bay. "The summons was improperly issued due to an administrative error by a rogue officer! Mr. Livingston is not being booked, he is not being processed, and there will be no statement!"

The uniformed officer didn’t hesitate for a single second. He pulled out his key and unlocked the steel cuffs, stepping back with a respectful bow.

Alex shook his wrists, flexing his fingers as he adjusted his gold cufflinks. He looked at Lawson with a cold, mocking smirk, leaning in slightly.

"What did I tell you in the pavilion, Detective?" Alex whispered, his tone dripping with quiet venom. "A man at my level doesn’t fit in your little steel cages. You tried to play the hero, and all you did was ruin your own career."

Lawson met his gaze without blinking, though his jaw tightened as Morris snatched the yellow case file folder directly out from under his arm.

"Hand over your badge and service weapon, Lawson," Morris commanded coldly, handing the file folder straight to Harrison, who promptly dropped it into his briefcase. "You and Officer Miller are suspended indefinitely without pay, effective immediately. Leave the premises."

Alex didn’t even bother watching Lawson turn over his badge. He casually adjusted his blazer and turned toward Chief Morris.

"Chief Morris, thank you for correcting your officer’s amateur mistake," Alex said smoothly. "Now, I believe my driver is waiting outside to take me back to my reception."

"Of course, Mr. Livingston," Morris said, his tone instantly shifting from explosive anger to eager deference as he gestured toward the private elevator. "Our department deeply apologizes for the inconvenience caused to you and the Livingston Group tonight. Rest assured, the public index entry is already being purged as a system glitch."

Alex walked out of the precinct as a completely free man less than twenty minutes after being brought in. No charges were filed. No fingerprints were taken. No mugshot was shot.

---

Back at the Grand Pavilion, the atmosphere inside the main hall had shifted from chaotic shock to a tense, expectant quiet.

While a few minor guests had slipped out early, the vast majority of cabinet ministers, bank chairmen, and corporate titans remained seated. Arthur Livingston stood near the head table, raising his hands to command the room’s attention with a steady, confident posture.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please, keep your seats," Arthur announced, his voice booming clearly through the microphones. "I ask for your patience for just a brief moment. What occurred moments ago was nothing more than an uncoordinated, administrative error by a low-level precinct. My son, Alex, is currently clearing up the misunderstanding with the police leadership. He will be returning shortly, and the wedding reception will proceed exactly as planned."

The remaining guests murmured amongst themselves, but nobody moved to leave.

Less than thirty minutes later, the grand double doors swung open once more.

Alex stepped into the hall, untamed and unbothered, adjusting his cuffs with a calm smile. He didn’t look like a man who had just been led out in police restraints; he looked like a king returning to his court. Beside him, Anna stepped forward, sliding her hand gracefully through his arm.

As Alex and Anna walked toward the central banquet stage, a wave of subtle, appreciative smiles spread across the front rows. Mr. Brodick lifted his glass slightly toward Arthur, while several Ministry directors nodded in quiet approval.

The guests who had chosen to stay felt a surge of deep self-satisfaction. They had gambled on the Livingston family’s resilience, and seeing Alex walk back into his own wedding less than an hour after a public arrest proved that his connection to Derrick Roys made the Livingston Group virtually untouchable. By staying loyal through the brief storm, they knew they had secured prime positioning for the multi-billion-dollar freight contracts to come.

Standing at the front stage, holding his wine glass high alongside his new bride, Alex looked out over the room of bowing elites, his dark, triumphant smile widening.

’Jake threw his absolute best shot—and my shield didn’t even shown a single crack,’ Alex thought with a smug.

--