Nathan Prescott had reached his limit. His patience snapped as he cut off Alexander Blackwood with a voice like steel. "Alexander, that's enough. Stop this ridiculous nonsense."

Alexander shot back, his face flushed with anger. "It's not nonsense! I'm telling the truth!"

The officer stepped in, his tone firm. "Mr. Prescott, I must remind you that every word you say now carries legal weight."

Nathan clenched his fists. "Let me ask you again—did they really hold Victoria Langley's life hostage?"

Alexander hesitated, then spat out, "Victoria is terminally ill, and they—they refused to treat her unless we met their demands! If that's not blackmail, then what is?"

The officer gave him a look of disbelief. "Mr. Prescott, by your logic, every hospital that can't treat a patient for free is guilty of extortion?"

Alexander's breath came in sharp bursts. "That's not the same! We were willing to pay!"

The officer crossed his arms. "So, you think just because you have money, people are obligated to sell you what you want?"

Alexander faltered. "I—I was offering them a fair deal!"

The officer sighed. "Mr. Prescott, transactions require mutual agreement. Forcing someone to sell is illegal."

Nathan had heard enough. His patience was gone.

"Alexander, shut your mouth."

When had Alexander become so delusional?

Nathan turned to the officer, his voice steady. "We'll compensate Mr. Whitmore for all damages—medical expenses, emotional distress, everything."

He paused, then added, "Is there any way Alexander's charges could be... lessened?"

The officer gave Nathan an approving nod before casting a disdainful glance at Alexander.

Arguing wouldn't change the facts.

The law didn't care who shouted the loudest.

It was time to face reality.

These entitled rich kids never failed to surprise him.

The officer continued, "Mr. Prescott's actions endangered lives. The other party refuses to settle. They want him held accountable."

Alexander exploded. "They bullied Victoria! And now they're playing the victim?"

The officer's patience was thinning. "Mr. Prescott, legally, you should already be in custody. You're only out on bail because of your injuries—and your lawyer."

"But if you keep this up, there won't be any settlement."

"If they don't agree to drop charges, you will serve time."

Alexander sneered. "They wouldn't dare."

The officer had had enough.

"Think carefully about whether you want to apologize."

With that, he left.

Nathan found Amy Sinclair soon after.

She was alone in the clinic, sweeping up broken glass.

Theodore Whitmore and Oliver Kingsley were nowhere in sight.

Nathan's gaze swept over the wreckage—shattered vials, overturned shelves, the remnants of what had once been a pristine space.

Now he understood why they had called the police.

But he still had to get Alexander out of this mess.

He approached Amy, his voice firm.

"Amy, I need you to sign a statement of forgiveness."

Amy stopped sweeping.

She reached into a drawer and pulled out a document, sliding it across the counter toward him.

"Sure," she said coolly. "Sign these divorce papers first, and then we'll talk about forgiveness."