The crowd erupted in chaos, voices overlapping as they demanded answers from Amy Sinclair.

Before she could respond, a new squad of officers marched out from the precinct.

They froze momentarily at the sight of the commotion outside, then zeroed in on Amy with purposeful strides.

"Ms. Sinclair," the lead officer announced, "we've obtained fresh evidence concerning the allegations against you. As of now, your assets are frozen, and the auctioned items will be held as evidence."

He hesitated briefly before adding, "You'll need to accompany us for further questioning."

Nathan Prescott smirked, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.

The police had moved faster than expected—almost suspiciously so. They must have authenticated the evidence with unprecedented speed.

Amy was about to face formal interrogation.

And with the entire scene being live-streamed, her downfall would play out in real time for the world to see.

Online, viewers were transfixed, their comments flooding the chat.

"First they called her a gold-digger, then a saint. Now this? My head's spinning," one user typed.

"Journalists these days—no fact-checking at all. That network's reputation is toast," another scoffed.

Despite the early hour, social media was exploding with activity. The drama was simply too juicy to ignore.

Spectators were frantically texting friends and family, urging them to tune in before they missed the climax.

Amy turned to the officers. "Five minutes," she requested coolly.

The lead officer scanned the frenzied crowd and nodded.

With this many witnesses—and cameras rolling—she wasn't going anywhere. Besides, the press was salivating for a statement.

If she was guilty, this might be her final chance to speak. Facing the sea of expectant faces, Amy remained composed. "First, the ten billion I donated was legally obtained. Every cent has a legitimate source."

She retrieved her phone and displayed a photo to the clamoring reporters. "This is the bank transfer record. The entire sum came from my ex-husband's account."

Camera flashes erupted like fireworks as journalists scrambled to capture the evidence. Amy held her phone steady, ensuring everyone got a clean shot.

Then she continued, "You're all wondering—who is this ex-husband capable of such generosity? Who could casually part with a fortune?"

She swiped to the next image: a divorce certificate.

Name: Amy Sinclair.

Spouse: ...

Alexander Blackwood?!

The crowd gasped collectively, some rubbing their eyes in disbelief.

Her ex-husband was Alexander Blackwood? Or was this some bizarre coincidence?

But the odds of another Alexander Blackwood with that level of wealth were astronomical.

Every head swiveled toward where Alexander stood, his expression inscrutable.

On Amy's screen, the divorce date was clearly visible—though the ID numbers had been tactfully blurred.

"If there are doubts," Amy said calmly, "the officers here can verify the document's authenticity."

The police immediately scanned the certificate. After a brief consultation, the lead officer addressed the crowd. "The document is genuine."

Pandemonium broke out.

Even the online viewers were struck speechless. The revelation was simply too shocking to process.