The Return of the Cannon Fodder Trillion Heiress - Chapter 648

Chapter 648: Chapter 648 He Arrived
“It’s Vince Callaway!”

“How did he get here?!”

“Wasn’t he supposed to be in police custody until the investigation was finished? How did he manage to get out of prison?!”

“Hold on, there are police with him!”

“Did he bring them here to turn in his co-conspirators in exchange for a reduced sentence?!”

“That makes sense. After all, tax evasion and embezzlement could land him in prison for at least 20 years if the other side pushes for the harsh punishment, and with his career and reputation already in ruins, turning on his collaborators is probably his only way out!”

Whispers and murmurs rippled through the crowd of reporters, each one speculating and piecing together their own conclusions.

Having covered countless dramas like this before, they were already brainstorming tomorrow’s headlines, eager to craft the perfect story from the whirlwind of material this press conference had provided.

None of them had anticipated such a goldmine of content, and their excitement was brimming to the core as they prepared to share the unfolding drama with the public.

Vince slowly made his way to the front of the crowd, the police trailing behind him as the sound of his slow, deliberate clapping echoed through the tense atmosphere.

His entrance was grand, yet unsettling, with a smile that sent chills down their bodies—more menacing than any scowl.

His eyes had a sharp, dangerous gleam that frozen the head of the Tax Bureau in place.

The man couldn’t suppress the sudden wave of dread washing over him; he instinctively took a step back, his throat tightening as he struggled to swallow the lump that had formed.

Vince’s imposing presence felt like an invisible hand around his neck, choking him with sheer intimidation in full view of the crowd.

“W-What are you doing here? You shouldn’t even be able to post bail! We’re talking about hundreds of millions of dollars here—it was supposed to require special approval from the higher-ups!” the head of the Tax Bureau stammered, his voice a mix of confusion and disbelief.

Seeing Vince walking freely, accompanied by police as though they were his baby sitters, only deepened the unease in the room.

It was a brazen move, and the implications of the head of the Tax Bureau were clear.

Vince must have struck some sort of deal with the authorities—or, worse, bribed his way out.

The head of the Tax Bureau’s panicked question inadvertently added fuel to the fire, confirming to the press that Vince had likely leveraged his wealth and influence to escape custody and crash the press conference, setting the stage for more chaos.

No one could tell if the head of the Tax Bureau’s blunder was intentional or a result of genuine confusion.

After all, he was the one leading the investigation and had a deep understanding of the case.

Yet, his careless remark earlier had just exposed to the media that he suspected Vince to be the mastermind behind the entire scheme.

Now, standing face-to-face with Vince, the weight of his own words hit him like a sledgehammer.

A wave of guilt washed over him, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, he suddenly felt small—vulnerable—under Vince’s cold, calculating gaze.

“Why does it feel like you’ve already convicted me of this crime?” Vince sneered as he strode confidently across the stage, joining the head of the Tax Bureau at the podium.

“In court, there’s a principle—’ Innocent until proven guilty.’ Yet here you are, labeling me a criminal without so much as a chance to defend myself.”

“You made it nearly impossible for me to post bail, to get out and present the evidence that proves my innocence. Don’t you think that’s a bit… suspicious?”

Vince’s words hung in the air as he glanced at the cameras, his gaze steady. What he said was undeniably true, and the weight of it lingered, undeniable.

Embezzlement and tax evasion were indeed serious crimes, but they weren’t on the same level as murder or other more heinous offenses, where immediate jail time before a court hearing was mandatory.

In such cases, bail was often granted so the accused could prepare a defense.

Vince, however, remained inside, unable to gather his evidence and present his side of the story, but it was supposed to be that as long as the authorities could secure the necessary documents from the archives or secure the entire archive, with proper warrants and protection against those who might try to conceal the evidence.

Everything was in order while Vince awaited the court’s judgment, free until proven guilty.

As long as Vince remained in the city, under the watchful eye of the authorities, and behaved according to the law, he was free to go about his life like any other citizen.

His reminder about Barcelona’s laws shifted the focus of the press, planting seeds of doubt about the entire situation.

Reporters now turned their cameras and attention squarely on Vince.

Despite his unshaven face and the dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, he still exuded a rugged charm.

The beard gave him a mature, almost magnetic appeal, and viewers couldn’t help but find him undeniably handsome.

The mood in the comment section shifted dramatically; the hate comments faded as people began to appreciate his strong stage presence and good looks, their tone turning far more sympathetic.

As soon as Vince approached the podium, a microphone was handed to him. He scanned the crowd, his eyes searching for someone in particular.

When he didn’t find what he was looking for, a flicker of disappointment crossed his face, but he quickly regained his composure.

Straightening up, he masked his emotions and turned his attention to the press in front of him.

“First, I’d like to thank everyone for attending today’s press conference. I’m here to present the evidence and clear up any misunderstandings.”

A reporter shot a pointed question in his direction. “Vince Callaway, are you seriously suggesting that the evidence presented earlier wasn’t legitimate?”

“Are you implying that you did not orchestrate this entire scheme just to line your own pockets?” one reporter pressed. “Or are you suggesting that the Tax Bureau staged all of this?”

“Do you realize that slandering a government official is a crime? That would only add to your charges, wouldn’t it?”

As more reporters jumped in, bombarding Vince with questions, the buzz around the podium grew louder.

Each one seemed eager to dig deeper into his involvement, questioning his integrity and his future.

Yet, Vince remained unfazed, his composure as cool as a cucumber.

Despite the gravity of the accusations—embezzlement, tax evasion, the looming threat of prison if he couldn’t clear his name—he didn’t flinch.

“What misunderstandings?”

“While you were in prison, did you even have the chance to gather any evidence?” one reporter questioned, their voice laced with skepticism.

“Everyone, please calm down,” Vince responded, his voice unshaken and smooth, exuding an aura of composure as if the entire circus unfolding around him didn’t even faze him.

The crowd, however, remained unconvinced.

Their eyes scrutinized him, as though searching for cracks in his calm façade—looking for any sign of desperation from someone who seemed to be fighting for survival, on the verge of being condemned.

Meanwhile, Hera watched the live interview on the screen, her heart racing.

At the backstage, employees gasped in disbelief.

Some were overcome with emotion, while others were on edge, unsure of how Vince would navigate this mess.

With Vince still locked away during the investigation, they were left in limbo, unable to complete the files and dealing with constant setbacks.

The pressure was mounting, and a sense of resignation was settling in among some. Yet, for others, Vince remained the only beacon of hope, the one person who could still turn things around.

“Well…” Vince began, his piercing gaze sweeping over the press below.

The intensity of his stare was enough to silence the room, putting a temporary halt to the barrage of questions.

He didn’t need to say a word—his presence alone commanded the stage, signaling that it was his turn to speak and present the evidence.

Yet, despite his confidence, a wave of skepticism lingered.

The reporters exchanged doubtful glances, and even the Head of the Tax Bureau, standing off to the side, couldn’t hide his disbelief.

How could Vince possibly present solid evidence when he’d been locked away, and his employees had been left scrambling in disarray like headless chickens without their leader?

Soon, Vince flashed a knowing smile at the camera, his confidence radiating through the screen. With a subtle gesture, a file was projected onto the display behind him.

What had once been a comparison of archived documents and server files was now replaced by a completely different set of information—something that immediately captured everyone’s attention.

A hushed silence fell over the press conference, as if the entire room held its breath.

All eyes were fixed on the screen, waiting in anticipation for Vince to explain what they were seeing.

Vince, however, wasn’t in a rush to explain.

He smirked, relishing the tension in the room as everyone, even the Head of the Tax Bureau, seemed on edge.

The Bureau head could make sense of some of the information on the screen, but when it was all pieced together, it looked like a complex puzzle—almost like rocket science.

He was lost, unsure of how it all fit together, and he knew that unless Vince broke it down for them, they wouldn’t understand a thing.

Everyone sat in tense silence, waiting for Vince to speak, but he didn’t rush.

He let the moment drag on, savoring the discomfort that rippled through the crowd.

His gaze swept over them, deep and unflinching, as if he was taking pleasure in the anxiety building in their stomachs, savoring the anticipation before he finally chose to break his silence.