Chapter 162: As A Citizen

MJ felt the hair on his arms rise in response.

Neville continued, lightly but sharply. "I have a personal vendetta against the person you’re after."

A collective intake of breath swept through the assembly.

Colonel Vane’s head turned to Neville, and MJ could practically see the gears turning behind those calculating eyes. Neville just inserted himself directly into the military investigation with confidence.

"And why," Colonel Vane asked slowly, his tone suggesting he found this interruption deeply beneath him, "should that matter to this investigation?"

The dismissiveness in his voice was obvious.

Neville’s expression remained calm, but his eyes held a dangerous glint that MJ had only glimpsed once before.

"I can already tell you that the people you intended to arrest have nothing useful to offer regarding your target. Every single one of them was disposable."

A ripple of whispers spread through the crowd.

If the people on the military’s list were disposable, then who had disposed of them? And who had deemed them expendable in the first place?

"And how exactly would you possess such information?" Colonel Vane’s voice had dropped several degrees, frosting over with suspicion and barely concealed hostility.

His hand had drifted toward his hip—a habitual gesture, MJ realized, reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. Military instincts didn’t disappear just because you had entered a civilian building.

Neville tilted his head, and that small motion somehow conveyed both infinite patience and absolute certainty.

Like a teacher explaining something obvious to a particularly slow student, "I told you. I have a personal vendetta against that person."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

MJ watched Colonel Vane’s face cycle through several emotions before settling on something cold and professional. Whatever personal feelings Colonel Vane had about being spoken to this way by Neville, they had been buried beneath protocol.

"As a citizen under the imperial regime," Colonel Vane began, drawing himself up to his full height, every medal on his chest catching the light like a deliberate reminder of his authority, "you are obligated to provide any information relevant to matters of galactic security. I am ordering you to—"

"Ordering me?" Neville’s voice cut through Colonel Vane’s pronouncement.

All traces of serenity vanished from his face, replaced by something fierce and unyielding. His posture subtly changed, his shoulders squaring, chin lifting, and suddenly, he didn’t look like a secretary at all. He looked like someone who was out for a kill.

MJ felt his heart rate spike. He had never heard Neville speak like this. He was usually polite, somewhat reserved even. The temperature in the room seemed to drop, and people were actively leaning away from the podium as if being close to this confrontation might burn them.

"You come into this corporate building, having failed at your primary objective, and attempt to commandeer information through intimidation and the invocation of imperial authority?" Neville took a single step forward, and somehow that small movement made Colonel Vane actually take half a step back.

The sight was almost comical, except nothing about this felt funny.

"You have no warrant. You have no court order. You have nothing but your uniform and your assumption that everyone will simply bow to your demands."

Colonel Vane’s face flushed with anger. His jaw clenched, and MJ could see the effort it took him to control his response—military discipline fighting against personal affront1.

"How dare you—"

"How dare I?" Neville laughed, and the sound sent chills down MJ’s spine.

It wasn’t cruel, exactly, but it was utterly devoid of fear or deference. It was the laugh of someone who had looked death in the face and found it unimpressive.

"I dare because I’ve spent months being targeted by the very person you’re too incompetent to catch. I dare because I have information you desperately need, and you’ve just made the spectacular tactical error of trying to bully me into providing it for free."

MJ’s gaze flickered to Grayson, expecting the CEO to intervene, to calm the situation, to do something. Instead, he found Grayson watching Neville with an expression that could only be described as indulgent. He looked almost proud of him.

He was letting him do this, MJ realized with dawning horror and fascination. Grayson Maxwell is deliberately letting his rising star employee clean up a military Colonel in front of the entire company personnel.

The thought should have terrified him. But MJ found himself fighting the inappropriate urge to applaud.

Neville’s fingers moved across his light brain, the holographic display responding to his touch with ease.

Suddenly, the massive display behind the podium flickered to life. Documents materialized again—financial records, communication logs, surveillance footage. The data spread across the screen like evidence in a trial, each piece connecting to others in a web of damning evidence.

"Since you’re clearly struggling with your investigation, Colonel, allow me to assist." Neville’s voice had changed tones again. The anger had been contained, redirected, transformed into something far more dangerous—cold, calculated competence. "Mr. Ethan Goelet’s illegal activities extend far beyond his involvement in Marcus Chen’s death."

A collective gasp swept through the assembly. MJ felt his own jaw drop.

What else did he do?

It didn’t take long for MJ’s question to be answered. "We’re talking about evidence of pheromone experimentation on unwilling subjects."

MJ watched the blood drain from faces throughout the crowd. Some people looked genuinely ill. One executive actually covered her mouth like she might be sick. Others were frozen in their seats, their expressions cycling through disbelief, horror, and dawning comprehension.

The cluster of employees, Ethan’s fan club, who had been most vocal in their support of Ethan, looked like they had been physically slapped. Now they sat in stunned silence, their previous certainty crumbling around them.

MJ felt his stomach lurch.

What Ethan did wasn’t just illegal; it was one of the most serious crimes in the entire Imperial Galaxy. It was ranked alongside treason and crimes against the royal family.

The very thought of how Ethan did it made his skin crawl.

A "personal affront" is an action or statement that is deliberately disrespectful and insulting, causing offense to an individual’s dignity or self-respect