Houser made noise all the way to the police station. It was amazing that the policemen who escorted him retained their stoic faces at his barrage.

"I plead the fifth! Call my lawyer!" were his only words, obviously aware of these things, which just made him more suspicious. Sad for him, though the evidence wasn’t enough to imprison him outright, it was enough to bring him in for questioning.

"Where’s my lawyer?" He yelled when he arrived at the station under the eyes of many. "If he doesn’t get here within 10 minutes, I’ll sue you all! Don’t you know who I am?!"

The police ignored him, dragging him straight to the interrogation room where he’d repeat the words like a parrot.

Luke looked at him, knowing that if he was this stubborn, they might not be able to get much until his lawyer—who was probably very well paid—arrived.

They were glad that they gathered some evidence, like a detailed tracking of his movement, otherwise, just the victim saying his name was not enough to put this guy in a holding facility while they completed the investigation.

Knowing men of power like these, they would likely post bail. Luke hoped to get a confession, more evidence, or a slip-up at least.

At this, Luke took out a folder and threw it at the table in front of him. It was open, and Houser saw the A4-sized photos of the crime scene. Houser’s eyes widened in shock and terror.

"This is the victim."

"Wha—"

Houser gasped at the brutality and bloodiness of the sight. Why are they showing this to him?!

"This man’s name is Anghit. Your DNA is in the house, and the last transactions and contact are all you. Most of all: He called the emergency hotline before he was killed. He says it was you who killed him."

Houser’s pupils contracted, all blood on his face draining, realizing that the situation was really, really against him!

What kind of dirt fell on him!?

...

Houser’s ears were ringing as he gaped at the photos. It felt like time stretched, and he entered a daze.

What happened? How did this happen?!

That smelly old man had so much dirt on him, and he himself became dirt on him. If he could pull souls from hell, he wanted to kill that ugly old man over and over!

"The case against you isn’t limited to his murder either."

Teeth tittering in anger, humiliation, and fear, Houser couldn’t utter anything else. He just raised his eyes and stared at the detective.

At this, a few more pieces of paper were displayed in front of him. This included various screenshots of CCTV footage of him.

And some of them had his damnable eldest daughter in the frame.

"There are multiple accounts and videos of you in the area, heading to the scene of the crime, at the time of the crime. We also gathered evidence that you gave your daughter to him."

As he enumerated these crimes, Luke found himself gritting his teeth. However, he still maintained his professional stance.

"No court will find you innocent of either crime. Why don’t we make a deal now, and we can, perhaps, reduce your sentence?"

Houser gritted his teeth, eyes reddening as he glared at the officer. "It’s not me!"

"It is clearly you, Mr. Cerra," Luke said, face deadpan. "How can you deny it? Especially when the victim himself named you?"

"I didn’t kill him! I REALLY DIDN’T!" Houser screamed.

"Someone who could sell his own daughter for a property can certainly be capable of murder."

"I sold her, yes, but I didn’t murder him! I swear!"

A lot of blood was on his hands, but, regrettably, this old bastard was not one of them! If he wanted him dead, which he did, he would not leave so much evidence against himself!

At this, Houser’s red eyes sharpened a bit, though his mind was still a bit dulled by panic. "I’m being framed! I’m being framed!"

Luke’s eyebrows rose. His intuition told him that this bastard...was actually telling the truth.

Puzzled, Luke zoned in on the crime. At the very least, one crime—selling his daughter—Houser had already admitted to.

Everything was naturally recorded, and at least one crime was already a sure-win. This could guarantee they could detain him, even if it wasn’t yet for the murder. Now he needed more details. After studying Houser’s profile, he knew what to do.

"Why would you sell your own flesh and blood to a man with such infamy attached to his name? Are you trying to get rid of the traces of you living off your former wife by getting rid of her daughter?

"Or are you struggling financially?"

The terms ’poor’ and ’dependent’ were the greatest insult to the vain man.

"I, HOUSER CERRA, AM NOT POOR! I EARNED THE MONEY I HAVE ON MY OWN, WITHOUT A WOMAN!" Houser retorted. "I needed something and he wanted one of my daughters! I just gave him one!"

He’d rather admit his crimes than admit he was poor. He was so shameless about it, too. It grated on Luke’s nerves.

Unfortunately, it was here that the door opened, with his colleague leading a lawyer inside. In the span of a minute, Houser learned to shut up, and he followed his lawyer like a quail.

Luke’s expression was solemn. His sculpted fingers tapped on the table as he pondered. Rich men like these had connections, and he was afraid the traces would be erased or buried somewhere if they delayed the investigations. Perhaps he could even plead insanity, changing the narrative of his selling his daughter.

Luke wouldn’t let that happen, as he had the habit of gathering solid evidence before he made a move. However, he never dared underestimate the power of money.

If they let him out, he would harm others and even harm those who spoke against him.

Luke’s eyes sharpened. At the very least, he had to get the word out, so fast and wide that it would no longer be possible to bury.