Chapter 254: Left in the Dark
The police had already gone when Vicky crossed her arms, her sharp gaze flicking between Nick, Liam, and the soaked mess of their clothes. "You two look like drowned kittens," she said bluntly, though there was a hint of fondness beneath her smirk.
"Come to my office. I told one of my staff to bring clothes for you both. No way are you going home dripping like that. Just don’t be choosy, what we have in the warehouse is either crew plain shirts or worse... overalls. We’ll see what he will bring."
Nick chuckled under his breath, brushing a hand through his wet hair. "Always prepared, huh?"
"Of course." Vicky arched a brow. "Someone has to keep you looking presentable after making the evening news. And I kinda wish the media would be here so Nancy’s crimes would be exposed to the world. You should’ve seen the port workers staring and taking videos earlier—you looked like you just crawled out of the sea."
Liam gave her a wry grin. "We kind of did."
Benjamin, who had been quietly observing, finally stepped forward, his expression still taut from the chaos. "I’ll come with you," he announced firmly, his tone leaving no room for debate. His eyes darted to Reagan, who was standing slightly apart, checking his watch with a hint of impatience. "What about you, Reagan? Are you coming as well?"
Reagan shook his head, lips curving into a polite but distant smile. "No, not tonight. I need to wake up early tomorrow for work. I’ll head home now." He straightened his jacket and gave a small nod to everyone before leaving.
As the group moved toward Vicky’s office, Reagan suddenly slowed his pace. His expression became tense, his steps veered sharply in the opposite direction. He slipped a hand into his pocket, pulling out his phone and quickly dialing a number.
The line clicked, and a familiar mocking voice answered, casual and taunting.
["What’s up? It’s late. Don’t tell me you miss me already."]
Reagan pressed his lips together, his tone low but urgent. "Raymond... Man... I don’t even know how to start this. But it’s true—Nancy did push Georgia overboard. The police just took custody of her tonight. She’s cuffed and wet from the bay, and they have her now."
For a moment, silence crackled on the other end. No reaction. No laugh. No curse. Just silence. It grated on Reagan, made his chest tighten.
He clenched his jaw, voice rising a notch. "She rented a boat from your company, Raymond. East West Corporation. It flipped, and now the coast guards have her, along with the crew who helped her. They’re all facing charges for aiding and abetting. This—" he inhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, "this is going to hit your father hard, and when it does, it’s going to land on you too."
At last, Raymond’s voice came, flat and cutting, stripped of any humor.
["Thanks for telling me. I’ll call her father. He’s the only one who can help her now."]
And just like that, the line went dead. No goodbye. No acknowledgment. Nothing.
Reagan stared at the phone screen, the call log glaring back at him. Frustration surged hot in his chest, and he dragged a hand over his face, muttering under his breath. He hated being left in the dark, hated being brushed off like some errand boy.
Instead of heading home as he’d told the others, he made a quick decision. He got into his car only to stop in front of one of the stores of Knight Marine Chandlers, the flagship of Vicky’s empire at the port, before completely driving away.
*********
At the police station, most of the employees and morning shift officers had gone home after a long day of serving the people.
Oliver sat at a desk, finishing a stack of paperwork with a desk officer, when the stillness shattered—Nancy’s voice pierced through the halls, raw and desperate, her pleas bouncing against the cement walls of the holding area.
Oliver’s pen stilled. He lifted his head just as the female desk officer gave him a knowing nod.
"Go ahead, Mr. Morris. I’ll finish this one for you. Come back for it later."
"Thank you," Oliver muttered, pushed his chair back, and moved toward the cells.
One of the officers standing guard leaned against the bars, shaking his head in frustration. "That woman’s insane. She screamed and cried the whole ride here. Thought my eardrums were going to burst. Honestly, I am going to make sure we’re expediting her transfer to the district prison first thing tomorrow. Can’t imagine surviving another night of her nonsense."
Oliver allowed himself a smirk, eyes cold. "Mind if I speak to her?"
The officer waved him on. "By all means. If you can get her to shut up for even five minutes, I’ll owe you one."
Before Oliver could take another step, Nancy spotted him. Her fingers curled around the bars, eyes wild, face pale and still wet with sea water and tears.
"Oliver! Please—please let me talk to Georgia!"
His expression hardened, his voice clipped. "You will. In court." He stepped closer, just enough for his words to cut. "I just came to see for myself that they caught you. And now that I have—" his eyes swept her trembling form, "—I’ll leave. Make sure to hire a damn good lawyer, Nancy. Because this case? This isn’t just business for me. This one’s personal, for Nick."
Her knees buckled as he turned away. Nancy slumped to the floor, watching through the bars as Oliver’s figure disappeared down the hall. The weight of his words lingered heavier than the cuffs biting her wrists.
Moments passed. The sound of his footsteps faded. Then another voice broke the silence.
"Get up. Come with me so you can change," a female officer ordered as she opened the cell door.
Nancy glanced up, dazed, only to freeze when her gaze landed on the figure standing just behind the officer. Reagan. His jaw was tight, his lips pressed into a thin line as he stepped forward. In his hands were folded clothes—ship crew shirts and plain pants, nothing more.
"Sorry," he muttered, keeping his tone low as he extended the bundle. "That’s all I could grab on short notice. Mall’s already closed."
Nancy’s breath hitched. For once, she was speechless, her throat dry, her mind racing with words she couldn’t form. She stared at Reagan, stunned, caught between disbelief and the sting of betrayal—or salvation. She couldn’t tell which.