Chapter 339 Useless Confession

• Ford Bannister fumbled for his phone. The second he saw the caller ID, his face went cold. “Ye Mochén, don’t tell me you’ve got another mess on your hands.” He spoke the moment the call connected, voice like ice. The guy on the other end froze, then ground his teeth and snapped back, “Ford Bannister, what the hell do you think about all day? We’re supposed to be on the same team. You cursing me daily—does that sound fair to you?” “It’s not like your accidents are a one-time thing.” Ford shrugged, unbothered. Then he smoothed his expression, suddenly all business. Ye Mochén clenched his teacup. He couldn’t squeeze out a smile. He cleared his throat, forcing down the fire boiling in his chest, lifted his head, and said, word by word, “Things aren’t looking great. You took the person. The mess left behind? That’s now my problem.” “You mean the Jiang family?” “Who else? In all of City A, nobody but the Jiangs can shake my position.” Ye Mochén rubbed the crease between his brows and let out a long, heavy breath. Frustration buzzed under his skin with nowhere to go. Ford really did have a way of handing him trouble every time—and every time, he couldn’t say no. He gave himself a quick mental funeral, then opened his eyes and stared ahead, voice turning firm. “Keep an eye on Ye Mofan for me in Murkoff. I’ll handle the fallout here. Just don’t make me split my attention again.” “Relax. Ye Mofan is nothing. I’ve got it.” Ford’s easy tone made Ye Mochén’s eyelids twitch like crazy. Something felt off, like danger hovering just out of sight, and he couldn’t pin it down. He took a second to steady his mood, set down his cup, and spoke slowly into the phone. “Just be careful. I’ve got things to do. I’m hanging up.” “Don’t—” Ford started, but the line went dead. He checked his screen and realized Ye Mochén had already hung up. He silently cursed Ye Mochén to the high heavens, pulled in a breath, and smoothed out his face. There was a sharp pressure tucked under his ribs, a sense that something heavy was clinging to him. He turned and caught Reilly Schulze sneaking looks at him. He chose to be upfront. “Ye Mochén said we left him a mess in City A. He chewed me out. That’s it.” “I don’t care about the drama between you two.” She’d barely finished before she wanted to smack herself. That sounded way too defensive. She coughed, forced herself calm, and stared him down again. “We’re almost there. Where do you want to go? I’ll have Yael Booker drop you off.” “I’ll stick with you guys. I’ve got nowhere in mind anyway. Might as well kill time.” Hearing that, Reilly’s face cooled. “Ford Bannister, I’m not joking.” “Take me to the company.” Ford sat up straight in an instant, the no-nonsense version of himself slipping back into place. It actually worked for Reilly. With the chatter gone, she could finally catch a nap. She’d been stressed over Liu Qingshun these past two days, wired to the point of frayed nerves. The thought barely formed before a heavy yawn rolled through her. Sleep took her. In the haze, something weighty settled over her. A low whisper brushed her ear. “I’m sorry.” When she woke again, two hours had passed. Her voice came out rough. “Where are we now?” “Boss, ten minutes out.” The word jolted her awake. She sat up fast. The coat on her slipped and fell to the floor. She looked down. It was Ford’s suit jacket. She replayed that heavy blanket feeling from earlier and frowned hard. Figures. She went quiet for a beat, then lifted her gaze and took in the car. Her eyes landed on Ford, sitting with his eyes closed like he was napping. “Your coat.” “Keep it on.” Ford opened his eyes. Tenderness rippled there, like he could pull her in and make her part of him. Reilly looked away on instinct, dodging his gaze. Her tone dipped, carrying a mix of feelings. “Take it back. I’m done sleeping.” The car lurched to a stop. Yael Booker leaned back and called, “Boss, we’re here.” Reilly shoved her thoughts down. She didn’t bother with Ford and climbed out. The hospital was settling back into order. Those rumors had mostly been cleared by police notices, so people still came in decent numbers. Their car pulled up at a side entrance. Except for hospital staff, almost nobody knew this route or used it. They slipped in without drawing eyes. In the director’s office, Reilly took a breath and knocked, then pushed the door open. The old man inside was bent over a medical text. The knock snapped him back, and only then did he notice someone had come in at some point. “Ms. Schulze, what brings you here?” “A big gift.” She drummed her knuckles on the desk again. The crisp sound rang through the room. Yael Booker walked in with Liu Qingshun practically tied up like a roast. He stopped in front of Reilly and, as if he couldn’t help it, socked Liu Qingshun once for good measure, growling under his breath, “Confess what you did. Don’t even think about running.” Liu Qingshun wanted to play dead, but the guy next to him was the real deal—he hit hard, and he didn’t hold back. Liu went quiet fast. He stalled, mumbling nothing, refusing to speak. Reilly lost patience. She strode over, grabbed the front of his shirt, and forced him to lift his head and look the director in the eye. The director came closer, hands trembling. He looked bewitched, lips quivering, his face flushing red as he stared at Liu Qingshun—yet the words wouldn’t come. Only after a long silence did he sigh, deep and heavy. “You. I misjudged you and kept you on. I never thought you’d do something like this—drag the whole hospital into hell. Enough. You’ll answer for your sins. Go where you belong.” “Director, I’m your star student. You’re really going to abandon me?” The second Liu shouted that, Reilly froze. Her gaze swung between the director and Liu Qingshun, back and forth, and the shock in her chest wouldn’t settle.