Chapter 4

John froze, then sneered. "What good is a last-ditch struggle? Planning to pull another trick?"

I ignored him and looked at the officer. "Officer, if I really hit someone, there must be footage in the dashcam!"

The officer nodded, opened the car door, and removed the memory card from the dashcam. "Alright, let's watch it now."

The footage loaded.

Everyone held their breath, watching the progress bar crawl forward.

John crowded in. "Fast forward! Don't waste time! Yesterday at 6:34 PM—that's when my dad got hit!"

The officer frowned but hit fast forward anyway.

The footage sped past, showing nothing but the gray parking garage wall.

The knot in my chest loosened slightly.

It seemed my car really had been parked here the whole time, never moved.

The timestamp jumped to 6:30 PM yesterday.

In the footage, my car suddenly started and drove out of the underground garage.

My heart dropped.

The car approached an intersection. The light was red, but the car showed no sign of slowing down.

It drove straight through.

An elderly man on the crosswalk couldn't dodge in time. He was hit and sent flying twenty feet, landing hard on the pavement.

The car didn't stop at all—it simply made a U-turn and left.

John shoved his phone in my face, his voice shaking:

"See that? That's my dad! What do you have to say now?"

"You wanted evidence—there it is! What, you hit someone and don't remember? Think you have multiple personalities? Acting like you have amnesia to escape reality?"

"Let me tell you something—you're paying for the medical bills! Thirty thousand dollars, not a penny less!"

But I said nothing, just stared at the screen.

I dragged the progress bar back and forth, watching that segment over and over.

Once, twice, three times, trying to find any flaw.

But the more I watched, the more confused I became.

The crowd completely lost it:

"The evidence is right there!"

"What are you waiting for? Arrest her!"

"Lock her up! Charge her!"

I was shoved around, surrounded by cursing voices.

The officer held back the surging crowd. Just as he was about to speak, his radio crackled.

"Copy that. Copy that."

After listening, his expression darkened. He turned to me and reached for his handcuffs.

"Russell, forensics just sent word. The blood on your car's bumper has been tested. The DNA matches..."

He paused.

"Bradley, John's father."

He stepped forward and the handcuffs clicked around my wrists.

"You're under arrest for hit-and-run."

Some in the crowd applauded and cheered. Others took photos.

I was pushed toward the police car.

My feet stumbled. My mind went blank.

Impossible. Truly impossible.

I'd never driven a car. I couldn't drive.

But the footage clearly recorded the entire crime.

Could I really have multiple personalities? Did I kill someone and not remember?

Wait. Something's wrong.

I stopped abruptly.

The officer frowned. "Get in the car. Please cooperate with the investigation. Don't waste time."

The dashcam video was still playing on a loop.

"Officer," my voice trembled, "can I watch that video one more time?"

John cursed from the side. "Still trying to deny it? Officers, don't let her stall for time. Just take her away!"

The officer stopped him, hesitated for a moment, then handed me the phone.

I dragged the progress bar back to the beginning.

The car left the garage, passed the first intersection, red light, hit the person, made a U-turn, returned to the complex.

I watched it again.

Suddenly, my eyes locked onto a detail.

Of course! The trick was right here!

I looked up sharply. "I know who the real culprit is!"