At 1:30 in the afternoon, a police car from the Procuratorate arrived at the Seventh People's Hospital to coordinate with the hospital in advance. Over a dozen police officers from the Public Security Bureau arrived one after another. Not long after they got there, angry netizens, carrying eggs and protest signs, rushed over upon hearing the news. Before they could even enter the registration hall on the first floor, they were stopped and could only stand behind the makeshift barricade, protesting while exposing the long list of misdeeds of a certain life-taking scoundrel to passing patients.

A few seasoned reporters from some newspapers managed to slip inside. The hospital had already issued a gag order, and everyone kept their mouths shut, so the reporters didn’t manage to dig up much valuable information.

At three o’clock, three black Mercedes S600s, led by police cars, drove through the gates of the Seventh People's Hospital.

A young man in handcuffs had just crawled out of the middle Mercedes. His face was pale, his eye sockets sunken, clearly showing signs of overindulgence in alcohol and women. He glanced sideways at the protesting netizens, his expression turning ugly—he obviously realized that his case had sparked public outrage and that he could no longer get away with things as quietly as before.

William Foster suddenly let out a miserable scream as an egg exploded on his face.

It’s the 21st century—who uses raw eggs anymore? Of course, it was hard-boiled!

Some righteous citizen had a strong arm, and the hit landed solidly, instantly raising a huge bruise.

Under the protection of the police and the Foster family bodyguards, the suspect, rich second-generation William Foster, fled in embarrassment into the registration hall, narrowly escaping disaster.

When he reached the elevator, the furious William Foster, with a big bruise on his forehead, made a provocative gesture at the netizens.

The police maintaining order at the scene almost failed to hold back the angry netizens. Someone captured the moment on their phone, and the internet soon exploded—what an arrogant scumbag.

It wasn’t just the netizens; even patients and their families couldn’t stand to watch.

……

Section 4: Madness

From the end of lunch, Director Cooper had been lecturing Abraham Lincoln, who took on this case, for at least two hours. Clearly, the online public opinion was putting enormous pressure on the Seventh People's Hospital.

Never before had a third-party evaluation been as tricky as today’s.

Since the morning, Dean Carter’s cell phone and office landline hadn’t stopped ringing, with calls and hints coming from all directions. Even turning off the phone or unplugging the line was useless—somehow, people with great connections could even reach the phones of people at the conference site and demand to be put through.

As the only specialized hospital in the city, the Seventh People's Hospital couldn’t just pass the buck like Ethan Brooks did to Abraham Lincoln; they had no choice but to treat this as a political mission and prepare accordingly.

Despite the director’s efforts to intercept and mediate, some messages still reached Abraham Lincoln, and the situation was far more serious than the warnings from the young nurse Olivia Smith.

……

The fourth-floor corridor had already been temporarily sealed off by the police. Both the Public Security Bureau and the Procuratorate had sent people to coordinate, and not even the most resourceful reporters could get in.

“Suspect William Foster, ID number…”

Although this wasn’t an execution ground, the procedure of verifying identity was still necessary.

After the handover procedures were completed, William Foster was finally uncuffed and pushed in front of Abraham Lincoln.

Feeling uncomfortable under the scrutinizing gaze, Young Master Foster rubbed his slightly numb wrists and said contemptuously, “What are you looking at? Do you know who I am?”

Although he knew his family had made plenty of preparations, William Foster wasn’t willing to just sit and wait for doom. He planned to intimidate this psychiatrist first, then either threaten or bribe him, or perhaps try to win him over with virtue. As long as he could get a psychiatric evaluation report, he could escape this disaster.

A mere overindulgent playboy couldn’t possibly know such cunning tricks; in reality, it was the Foster family’s high-priced legal team secretly advising him.

Having money really does let you do whatever you want!

Completely ignoring the guy’s provocation, Abraham Lincoln smiled and, mimicking his arrogant tone, said, “Heh, do you know who I am? My dad’s name is Li…” He was playing entirely by his own rules.

“Is it Li Gang?”

William Foster naturally picked up on this well-known meme.

Isn’t it just about whose dad is more powerful? Who would William Foster be afraid of?

“My dad’s name is John Thompson.”

In another world, his grandpa was called David Thompson, a notorious crime boss who had washed his hands of crime. In this world, his father was called John Thompson, the head of the local government’s law enforcement in some remote, rundown county in the northwest—also known as the chief of police.

A person in different worlds can always find different destinies.

Come to think of it, the fathers in both worlds were actually arch-enemies. Luckily, they’d never run into each other, or there would have been many stories to tell.

“John Thompson? Who’s that? Never heard of him. Let me tell you—”

William Foster clearly breathed a sigh of relief. That was scary, but thank goodness it wasn’t Li Gang. He was about to repeat his old tricks when Abraham Lincoln interrupted him again.

“Have you heard of Abraham Lincoln?”

“Li, Abraham Lincoln? The Tang Dynasty’s Immortal Poet Abraham Lincoln, who hasn’t heard of him?”

The rich kid was unwittingly led off track, forgetting his initial arrogance.

“That’s me, in the flesh.”

Abraham Lincoln calmly pointed at himself.

“You? Abraham Lincoln? Who are you trying to fool! I’m not a three-year-old, a little kid, huh? You…”

This was already the tone of someone stuck in a ditch, looking up at the sky.

Abraham Lincoln pointed at his work badge on his chest.

“……”