Quentin Bennett saw everything, and didn’t blame the old man for being timid—after all, in this era, having scholarly honors truly set one apart from ordinary people. He looked at Clark Foster with fearless composure and said, “Since you claim it wasn’t you, then explain these fragments of the painting. Why did they appear in your bedroom?”

Clark Foster’s smile grew colder as he replied icily, “Why did they appear in my bedroom? How should I know? I rarely ever come to this flower hall, so how could I have stolen that calligraphy? Besides, last night I was reading in my room and never left. You all say the calligraphy was stolen last night—am I supposed to have snatched it out of thin air, bringing something from the flower hall into my bedroom without leaving my room?”

Clark Foster’s words were clear and logical, pointing out the crux of the issue. Since he hadn’t left his room last night, the so-called theft was out of the question.

Quentin Bennett couldn’t help but ask, “You say you didn’t leave your room—who can vouch for you?”

Clark Foster’s expression changed slightly, and he hesitated. He hadn’t left his room, so how could he find anyone to testify for him?

With no other choice, Clark Foster could only retort angrily, “I am a scholar—would I lie to you? After dark, I returned to my bedroom and never came out again. All these years in Eunuch King’s residence, I’ve long been used to going to bed early. And you, a lowly servant, do you really want to frame me?”

Eunuch King squinted, watching Clark Foster and Quentin Bennett argue, but in his heart, he couldn’t help but feel suspicious of Clark Foster. He stared at him coldly, his gaze carrying a suffocating pressure that made Clark Foster visibly flustered.

As for the others in the hall, when they heard Clark Foster call Quentin Bennett a lowly servant, they felt a sense of satisfaction. In their eyes, a servant was just a servant—someone who was usually beneath even a dog in their presence, now strutting around, interrogating suspects as if he were somebody. Who did he think he was?

The chief steward of the inner residence, Quinn Bolton, made her disdain even more obvious, glancing at Quentin Bennett out of the corner of her eye, not bothering to hide her contempt.

Standing beside Quinn Bolton, the accountant Connor Reed kept his head lowered, as if he had thought of something. He glanced at Eunuch King’s expression, as though he had something to say.

After hesitating for a long time, Connor Reed suddenly spoke: “Clark Foster is lying. He says he was reading in his room all night, but I clearly saw him wandering near the flower hall at midnight. I happened to get up in the night and saw him pacing there, looking distracted. I even greeted him.”

As soon as he finished speaking, the whole room erupted in commotion.

Everyone stared at Connor Reed in shock. Connor Reed continued, “If I’m lying, may I be struck by lightning!”

Clark Foster had previously been dismissive—even though something was found in his bedroom, that didn’t necessarily mean he had stolen the calligraphy. But now that Connor Reed had suddenly stepped forward to accuse him, he was instantly flustered.

Quentin Bennett seized the opportunity and said, “Mr. Lin, do you have anything else to say? The fragments found in your room are physical evidence, and now someone has testified that you were near the flower hall last night. With both physical and eyewitness evidence, do you still want to deny it?”

Clark Foster was stunned, his shoulders trembling slightly. He must have realized the seriousness of the situation, so he quickly looked pleadingly at Eunuch King, stammering, “Sir, they’re talking nonsense, they… he’s making it up! I come from an honest family, and by midnight I was already asleep—how could I have been wandering outside? How could I have greeted the accountant… I have no grudge against him, but… but…”

Connor Reed interrupted Clark Foster calmly, saying, “Brother Lin, what are you talking about? You and I both know what happened last night. You were bold and reckless, driven by rumors and greed, so you took the risk and did something so outrageous.”

Clark Foster had nothing left to say, rendered speechless. At this moment, Eunuch King was once again staring at him coldly, making his heart race and his face turn deathly pale.

As soon as he finished speaking, the The Bennett Father and Son—one holding an iron ruler, the other a rope—rushed forward. Sean Foster knelt on the ground, closed his eyes, and waited to be captured. But after a while, nothing happened. Feeling puzzled, he peeked open one eye, only to see the two “constables” charging at Connor Reed instead.

What… was going on now?

Connor Reed noticed the two constables coming at him, and was first stunned, then alarmed. Seeing Charles Bennett closing in, he quickly retreated, his hand landing on the tea table behind him. He grabbed a teacup and hurled it at Charles Bennett.

Charles Bennett hadn’t expected Connor Reed to react so quickly and couldn’t dodge in time. Fortunately, Quentin Bennett was quick to respond. Furious—how dare this guy throw something at my father! Even I, a transmigrator, wouldn’t dare lay a finger on my own dad. Outrageous!

He quickly reached out to block it. With a dull thud, the teacup bounced away, but Quentin Bennett’s forearm was struck, sending a wave of searing pain through his body.

This completely enraged Charles Bennett. Like a wrathful Buddha, he charged at Connor Reed with all his might, crashing into him like a hungry tiger pouncing on a sheep. Connor Reed was knocked to the ground and was about to fight back when Quentin Bennett, ignoring his own pain, rushed up and, together with Charles Bennett, pinned him firmly to the floor.

Chapter 9: The One Being Set Up Is You

Charles Bennett shouted, “You scoundrel!” while anxiously asking Quentin Bennett, “Are you hurt?”