Framed by My Best Friend, I Ate Egg Tarts and Fled in the Dead of Night

In a flash, the traffic officer stepped in front of me, shielding me.

"This gentleman has been at the hospital since last night. I just brought him back."

"You’re accusing him of theft—where’s your evidence?"

Faced with the officer’s skepticism, Henry didn’t hesitate to snap back:

"Who are you? I’m assisting with an investigation here. Unrelated personnel, stay out of it."

"He’s a traffic officer," I said slowly, watching Henry’s face pale as I continued:

"From last night’s suspected drunk driving until now—I’ve been under his watch the entire time!"

The bombshell revelation sent shockwaves through the crowd.

The police immediately verified the plainclothes officer’s credentials, then turned to Henry with stern expressions.

Why was he accusing someone with a rock-solid alibi?

Henry clearly hadn’t expected this move. His lips flapped soundlessly, momentarily speechless.

Then, the collector strode over, jabbing a finger at my face with icy disdain:

"I can prove he’s the thief!"

Seeing this man—who’d indirectly caused my gruesome death—again, fury surged through me.

In my past life, at least I’d actually stepped into his house.

If he accused me then, I could’ve chalked it up to senility or mistaken identity.

But this time? We’ve never even met! How could he possibly ID me as the thief?!

Gritting my teeth, I shot back:

"Old man, you can eat nonsense, but you can’t spew it! We’ve never met—why frame me?"

I stared him down, searching for cracks in his expression.

The collector suddenly grabbed my left arm, triumph in his voice:

"I have a habit—whenever guests visit, I coat all cabinet doors with a special ink mixture."

"This shade is my own formula. I’d recognize it anywhere!"

With a yank, he pulled up my sleeve—

A dark brown stain glared back at everyone.

The crowd gasped. Even I was stunned silent.

This made no sense.

This time, I’d never entered his house. I’d checked my clothes thoroughly before coming home. How—?

"Petty theft is one thing, but today you stole national treasures AND bribed someone to lie? Disgusting!"**

Henry seized the moment to smear me further, malice dripping from his eyes.

Then, he pulled a laptop from his bag, declaring he had surveillance footage as evidence.

The video showed a white-clad man entering the mansion with Henry at 9:30 AM—

Same build, same outfit, even identical hair color to mine.

The crowd erupted:

"That’s obviously him!"

"The face is blurry, but who else could it be? This bastard’s got nerves of steel—not even hiding from cameras!"

"Kids these days! Lock him up for ten years at least!"

A tidal wave of curses crashed over me.

Then—a vicious kick from behind—pain so sharp I nearly blacked out.

Gasping through the agony, I roared:

"I HAVE FOOTAGE TOO!"

Locking eyes with the traffic officer, he retrieved his bodycam from the motorcycle:

"My credentials are verified—no forgery here."

"Mr. Lynn was under recorded surveillance from hospital discharge until now. Blood tests and timestamps prove his alibi."

Two conflicting videos. Two irreconcilable truths.

Now, even the police and collector looked lost.

Officers began contacting traffic HQ and the hospital to verify my timeline.

The collector muttered, "The ink doesn’t lie... I couldn’t have mistaken it..."