His innocent wife is a dangerous hacker.

Chapter 766 Exposed

"My name is Dr. Raymond Ray," he said, his voice loud and clear, carrying across the auditorium without need of a microphone. "I am the physician treating Krystal’s mother."

The audience went silent.

Krystal’s smile froze.

Leo’s gray eyes narrowed. He leaned forward slightly, his interest piqued, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.

Samuel’s blue eyes flickered toward Krystal, then back to the stage, his expression unreadable.

"I have been treating her mother for two years," Dr. Raymond continued, his voice calm and controlled but trembling with barely contained anger. "Free of charge. Because I was told the family had no money. Because I believed Krystal when she said she could not afford treatment. Because I am a fool who trusted a liar."

He turned to look at Krystal.

"Imagine my surprise," he said, "when I see her sitting in the front row, wearing an expensive dress, her hair done, her makeup perfect. While I have been working for free. While this young man has been donating money he thought was going to help a sick woman."

James’s face went pale. His freckles stood out against his white skin. His mouth opened, then closed. "What?"

"Ask her," Dr. Raymond said, his voice hard. "Ask Krystal where that money went. Ask her if her mother has seen a single dollar of it. Ask her for a receipt. Ask her for proof."

Every eye in the auditorium turned to Krystal.

Her smile was gone.

Her face was white, the color drained from her cheeks, her lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line.

"You are lying," Krystal said.

She stood up from her seat, her white dress catching the light, her heels clicking against the floor as she walked toward the stage. Her face was confidence, her chin lifted, her shoulders back. She had learned long ago that confidence was the key to everything. If you looked like you believed yourself, others would believe you too.

She stepped onto the stage and faced Dr. Raymond, standing inches from him, her eyes blazing.

"I donated all the money to the hospital. Every single dollar." Her voice was sharp and cutting. "You must have taken it for yourself out of greed and selfishness."

Dr. Raymond’s eyes widened. His mouth opened but no words came. His hands, which had been steady at his sides, began to tremble.

He had spent years treating patients who could not afford to pay. He had worked late nights, skipped meals, and given up vacations. He had held the hands of the dying and wiped the tears of the grieving. He had done it all for free, for humanity and love.

And now he was being accused of theft.

A woman stood up from the audience. She was older, with gray hair pulled back in a simple bun and a kind face lined with wrinkles. She wore a simple blue dress and a small gold cross around her neck.

"I am Dr. Raymond’s colleague," she said, her voice firm, carrying across the auditorium. "I have worked with him for fifteen years. He has never taken a single dollar that was not his. He has never stolen from a patient. He has never even accepted a gift, not even a fruit basket."

She looked at Krystal, her eyes hard.

"How dare you accuse him of greed? This man has given his life to helping others. He has sacrificed more than you will ever know. He has missed birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays. He has held the hands of strangers as they took their last breaths. And you stand there, in your expensive dress, and call him a thief?"

The audience murmured. Some nodded. Others looked uncertain.

Krystal’s eyes filled with tears.

She was good at crying. She had practiced in front of mirrors for hours, perfecting the art. She knew how to make her lip tremble, how to make her voice crack, and how to make tears fall at exactly the right moment, not too soon, not too late.

"I did not mean to accuse him," she said, her voice wavering, her lower lip trembling. "I am just so scared. My mother is dying. I have been trying so hard to help her. I have given everything I have. Every dollar. Every penny. Oh God..."

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, smudging her mascara.

"I thought the money was helping her. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was being a good daughter."

The audience’s hearts softened. A few people murmured sympathetically. A woman in the front row reached for a tissue and pressed it to her own eyes.

But not everyone was convinced.

A student in the third row stood up. She had short brown hair and glasses, and her name was Kate. Her face was flushed with anger.

"I donated to Krystal last year," she said, her voice shaking. "For her mother’s treatment. She said she needed money for surgery. I gave her two hundred dollars. I never saw it again."

Another student stood. He was tall, with dark skin and kind eyes. "I donated too. Three hundred dollars. She said it was for medicine. She promised to pay me back when she could."

Another stood. A girl with long braids and a soft voice. "I gave her my scholarship money. Five hundred dollars. She said her mother would die without it."

Another. A boy with acne and a cracked phone screen. "I worked two jobs to save up. I gave her eight hundred dollars. She said it was for a specialist."

Another. A girl with tears streaming down her face. "I skipped meals for a month. I gave her everything I had. She said she would never forget me."

The voices grew louder, overlapping, building into a chorus of accusation. Students stood one by one, their faces angry, their voices rising.

Where did the money go?

What did you spend it on?

Was any of it real?

Krystal’s tears continued to fall, but her heart was racing, pounding against her ribs like a caged animal. She had not expected this. She was not used to being questioned. She was used to being believed. She was used to being the victim.

"Where did the money go?" someone shouted from the back.

Krystal stammered, her voice high and thin. "I... I do not remember. There were so many expenses. Hospital bills. Medications. Specialists. Travel. Accommodation."

"What hospital?" Dr. Raymond asked, his voice hard, his eyes boring into hers. "What medications? What specialists? I have been treating your mother for two years. I have never seen a bill. I have never prescribed expensive medication. I have never consulted a specialist. I have done everything myself."