CHAPTER 36: CHAPTER 36: MOVING THE CAR

Philip Paxton guessed who was standing outside the door. He opened it, his face unflustered.

When Simon Sterling saw him, his expression looked like he’d eaten a bitter melon, bypassing him to see Jean Ellison standing in the living room.

He wished he’d come to the wrong place.

"Reporter Ellison, who is this?"

He came in, asking about someone else’s identity first.

Philip Paxton closed the door and quietly walked over to Jean Ellison, brushing off the dirt on his apron.

"Doctor Sterling, who do you think I should be?"

Simon Sterling frowned slightly, after a brief consideration, stepped forward and shook his hand.

"Her brother, of course. It’s our first meeting, so I haven’t brought a gift. I’ll make up for it next time."

Simon knew Jean didn’t have a boyfriend.

This man was wearing an apron, and had been carrying things upstairs earlier, so he must have been cooking in the kitchen.

This level of familiarity could only mean he was family.

Philip Paxton’s face darkened, his jaw muscle tensed.

Jean Ellison opened her mouth, wanting to deny it, but then realized that the title was fitting.

When Philip visited her in prison, it was under the guise of being her brother.

Simon’s words didn’t seem like a joke. He sincerely released Philip’s hand and stopped looking at him, moving towards Jean.

"Aunt Kingston’s physical examination report is ready. I happened to pass by after work, so I brought it over."

Philip stood aside, body tense, coolly saying, "Happened to pass by? Weren’t you downstairs for a few hours when I went up?"

Jean took the report from Simon’s hand, flipping through the pages while saying, "Why didn’t you invite Doctor Sterling upstairs? He came all the way to deliver the report. It was kindhearted."

Simon smiled gently and added, "Reporter Ellison, don’t speak ill of your brother. He was just joking with me downstairs, pretending not to know you."

Jean paused flipping pages, looking at Philip, who slightly turned to avoid her gaze.

She looked a bit serious, jokingly saying, "Officer Paxton, isn’t lying in that uniform a bit inappropriate?"

Philip scratched the back of his head, changing the subject, "Jean, the crabs in the kitchen are almost ready. I’m going to check on them."

Jean didn’t mind too much, thinking Philip must have mistaken Doctor Sterling for a bad guy, his occupational habits showing.

"I can’t understand the report. How is Aunt Kingston’s health?"

Jean clutched the report, asking Simon Sterling.

"Don’t worry, nothing major, just some common elder ailments, like hypertension."

"I’ve adjusted her daily medication to reduce dosage while better treating her mental health."

Discussing work, Simon appeared more serious, speaking calmly, exuding a doctor’s reliability.

"Thank you, Doctor Sterling."

"Would you like to stay for dinner? We have lots of crabs, two people can’t finish them."

Jean cheerfully invited him, as he came specially to deliver the report, and deserved a meal before leaving.

Moreover, Philip tricked him, making him roam downstairs for ages. He must be exhausted.

"Will your brother mind?"

Simon asked softly.

Philip overheard from the kitchen, responding with a deep, indignant tone, "In my house, Jean has the final say."

Jean chuckled, pulling him to sit on the sofa, pouring him a glass of warm water, handing it over.

"You wait here for a moment, we’ll have dinner shortly."

Philip brought out the steamed crabs, each weighing a pound, heavy and plump.

Vivid orange shells glistening with oils, steam puffing out from the cracks, cloaked in white mist.

Grains of white salt hadn’t fully melted on the red armor, membranes at the joints nearly translucent, beneath lay firm streaks of deep red and white crab meat.

Jean felt Doctor Sterling was a guest, so she reached out and placed one onto his plate.

Simon’s gaze fell on her hand, frowning slightly.

He didn’t speak, glanced around, then walked over to the glass cabinet and took out a small yellow first-aid kit.

His slender fingers plucked a folded sterile gauze, deftly unfolding it.

He returned, gently pulling Jean’s wrist over.

Philip almost got up but sat back when he saw what Simon was preparing.

Simon sterilized her finger wound, applied iodine, then wrapped it with gauze, his movements precise and practiced.

Gently advised, "Crab injury, wasn’t it? You just carelessly stopped the bleeding, it’s easy to get infected that way."

Philip sat in his chair, shoulders taut, lips pressed thin.

"I took care of her wound."

Simon continued tending to Jean’s injury, briefly glancing at Philip, eyes quickly retracting.

"Officer Paxton, you must have learned wound care, but Reporter Ellison is a young lady. Her skin is delicate, unlike you rough guys."

The implied criticism was that Philip was clumsy and inattentive.

"Who are you calling rough, you pretty boy?"

Philip gritted his teeth, glaring at Simon, shadows looming under his brow ridge.

Eating his cooked crab, being called rough, and holding Jean’s hand, when he gets back, he surely will check if this man has a criminal record.

Looking from every angle, Simon didn’t seem any good doctor to him.

"Stop!"

Jean pulled back her hand, wrapping her index finger’s gauze herself, tying a tight knot.

"If you both won’t eat, then leave. Why argue at my house?"

She didn’t get it; two strangers meeting, bickering upon meeting, was there some deep-seated past grudge?

Philip and Simon immediately shut up, one cutting crab with utensils meticulously, the other cracking crab legs with bare hands.

Almost at once, they placed crab meat on Jean’s plate.

"I can handle it myself."

Jean frowned, it’s just her index finger hurt, not like her hand was broken.

"Your hand’s injured."

They spoke at the same time.

Then the phone rang, playing a patriotic song.

Philip pulled his phone from his uniform pants pocket, his brows furrowing at whatever the caller said.

"Got it."

Jean asked, "Is it work? You should go if needed."

Simon looked up, chiming in, "Yes, Reporter Ellison’s brother, sometimes you can leave first. With me here, you can rest assured."

Philip gave him a cold look, ignoring him.

It was having this pretty boy doctor that made him uneasy.

He looked at Jean, who was sipping water, pausing for a moment before saying, "Not work, security called. They said the parking space downstairs was bought, did you know?"

Just then, his parked car downstairs was forcibly moved, left outside the community, and a kind security guard called him.

This building mostly housed the elderly, who didn’t drive. The parking was often rented hourly.

Jean put down her glass, shook her head, "No idea."

She picked up chopsticks, about to eat a piece of crab meat, suddenly realizing something, slamming her chopsticks on the table.

Uh-oh.

The one who bought the parking space might be Justin Holden.

Last time he arranged a pass, he didn’t pay rent but instead bought a parking spot outright.

"What did security want, to move the car?"

Jean stood up, both hands pressed on the table, trembling fingers, voice shaking.

"The car’s already moved. They probably needed the space urgently and didn’t inform you."

Hearing Philip’s words, her heart pounded faster.

This was Justin Holden’s style, a walking law book, rigid and stubborn, always this rude in handling things.

Knock, knock, knock — a steady knocking on the door.

Jean’s face turned pale, panic-stricken, looking at the door, her heart leaping into her throat.

Justin was outside. Why did this make her so anxious?

Was it because they hadn’t properly broken up before her imprisonment, or was she afraid he might misunderstand her trying to find a new stepfather for Jesse?

Jean didn’t know what she was thinking, but impulsively told the two men,

"Can you both hide for a moment? I need to deal with some personal matters."