“It all started with that letter—you know the ones I mean, right? I have to say, Susan Wright really is a clever person. If there had only been one person poisoning her, I believe she would have succeeded. Unfortunately, she didn’t know that everyone was involved, so her identity was exposed from the very beginning. We held a meeting and finally decided that I would write her back, the goal being to better control the situation and know our enemy. But ever since you got involved, things started to get tense—mainly because of the police. You called the police, and Susan Wright actually denied everything. That scenario wasn’t in any of our contingency plans. Although the police didn’t end up getting involved, no one could figure out what Susan Wright was thinking, and everyone was a bit panicked. People are naturally timid; after poisoning her for so long, everyone was actually getting more and more scared. Many wanted to stop, since with Susan Wright’s health at the time, her studies were already seriously affected, and there was a high chance she’d be identified and removed, so the goal was basically achieved. But before stopping, we still needed to figure out what Susan Wright was thinking—why didn’t she call the police, and instead wanted to meet the poisoner in private?”

At this point, Matthew Mitchell pursed his lips and shook his head slightly, then broke into a silent grin.

“Really didn’t expect it, but it’s just like Susan Wright.” He sighed.

“Was it on Christmas Eve that year? You arranged to meet in the pine woods, right? So you managed to get Susan Wright’s true intentions out of her?”

“It wasn’t me.” Matthew Mitchell pointed toward the kitchen behind him, where Frank Bishop had been making coffee for a long time.

“What Susan Wright wanted was far more than just not being poisoned anymore—she wanted to control the poisoners’ lives. For her, this was a gamble: either lose her own life, or win someone else’s. With her personality, even if we stopped, she would never give up. She’s ruthless—even to herself, willing to use her own life as a bargaining chip. Once we understood that, we realized she’d cornered us. If we stopped but she kept investigating, everyone would live in fear—a ticking time bomb. And if she really was identified, she’d definitely use the poisoning as a way to save herself.”

“So you all decided to kill her.” Fiona Bennett said.

“There wasn’t actually a collective decision—not everyone understood Susan Wright like I did. But someone had to make a choice. Susan Wright could see this coming; in fact, she wrote a letter begging for mercy at the end, saying she was willing to give up everything. Everything—you know what that means, right? From her mind to her body, all of it. She wasn’t just saying it—she handed me her biggest secret. She said she killed her sister Shirley Wright, and that she’d tried to murder her mother Beatrice Collins but failed!”

“Ah.” Only then did Fiona Bennett realize that Susan Wright had even tried to kill her own mother!

“She handed over such a huge secret, hoping to make us stop poisoning her, to save her own life. I have to admit, for a young man, being able to completely control a woman—especially one who’s even willing to be a slave—is very tempting.”

Fiona Bennett felt a deep disgust, both toward Matthew Mitchell and Susan Wright. She forced herself to suppress her revulsion and asked, “Then why didn’t you accept?”

Matthew Mitchell gave a bitter smile. “Because I didn’t dare. Susan Wright is like a viper—if I accepted, one day she’d definitely bite me to death. Think about what she did to her sister and mother just to carve out a path for herself. When I later verified all of it, I was truly grateful I made the right choice back then.”

Fiona Bennett was silent for a moment, then said, “So your choice was to smear thallium poison inside the chest cavity of the cadaver, so Susan Wright would come into direct contact with a large dose?”

“Yes, but unfortunately something went wrong when handling the body. If not for that, everything would have been seamless. Honestly, if Gabriel Adams hadn’t traced things back to Vincent Parker, I wouldn’t have made up my mind to deal with him, and you wouldn’t be here today.”

“So you mean, if you’d managed to kill Susan Wright without a hitch, it would have been better for everyone?”

“Isn’t that so? This whole thing could have been over, gone forever. Look at all our classmates working in medicine—these years, they’ve been working themselves to the bone saving people, achieving so much. In Shanghai’s medical circles, there’s even talk about the ‘Weipei Department.’ Whether it’s guilt or compensation, I think using someone like Susan Wright in exchange for all this is worth it. Besides, look at how old Fei has treated you all these years—keeping you at home, indulging your every whim. What do you think that was for?”

“What do I think?” Fiona Bennett’s lips trembled. She gave a bitter, miserable smile and said, “So Frank Bishop saving me and marrying me was all arranged?”

“Saving you, yes. But marrying you…” Matthew Mitchell glanced back; Frank Bishop still hadn’t brought out the coffee. He sighed and said, “He does feel some guilt, but he wouldn’t marry someone he doesn’t like just for that. If anything, because of this, he’s been pretty indulgent toward you.”

“But what about you?” Matthew Mitchell leaned forward slightly, looking at Fiona Bennett with a half-smile.

“You pushed him to where he is today, pushed me to this point, pushed the whole Weipei Department into anxiety, and pushed yourself into this tin shack. But it’s not for Susan Wright, is it? Am I wrong, old classmate? You’re doing it for another man.”

“A man you killed.” The complicated emotions bottled up inside Fiona Bennett finally broke through. Her heart began to churn, and she started to tremble.

“You killed Gabriel Adams, didn’t you? You forged a letter to lure Gabriel Adams to the Blue Bar, dressed up as a woman to lead him to the rental apartment—it was you who killed him with your own hands, you executioner!” Fiona Bennett began to cry.

“That’s not entirely true. For example, that letter really was stuck in the mailbox nine years ago. Back then, to guard against the police, if they traced things that far, it would distract them and buy us more time. I never expected it would still be there nine years later, so the fake aged letter I’d prepared wasn’t even needed. Also, that night in the bar, he was the one who approached me. He must have recognized who I was—I guess he thought he’d found a valuable lead. I was like Jiang Taigong fishing with a straight hook—the fish bit on its own, what could I do?”

Matthew Mitchell spoke lightly, with a flippant expression. At the end, he even spread his hands as if to show his innocence.

Fiona Bennett, however, had completely lost her earlier calm and resolve. Tears streamed down her face as she asked, “Did he say anything at the end?”

“Maybe he did, but I wouldn’t know. I threw him in the bathtub—I didn’t have time to watch him die. I had to clean up the whole place, leave some fake clues—there was a lot to do. Before I left, I checked the bathroom to make sure he was dead. That’s all.”

Fiona Bennett began to gasp for breath, shaking her head over and over, so overcome with grief that she couldn’t control herself.

Seeing the person in front of him on the verge of collapse, Matthew Mitchell felt a surge of satisfaction. He sensed a strange nourishment, feeding off Fiona Bennett’s anger, pain, despair, and helplessness. He felt as if he stood at the center of life and death, with complete control over both—a power that transcended ordinary people and the mundane world.

“Old Fei,” he called out, “come out and take a look at your wife. While you still can, do you want to say a few words or something?”

Frank Bishop slowly walked out of the kitchen, his face expressionless, and placed two cups of coffee on the small table between Matthew Mitchell and Fiona Bennett.

“Only made two cups?”

“I’m not drinking.” Frank Bishop said.

“Looks like your wife isn’t in the mood either. You’re a bit slow, you know.”

Frank Bishop said nothing.

“Sit here, why don’t you say a few words to Fiona Bennett?” Matthew Mitchell stood up, pressed down on Frank Bishop’s shoulder, and made him sit in the chair.

Frank Bishop was visibly uncomfortable and tried to stand, but Matthew Mitchell held him down, saying, “Just sit—what are you afraid of? It’s not like you don’t recognize her, or she doesn’t recognize you. You’re just seeing each other more clearly, that’s all.”

Frank Bishop glanced at Fiona Bennett a few times, then dropped his gaze. Fiona Bennett’s emotions began to settle. She wiped away her tears and looked at the man in front of her. There was no eye contact, no words; for a moment, the two of them fell into silence.

Matthew Mitchell circled around to Fiona Bennett’s side, standing with his arms crossed slightly behind her, looking at one and then the other. Suddenly, he lowered his head and said to Fiona Bennett, “I’ve answered all your questions, but actually, I have one of my own. If I hadn’t gotten here quickly today, you almost would have escaped. Adrian Wright said you got a text message—who sent it to you?”

Fiona Bennett pressed her lips together and didn’t answer, and Matthew Mitchell didn’t wait for her reply. Her bag was tossed on the sofa; Matthew Mitchell picked it up, and its contents spilled out onto the couch.

Matthew Mitchell picked up her phone from among the items and saw the text message.

“Interesting—who could it be?” Matthew Mitchell held the phone, walked to stand in front of Fiona Bennett, and looked into her eyes.

The message came from a normal phone number, not a string of gibberish. Matthew Mitchell smiled and called the number back.

A ringtone sounded from Frank Bishop’s body.