“Judging by the character ID, isn’t that the newbie expert from last time? Still with Overseer, definitely a newcomer.”

“The expert’s rating has gone up again so quickly? Last time it was only 92.”

“The progress here is so fast, they’re already deeply in character, while the two in the next livestream room are still introducing themselves, fighting for control of the scenario.”

“In character for what? The domineering CEO and his long-suffering wife? Or those years of my infertility?”

“Are viewers always this savage now?”

“Little cutie... little explosive wife. Quincy looks like he’s about to lose it.”

·

Julian Grant really was about to lose it.

He went to the storage room to grab a broom, sweeping up the shards of porcelain on the floor with force, then wiped up the spilled soup with a rag, making the place look somewhat clean, and left the rest to the cleaning robot.

He wasn’t sure if he was angry at himself or at The Vault, but in the end, all his fury was destined to be borne by that reckless little brat under his command.

In the end, only the harsh lessons of society can make employees understand the greatness of their boss.

Julian Grant put one hand on his hip and yanked open the fridge, finding quite a few frozen foods inside.

Although he didn’t usually do housework, he could at least heat up food. Julian Grant took them out, put them in bowls, and heated them in the oven and microwave.

While waiting for the food, Julian Grant calmed down.

He wandered around the living room again, found the phone left in the corner of the table, and leaned over to check the chat history.

Julia Campbell, like many housewives, had a very limited social circle. Her recent call records were either from unsaved, unfamiliar numbers, or from her own family, hired hourly workers, or contacts marked as hospitals.

Her search apps had privacy protection enabled, so nothing much could be gleaned there either.

Just as Julian Grant was about to dig deeper, a series of electronic beeps sounded from the kitchen, reminding him that his breakfast was ready.

Julian Grant carried the tidied tray upstairs, kicked open the study door, and was greeted by the sight of The Vault sitting at the desk in a completely unrestrained manner, legs propped up high, flipping through a magazine. That posture was just like a spoiled second-generation rich kid squandering life.

No wonder she’s poor—there’s a reason for it. If she had money, wouldn’t she be inflated to the point of bursting?

Julian Grant slammed the plate down on the table and urged, “Eat.”

The Vault lifted her eyelids, shot him a look of disdain, then raised the magazine higher to block her view.

“Hey!” Julian Grant was infuriated by her obvious contempt. “What, you think you can starve to death in this game? You insisted on eating just now, and now you dare say you don’t want it? Try me!”

“What do you mean? Do you know who I am?” The Vault tossed the magazine forward and slapped the table hard for emphasis. “I’ve been featured nine times in major financial magazines, and was invited to personal interviews on TV as a well-known young entrepreneur. I was selected as one of the city’s top ten outstanding youths, and I’m one of the most commercially promising entrepreneurs of my generation. Got it?”

Julian Grant got goosebumps all over and couldn’t take it. “...Are you done playing around yet?”

“Playing? Role-playing starts with understanding a person. I’m working very seriously,” The Vault said. “But, Michael Wood’s life is actually pretty interesting.”

Spread out in front of The Vault was a whole table of magazines and newspapers, and the page she had open was filled with retouched photos of Michael Wood’s face.

By most standards, Michael Wood was a handsome man, but when so many photos of the same face were lined up together, it looked a bit creepy.

The Vault put her feet down, spun halfway around in her chair, stopped at a certain spot, and pointed something out to Julian Grant: “A lot of the magazines and newspapers in Michael Wood’s study are placed right here, the spot closest to him. And on the desk, he keeps the latest interviews he’s done. All the news or interviews about his employees, himself, or anything related to him, he keeps them all.”

Julian Grant could see it—there really were a lot.

The Vault said, “Michael Wood gives interviews frequently, to all kinds of publications, and keeps them where he can see them. That shows he’s proud of it, and he enjoys his career success and being in the spotlight. From his background, he was an internet celebrity in his early years, but didn’t make it because he couldn’t let go, so he switched to working behind the scenes.”

Julian Grant said, “So he’s very narcissistic.”

“Exactly. He’s vain, likes luxury goods, and cares a lot about appearances. That’s why the whole villa’s decor is a bit over the top.” The Vault pulled out a newspaper from the bottom of a pile of books, one she’d specially folded at the corner, and pushed it forward for Julian Grant to see. “From the tone and content of his answers to this reporter, he’s a sensitive person. When the reporter asked questions that annoyed him or were a bit sharp, his answers became combative. And he especially hates people bringing up his childhood and past. That means he hates the fact that he used to be poor. He sees his past as a black mark.”

Julian Grant picked it up, surprised. “You finished reading all the newspapers and magazines in such a short time?”

“Of course not,” The Vault said. “Anything he keeps well and puts in a prominent place is bound to be flattering nonsense. Reading it is a waste of time. The ones he buries at the bottom but can’t bear to throw away are the ones with real information.”

It was this ability to select and process information, combined with her casual tone, that was the most infuriating.

You couldn’t admit your own stupidity in front of her, so you could only stay silent.

Julian Grant carefully read the interview in his hand.

This was from an authoritative newspaper, and the interview was from early on. At that time, Michael Wood was just starting to make a name for himself and was excited to be interviewed. So even though the content made him a bit uncomfortable, he still kept it.

Back then, he didn’t have his current status, so the reporter’s questions were sharper.

From the interview, it was clear the reporter wanted a “grassroots, inspirational” image, but Michael Wood didn’t like being labeled “grassroots.” So the whole interview became very interesting, full of Michael Wood’s resistance and the reporter’s exasperation.

The Vault laughed and said, “So this is the world of mature men. I see a lot of lowbrow tastes.”

She pulled the breakfast tray in front of herself and spread her hands. “Why isn’t there any milk for breakfast?”

Julian Grant was still reading the newspaper and replied blandly, “Because the world of mature men has been weaned for a long time.”

The Vault: “...” She felt a bit offended.

·

The Vault lowered her head to eat breakfast while scrolling through chat records on her phone. Julian Grant sat on a small sofa nearby, doing the same thing.

However, Julia Campbell’s phone was an old model with few apps, so there wasn’t much for him to check.

After a while, Julian Grant got up to search the lady of the house’s bag in the master bedroom. When he came back, The Vault happened to be coming out of the study.

Julian Grant asked, “Find anything?”

“Nothing too important. There’s not much work-related stuff on the study computer, which suggests he’s probably not a homebody. Besides that, Michael Wood is very cautious. He regularly clears his chat history, keeps only work-related messages, and almost nothing about his personal life.” The Vault rubbed the muscles at the back of her neck, handed over the phone, and said, “I believe he’s not afraid of Julia Campbell checking his phone. The reason he does this might be that there’s something in his chat history that even he feels ashamed of, or maybe it’s just a habit? That’s unclear for now. But among the deleted content, there might be something related to the case.”

Julian Grant glanced at the phone after taking it, then handed it back.

The Vault sidestepped past him and continued walking out; Julian Grant instinctively followed.

The two of them found the safe in the house.

The safe was placed in a corner, with a row of black numbers for the code marked by the system in midair.

The Vault crouched down, entered the code, and opened the safe.

On the top shelf were jewelry and the like. The Vault took them out and set them aside.

The middle and lower shelves were stacked with various documents, all stored in brown file folders.

Michael Wood must be someone who doesn’t like to throw things away. All sorts of important documents, useful or not, were kept by year.

Maybe he’d never use or look at them again, but he couldn’t bear to throw them out.

The Vault took them out one by one, spread them on the floor, and quickly scanned the contents of the contracts.

Those old bank statements, copies of loan agreements, property certificates, and other documents laid bare the past that Michael Wood wanted to hide.