Part 42

She didn’t know if today’s schedule would give her another chance to encounter the person stalking Michael Wood. To maximize the opportunity for the other party to tail her, she shortened the distance for getting on and off the car by about a kilometer, hoping the person would make an effort.

Because there was a group of elderly people dancing in the square near the pick-up point set by The Vault, the area remained lively and crowded even at night, so The Vault didn’t notice anyone following her.

It wasn’t until she got into the taxi and the car drove onto a deserted main road that The Vault realized a white minivan had been trailing them at a steady distance.

Following The Vault’s instructions, the driver dropped her off near a bus stop, and that minivan also pulled over by the roadside.

After getting out, The Vault waited for a while, but when no one appeared, she had to walk ahead on her own.

When she reached a deserted and secluded spot, The Vault turned back, only to see emptiness behind her—still no sign of anyone, just the greenery on both sides swaying under the streetlights.

The Vault said, “Come out.”

No response.

“I’m not bluffing you.” The Vault raised her voice, using Michael Wood’s deep tone, with a hint of provocation. She said, “Even though it’s windy, it’s not enough to leave such obvious marks on the plants. I’m talking about the person about six meters away from me, hiding directly in front of me. Either you come out now and talk to me properly, or I’ll just go home.”

Realizing she had seen through him, a shadow finally emerged from behind the bushes.

It was a middle-aged man, very thin, with a small frame, wearing only a pair of thin jeans, making his legs look like bamboo sticks and giving him a monkey-like appearance. A camera hung around his neck, and half his face was covered by a baseball cap. Although his face was obscured, his gait was distinctive.

The Vault said, “You’ve been following me.”

The man’s back was slightly hunched, one hand gripping the camera, the other in his pocket. He didn’t answer.

“What did you get?” The Vault asked. “How long do you plan to keep following me?”

Suddenly, the man said, “Two million.”

The Vault said nothing, then lowered her head and tapped on her phone.

The man across from her grew anxious, craning his neck to look her way. Suddenly, The Vault broke the silence with a mocking laugh: “The number for the psychiatric hospital is XXX—, turn left after you go back. Since you have a car, I won’t see you off.”

“I got it!” the middle-aged man blurted out, then slowed his tone, “You don’t want others to know you’re a pervert, do you?”

The Vault lowered her head and laughed silently, not only unbothered but even taking a step closer to him.

“Conceptually speaking, ‘pervert’ means deviating from the norm. I don’t know if you mean it as an insult, or if you’re just saying I’m different.”

The Vault grew up hearing those two words. If they were worth two million, she’d be rich by now.

“I got photos of you cross-dressing. Lots of them. You go to that neighborhood every day, change into women’s clothes, pretend to be a woman. You won’t go home, and you won’t have kids. I even have photos of you changing. Your wife suspects you’re having an affair, but she doesn’t know you’re not even a real man. Are you a marriage fraud? Do you like men?”

The Vault snorted, “Let’s get one thing straight. Cross-dressing, homosexuality, and gender dysphoria are three different things. This is the first time I’ve seen someone confuse all three in one sentence. Don’t you private detectives need to read more books?”

“Do you want the photos or not? If not, I’ll sell them to someone else.” The middle-aged man ignored her, grinning, “For companies like yours, the price-to-book ratio… it’s price-to-book, right? The price-to-book ratio is high, isn’t it? Any negative news and the stock price will plummet. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“No.” The Vault refused flatly and turned away, sounding bored. “If you dare follow me again, I’ll call the police.”

The man was stunned, at first still standing there disdainfully, but when he saw she was really leaving, he panicked and chased after her, shouting, “Michael Wood, are you crazy? You really dare call the police?”

The Vault stopped again and retorted, “Why wouldn’t I? You’re the one extorting me, and I have clear evidence. You’re the one who should be afraid.”

She took out her phone, indicating she had just recorded everything: “Do you know how many years you get for extortion? For especially large amounts, it starts at ten years, plus a fine. 300,000 to 500,000 is already considered especially large. The two million you just mentioned is way over that. I could hire any lawyer and have you locked up for life. Think about it.”

The middle-aged man shouted, “Then everyone will know you’re a cross-dresser!”

The Vault shrugged indifferently, “So what if I like wearing women’s clothes? You like secretly taking photos. Honestly, you’re the creepy one.”

“If you really weren’t afraid, you wouldn’t have bought such a secret house to do these things.” The man regained his confidence, gloating, “You think you can scare me? What’s your public image in magazines? Do you dare expose yourself as a pervert?”

A long shadow paced under the night sky, leather shoes thudding dully on the concrete.

“I hate being threatened, especially over such meaningless things.”

The Vault stopped in front of the man, closing the distance. Her clear eyes locked onto his face, one eyebrow raised high, looking down at him with an air of temper.

Michael Wood might be very afraid. Although he worked in a new industry and could grasp trending topics, he was born in a poor mountain area, and his family and environment had instilled in him a conservative moral outlook.

He couldn’t accept his own cross-dressing, and had a strong, even sensitive, sense of self-respect. He probably thought such behavior was perverted, or else he wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to hide it. Even expressing his preferences, he was so cautious.

But what did The Vault care about? She had too many problems to worry about to care what others liked. Cross-dressing was certainly niche and not worth promoting, but was it some unforgivable crime? Michael Wood had already tried so hard to hide it—was digging it up from the most secret place really some brilliant move?

The Vault said openly, “That line should be mine: you think you can scare me? Did you forget what industry I’m in? I work in influencer marketing. My team makes money by promoting famous influencers. Do you know how many influencers now are men dressing as women? They’re popular, they’re liked, and as long as it’s entertainment, no one thinks they’re perverts. If you expose me, I can just say it’s our company’s next project. Is that so strange? In fact, I should thank you for the publicity. If our stock price goes up, I’ll send your boss a thank-you letter. By the way, which company are you from?”

The Vault raised her hand and pushed up his cap with her finger, revealing his forehead.

“Wasting my time.” The Vault said coldly, “I’ve remembered your face. Here’s your last chance: get lost!”

The middle-aged man shivered, as if finally coming to his senses. He backed away, muttering, “You’ll regret this. This was your choice.”

He rushed back to his car, slammed the door, and sped away.

Viewers in the livestream watched the blurry figure in the night, letting out a series of ambiguous exclamations.

“I actually thought this guy was sent by Harry Forrest. [Guilty]”

“That look just now from the boss scared me, but it was so cool! [I approve] When will I be able to make decisions as decisively as her?”

“So the person stalking Michael Wood those two days was actually a private detective hired by Julia Campbell, not Harry Forrest? This detective has no professional ethics, trying to play both sides. Shameless.”

“With Michael Wood’s personality, he’d definitely try to negotiate, right? But he called the police later—did he get retaliated against for angering the other party?”

“I can’t believe Michael Wood’s character ended up in a dead end. And the media said he died horribly. Still betting on Julia Campbell.”

“It seems like a lot has happened, but actually only a day has passed in game time. The guys in the other livestream only did two things today: a big cleaning and a hospital checkup. [Smile]”

·

When The Vault returned to the villa, Julian Grant was still rummaging through things in the corners.

The cabinets in the living room had been turned upside down, with all sorts of small items scattered on the floor. Bottles of medicine, business cards, flyers, medical bills—almost all proof of Julia Campbell’s years of difficult attempts to conceive.

The Vault picked a clean spot to stand and asked, “What are you doing?”

Julian Grant looked up, “Why are you back so late?”

“Ran into the person stalking Michael Wood.” The Vault took off her coat and hung it on the back of a chair. “It was a private detective hired by Julia Campbell.”

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