·

While the audience was wildly speculating, The Vault had already gotten out of the police car and was walking toward a pavilion near the villa.

This place was very quiet, right next to a scenic lake. The policewoman was sitting on a bench with Julia Campbell, speaking in low voices.

The Vault stepped onto the stone steps and, facing the same face as in the surveillance footage, greeted politely yet distantly, “Ms. Li, hello.”

Author’s note:

Some people said they didn’t understand, because I don’t like to describe settings in great detail =。=# Let me explain carefully here.

Although Julian Grant is an inspector, his main job is to monitor whether newcomers break the rules in the game and to assess their mental state during the game. But at the same time, he is also assigned a specific character script, so he has to play his role well.

For example, in the first round, he was assigned the role of [Investigator], so he had to help solve the case. In this round, based on the clues, he deduced that his role might be [Murderer], so he had to hide evidence and wait for [Murder Night] to begin, then follow the next part of the script to commit the crime.

In this instance, The Vault pinned down all the suspects, preventing them from following the script.

With the crime scene unable to be reconstructed, the game couldn’t continue. So the system forcibly performed a data correction, restored the crime scene, and entered the second stage. It’s equivalent to restarting the game from the investigation phase.

Chapter 32 Investigation

The person in front had dry, yellowish hair, but it was neatly combed. Upon hearing the voice, they looked up, revealing a haggard face.

Their gazes met in the air. “Julia Campbell” saw it was her, the corner of their mouth twitched, showing a trace of uncontrollable emotion.

The Vault was struck by a strange sense of familiarity, studied his face for a long time, and finally tentatively called out, “Quincy.”

Julian Grant looked cold and indifferent, pretending not to understand.

The Vault lowered her head and let out a muffled laugh.

Julian Grant could no longer maintain his outward calm, gritting his teeth in frustration, the muscles in his cheeks tensing hard.

Why did he have to be laughed at twice? Huh? Why!

“Aren’t you going to ask your questions?” Julian Grant said impatiently. “Don’t forget your own role. You’re so unserious at work—do you deserve that badge on your shoulder? Are you even a real police officer?”

The Vault stopped laughing, raised one eyebrow, not understanding why he was so worked up.

Julian Grant urged with a dark face, “Ask your questions properly, and hurry up.”

“All right.”

The Vault coughed, sat down beside him, and gestured across to the policewoman. She understood and left on her own, giving them a chance to talk privately.

Once the policewoman left, Julian Grant clearly slacked off, not even wanting to play the role of the resentful rich wife anymore. He sprawled carelessly on the chair, signaling for The Vault to get on with the questioning.

The Vault smiled, took out a notebook and a pen in a businesslike manner, flipped to a blank page in the middle, and said, “Your house is equipped with a surveillance system. I checked the placement of the cameras—they cover a wide area. Most of the spaces are monitored, and a few even point at the bathroom and bedroom doors. Normally, if a family doesn’t have pets or kids, they wouldn’t install so many cameras, right?”

Julian Grant said, “Because the media was bombarding us, constantly reporting on Fan… Nancy Dawson getting out of prison and seeking revenge. Michael Wood was also one of the witnesses back then, and he was very scared, so he was always paranoid. Recently, he felt like he was being followed, so he installed surveillance at home, just to give himself some peace of mind.”

The Vault asked, “Did you check the surveillance footage?”

“No, I just got back. When I returned, I found Michael Wood was already dead, so I called the police,” Julian Grant said. “The police arrived in less than ten minutes, so I didn’t have time to check the footage.”

The Vault nodded, staring at his face. “That night, you two had a heated argument.”

Julian Grant replied coolly, “Yes. Afterwards, I stormed out.”

The Vault: “Where did you go?”

“My friend’s place, you can ask them,” Julian Grant said. “If you don’t trust my friend’s testimony, I drove myself—you can check the car’s GPS records, or check the road surveillance footage.”

The Vault held the pen between two fingers, tapping it repeatedly on the notebook.

“What were you two arguing about?”

“To put it generally, just family matters. But in some people’s eyes, maybe it was just complaints.” Julian Grant let out a sarcastic laugh. “He’s dead now, so I’m not afraid to tell you—anyway, you’ll find out. Neither he nor his mother had any conscience. Michael Wood went from an unknown, rootless country boy to the city’s most promising young entrepreneur, all thanks to my support. Ha, as soon as he made it, he changed completely, and later got even worse. Or maybe, he was just showing his true colors.”

As Julian Grant spoke, a vicious resentment appeared on his face, despite his efforts to stay cold: “A few days ago, his mother Lucy Sanders pushed me down the stairs. I was in so much pain, crying on the floor, and they didn’t even call an ambulance for me. I had to crawl up the stairs myself and call emergency services on my phone. The two of them just watched me coldly the whole time—can you imagine that look? Can you imagine what kind of people they are?”

The Vault played along, “I really can’t imagine.”

Julian Grant glared at her again and continued, “Afterwards, neither of them even visited me in the hospital. They probably wished I was dead. In this family, I never got any respect. I was angry and argued with him—isn’t that normal?”

The Vault said, “It’s not my place to comment on family matters. We’ll check your hospital records to verify the details.”

Julian Grant asked, “Anything else you want to ask?”

The Vault closed the notebook and put it back in her clothes. “I saw a lot of medication in the house just now.”

“It’s mine,” Julian Grant said. “I thought that having a child with him might improve our relationship. I wanted to go further with him, but I was too naive.”

The Vault said meaningfully, “Oh…”

Julian Grant curled his lips and added, “All of this is from the character’s testimony, not my own improvisation.”

The Vault nodded, “I understand, I understand.”

Julian Grant: “Mm.”

The Vault stared at him for a while, then asked, “Is your attitude now because your acting is bad, or does Julia Campbell really not hide her hatred for Michael Wood?”

“You’re doubting my acting?” Julian Grant exploded in anger, more agitated than when his ‘husband’ died. He leaned forward, pressing toward The Vault, and snapped, “You? Doubting my acting? Do you even know what a character setting is, what OOC means?”

“I know, I didn’t mean anything by it.” The Vault pressed his shoulder, signaling him to calm down. “I actually wanted to ask, what kind of feelings does Julia Campbell really have for Michael Wood?”

Julian Grant pressed his lips tightly, clearly still upset, but finally lowered his gaze and said flatly, “I loved him. But there’s no feeling left between us.”

The Vault was affected by his superb acting, and actually felt a sense of melancholy. She patted Julian Grant’s shoulder in comfort, “Don’t lose your true self for a scumbag—he’s not worth it.”

Julian Grant gave her an extremely complicated look, then clicked his tongue in strong disdain.

The livestream audience burst out laughing.

“I’m standing right in front of you—do I look like a scumbag? [doge] This pair is so spicy.”

“Tsk tsk. What a scumbag. Boss, where’s your gentleness?”

“Men—turning their faces, heartless.”

“The boss’s self-reflection is always so deep and on point.”

“Quincy’s acting is really good, I’m getting immersed.”

“As everyone knows, players who analyze murder cases aren’t always good detectives, but they’re always great actors. [Excellent]”

·

Just as The Vault was finishing her questions, a commotion broke out at the villa entrance. It sounded like a middle-aged woman was screaming in pain.

The Vault quickly got up and went over, discovering that it was the victim’s family member, Lucy Sanders, who had arrived.

Lucy Sanders was standing on the main road near the entrance, grabbing a police officer and forcefully pulling at their clothes, ignoring their resistance.

Outside the police cordon, a large group of early-rising residents had gathered. Some were still in pajamas, holding up their phones and snapping photos.

“My son—how could he die so horribly? It must be that Nancy Dawson! Why haven’t you police arrested him yet? He’s already killed three people, and you’re still covering for him! What are you trying to do? Who is he, really?!”

Lucy Sanders was crying so hard her makeup was ruined, two black streaks running down from her eyes, and her once neatly styled red curls were now a messy tangle.

She had dressed up early in the morning and rushed to the villa, originally intending to check on Julia Campbell and give her a warning not to talk nonsense. But unexpectedly, she didn’t see Julia Campbell—instead, she saw her own son’s crime scene.