Lucy Sanders blurted out without thinking, “How could it be Julia Campbell? That woman doesn’t have such a good heart! Where would she even get these things?”

The Vault tapped the photo with her finger, pressing again, “Are you sure you made this prescription? Where did you get it from?”

“It’s medicinal wine! Just throw in the herbs, and after soaking, the effects are great! It’s a folk remedy from our countryside. I have Milo drink a little every day,” Lucy Sanders said. “It nourishes the blood, boosts energy, strengthens the heart and lungs, and even detoxifies and aids digestion. He works too hard and often can’t sleep well. Only after drinking the medicinal wine does he feel a bit better each day.”

“These are the herbs soaked inside. Please confirm.” The Vault pulled out another stack of photos, laying them down one by one. “Aspidistra, Adonis amurensis, bark of yew, Huashan ginseng, nux vomica…”

Lucy Sanders glanced over them, and seeing The Vault’s posture, she was already feeling uneasy. She raised her voice, trying to interrupt the topic: “Some of these have different names in the countryside, but I think they’re about right. Can’t you just get to the point?”

The Vault said, “Check them again.”

Lucy Sanders said anxiously, “Do you want that folk recipe? I can give it to you, just hurry up and arrest Julia Campbell! She killed someone, she’ll run!”

“Nux vomica, after processing, can be used medicinally for reducing swelling and pain, and strengthening the spleen and stomach.” The Vault picked up the last photo, holding it in midair to show Lucy Sanders. “But its seeds contain multiple alkaloids and are highly toxic.”

Lucy Sanders pressed, “What are you trying to say?”

“Aspidistra, in small doses, has a heart-strengthening effect. In large doses, it causes moderate symptoms.” The Vault gathered the photos, pointing at the herbs in each one. “Adonis amurensis is the same. Huashan ginseng…”

Lucy Sanders’s pupils began to tremble. She shouted, shaking, “What do you mean! That’s enough! You people have so much time, but you’re not investigating my son’s cause of death, just talking here! Are you trying to frame me?”

The Vault looked at her expressionlessly, then put down what she was holding, interlaced her fingers on the table, and said, “The autopsy report for Michael Wood is out. Do you want to know how your son died?”

Lucy Sanders breathed heavily and stood up, trying to leave. But the interrogation room door was closed; she couldn’t get out.

“That night, Michael Wood came home after drinking outside. After he got back, he argued with Julia Campbell. Then Julia Campbell ran off. Michael Wood, probably in a bad mood, went downstairs for a bottle of red wine and sat at the table, drinking to drown his sorrows. But he’d already had a lot to drink, and the alcohol had dulled his nerves, making his senses sluggish. Later, feeling unwell, he went to the cupboard and poured himself a bowl of medicinal wine.”

Seeing there was no escape, Lucy Sanders turned around, glaring at her fiercely.

“Years of excessive herbal medicine had caused varying degrees of damage to his body, leading to symptoms like respiratory failure. After drinking the medicinal wine, he still felt terrible and tried to get some hangover medicine. But his body was too weak; when he reached for the medicine bottle, he collapsed, knocking the bottle to the floor.”

The Vault calmly pulled a photo from the pile and placed it in the center of the table—a medicine bottle rolling into the corner of the living room.

Whether or not Lucy Sanders was looking at the photo, she continued in the same calm tone: “His stomach began to convulse, showing signs of gastric bleeding. The excessive drinking made him want to vomit, but he was lying on the floor, unable to move, barely able to breathe. In the end, he suffocated to death because his airway was blocked by vomit.”

Lucy Sanders covered her ears and screamed, “Impossible!”

She had always treated Julia Campbell harshly, even cruelly, while doting on and trusting her own son. She believed only the best was worthy of Michael Wood, so she gave him everything she could. How could such a mistake happen?

Michael Wood was her greatest achievement, her own flesh and blood.

The Vault said, “That’s the cause of your son’s death. The killer was neither Nancy Dawson nor Julia Campbell. If you really want to assign blame, it should be you. It was your tonics that caused Michael Wood’s various functional disorders. You could say he died of asphyxiation, or you could say he died of poisoning.”

Sometimes, fate’s coincidences are so sudden and unavoidable.

This woman, who had been viciously attacking others and demanding they pay for her son’s life, now learned that she herself was the one who pushed Michael Wood into the abyss of death. No matter what, she couldn’t accept this fact. Her pupils dilated, and she shook her head wildly, “No! He was murdered! He was dismembered—how could it be an accident? Can’t you solve the case? How could you come up with such a vicious way to frame me! You’re shameless!”

The Vault said, “There were no fatal external injuries on his body, and the corpse showed signs of death by asphyxiation. The forensic examiner couldn’t have made a mistake.”

Lucy Sanders ignored her, screaming hysterically, “I’ll tell the media! You’re covering for the killer and blaming me! Heaven knows, I’m his real mother—how could I hurt him? How could I possibly hurt him!”

The Vault watched her descend into madness, calmly tidied up the things on the table, then flattened the documents, stood up, and said, “You don’t have to accept it, but these are the facts. Michael Wood died around 1 a.m. from an accident. Afterwards, a criminal entered the house, mutilated his body, and staged the crime scene. These are two separate incidents. As for who that person is, we’ll keep investigating. As for you, you probably won’t be leaving for now. Regrettable.”

Chapter 35: Hospital

Shrill screams echoed from the interrogation room, each louder than the last, reverberating down the hallway like the sound of rough glass, mixed with the dull thuds of things being thrown. Lucy Sanders was lashing out like a madwoman, hurting others and herself to avoid reality. Even the officer who went in to bring her out was scratched by her sharp nails, and then had to sternly warn her.

The Vault paused outside for a moment, then turned and left calmly.

“What do you even call this?” The officer, recalling the whole incident, still felt it was like a darkly satirical farce. “Lucy Sanders is one thing—she’s uneducated, doesn’t understand medicine. But Michael Wood was at least an intellectual, and he still ended up like this. If he could have balanced his feelings between his mother and his wife, I bet he could have lived another twenty years.”

The Vault said, “It’s a pity.” A pity that the human heart is so unpredictable.

The two walked into the spacious lobby. A colleague asked, “Boss, should we prepare to arrest Julia Campbell next? We’re still missing the suspect who mutilated the body. If we don’t find them, the media and public probably won’t believe Michael Wood died by accident. We’ll be in a tough spot.”

Just knowing the cause of Michael Wood’s death was far from the end. With so much public attention, and labels like “witness murdered in revenge,” “young tycoon,” “official misconduct,” the case was expected to have plenty of twists and turns—that’s what the public subconsciously expects from the “truth.”

They didn’t know Michael Wood; their passion was just curiosity. When the case turned out to be ordinary, they’d lean toward conspiracy theories.

“We have no evidence.” The Vault shook her head. “There’s no proof that the person who staged the crime scene is connected to Julia Campbell.”

Judging by the method, Julia Campbell was a cautious person. Though she lost her composure at first over Michael Wood’s death, she quickly calmed down after leaving the villa.

She was completely disillusioned with Michael Wood. A woman who has cut all ties can change completely. Once she had nothing left to fear, what was there to be afraid of?

Judging by the time she arrived at her friend’s apartment, she had already weighed the pros and cons and planned everything out while driving.

She left the key for the perpetrator, taught them how to avoid all the surveillance in the neighborhood and the house, and staged the scene in the most attention-grabbing way.

After leaving the villa, she was busy handling Michael Wood’s estate.

If the police were lucky enough not to discover her crime, her future would be bright. If her plan was exposed, she’d still have time during the investigation to transfer and hide assets, preparing for the next step.

She was cold, calm, and goal-oriented.

Even though she had stomach cancer and HIV, she still fought fiercely for the inheritance—probably just to keep Michael Wood’s estate from going to Lucy Sanders, the woman she hated most.

That gave her plenty of motivation.

“It’s true, we don’t have enough evidence to summon her by force,” the colleague said anxiously. “But the longer we wait, the harder it’ll be to solve the case. The suspect could flee, and who knows what Julia Campbell is planning.”

Julia Campbell had already had a day and a night to deal with the evidence, so she surely wouldn’t leave many traces. Even if the police brought her in now, they probably wouldn’t get much. Besides, she had a perfect alibi—they could only ask for her cooperation, not force her to come in.