A young man drifting like duckweed, and a mother who can’t find her way home. Julian Grant could even imagine the two of them awkwardly supporting each other, seeking comfort together.

They played a more important role in each other’s lives than they themselves realized.

Listening to his own hoarse voice, Julian Grant asked, “Do you believe Harry Forrest is innocent?”

This question from Julian Grant left The Vault momentarily dazed.

The Vault remembered that back then, Logan Carter would occasionally talk to her about Harry Forrest’s case.

Logan Carter always lacked people to talk to. Her daughter didn’t want to live forever in a world of self-deception, so she tried not to bring it up in front of her. But facing strangers in society, she couldn’t tell others that her son, already convicted by the court, was actually innocent—she felt that would be too disrespectful to the victim.

Only when facing the precocious and silent The Vault did her suppressed urge to confide slowly surface.

She didn’t really want The Vault’s approval; she just needed The Vault’s silence.

Out of curiosity, The Vault had looked up information about the case back then, and when Logan Carter brought it up again, she told her, “I’ve checked into Harry Forrest’s case. The evidence and witnesses were all solid at the time, the witnesses had no connection to each other, no grudges with Harry Forrest, and the evidence and logic of the case fit together well. The chance of a wrongful conviction is very low.”

Logan Carter seemed startled. Her face suddenly went pale, as if afraid of what The Vault might say next. She stammered, “Is… is that so? He… he… maybe.”

Seeing such a strong reaction, The Vault was surprised. She quickly realized that countless people had probably said similar things to Logan Carter, and the words that followed were likely not pleasant.

So she added, “Unless the real culprit has a lot of power.”

Maybe because she wasn’t good at lying and sounded too insincere, Logan Carter didn’t believe her, and this sentence plunged her into deep anxiety.

She was truly kind. She accepted the moral punishment society imposed on the families of criminals, accepting it as a cost of crime.

After a long time, when Logan Carter never brought it up again, The Vault realized that her careless words back then might have hurt her.

The Vault’s fingers twitched, clenching into a fist in her palm. “I never judge others by such vague standards as good or bad. I only believe in evidence and facts. If Logan Carter is so obsessed with the so-called truth, then I’m quite interested too.”

Julian Grant gave her a deep look, then said, “Are you free on Wednesday?”

The Vault lowered her chin in thanks.

But Julian Grant still had a question he couldn’t figure out. He raised his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, hiding the sting in his eyes, and asked, “Why did you come to me for help?” The two of them weren’t even that close, were they?

The Vault replied sincerely, “Because you’re a good person.”

If that was all, it would have been fine, but she had to add, “Easier to fool.”

Julian Grant instantly felt like he was having a heart attack.

“Good person” had become a derogatory term among people like them.

But The Vault just smiled innocently at him from across the table.

Chapter 40: The Meeting

Julian Grant walked The Vault to the building entrance. The Vault didn’t leave right away, but instead invited him upstairs for a while.

Julian Grant studied her face for a moment, thinking she was just being polite, and said, “That’s not necessary, is it?”

To his surprise, The Vault quickly replied, “Okay.”

Julian Grant’s face darkened. So straightforward? Didn’t she know you’re supposed to insist three times to show sincerity?

Then The Vault added, “How about I treat you to a meal instead?”

Julian Grant had developed a psychological shadow about The Vault treating him, and this time he firmly said, “That’s not necessary. No need for you to spend money.”

The Vault smiled at his words and said, “I’ll pay, really.”

Julian Grant’s expression softened a bit.

The Vault lowered her head, rummaging in her pocket as she spoke, “Just so happens I have a voucher for that shop nearby. If I don’t use it soon, it’ll expire.”

Julian Grant’s eyes went blank.

Luckily, he hadn’t had time to go from surprise to delight. He really shouldn’t trust someone like her.

But in the end, The Vault pulled out a bank card, pinching it between two fingers and waving it in the air with a laugh. “Just kidding. The reward from Trident’s first livestream has arrived. I even have enough to pay off the rest of my house, so treating you to a meal is just a thank you.”

After being played by her several times in a row, even Julian Grant finally understood, “You’re messing with me on purpose, aren’t you?”

The Vault feigned innocence, “You figured it out so quickly? Your IQ really has improved.”

Julian Grant accused her with a heavy sigh, “Do you have any conscience at all!”

The Vault straightened up and admitted her mistake, “I really do want to treat you to a meal.”

Julian Grant, both angry and embarrassed, stretched out his arm, reached over to her side, and opened the door for her.

He was so worked up that he forgot to unbuckle his seatbelt, and his body was yanked back in midair, almost bumping into The Vault. Fortunately, his fingers had already reached the door handle, and he awkwardly turned his face away and quickly pressed it.

A wave of hot air blew in through the crack in the door, dispelling his embarrassment. Julian Grant covered up his fluster and urged, “I can’t be bothered with you! Out, out!”

The Vault let out a fake sigh, pushed open the car door, and got out.

She had thought she’d be eating a mouthful of exhaust, and was already prepared as she stood to the side, but Julian Grant didn’t start the car right away and just sat there.

The dark window tint made it impossible for The Vault to see inside. One person in the car, one outside, they silently faced off for a full minute.

The Vault didn’t know if Julian Grant was secretly watching her through the window, but she knew that every second must be uncomfortable for this good person.

She smiled, then walked toward the main entrance.

Only after she opened the security door downstairs did Julian Grant’s car slowly turn and drive away.

With her hands in her pockets, The Vault didn’t take the elevator, but instead walked up the stairs in rhythm.

When she reached the door, The Vault paused to listen and could already hear movement inside.

She took out her key, and after opening the door, found someone sitting inside as expected. The person looked quite young, legs crossed, curled up on the sofa playing a game. The phone’s sound effects were turned up, with all sorts of skill noises coming from the speakers, and the coquettish moans of male and female characters being attacked.

The Vault asked, “What are you doing here?”

“You’ve missed two appointments with me, so I came to see if something happened to you. Do you know how much I make per second, and you just ditch me?” Quinn Foster didn’t even look up. “Don’t forget, if you want to keep participating in Crime Analysis, you still need me to write your psychological evaluation report. Don’t be so quick to burn bridges.”

The Vault ignored his nonsense and sat down on the other end of the sofa.

Her thoughts drifted, her gaze unfocused, idly spinning her keychain with her fingers.

The clinking of metal was more noticeable than the game’s sound effects.

Quinn Foster lost a round and shouted, “Stop spinning that, it’s driving me crazy!”

The Vault stopped and looked at him seriously, “I suspect you have bipolar disorder.”

Quinn Foster: “Do you want me to explain what bipolar disorder is?”

The Vault: “Forget it.”

The Vault got up to boil water and cut some fruit, at least making a gesture of hospitality to this uninvited guest. When she came back with the fruit plate, Quinn Foster was raging in the game: “Damn! Who is it? Daring to steal from me! Is this person an idiot? If you can’t play, why are you even playing!”

The Vault stood a meter away, watching him with disdain.

Quinn Foster finally realized his outburst, looked up at her, and said with embarrassment, “Sorry, I got too into it. Occupational hazard.”

Shameless.

Julian Grant was much more likable than him.

Quinn Foster exited the game, put on some gentle background music, and set the phone aside. Then he picked up a toothpick and started eating the fruit on the table, not the least bit polite.

The Vault sat nearby, checking information on her computer.

Just as the atmosphere in the room was relaxing, Quinn Foster suddenly asked, “As your psychological counselor, why didn’t I know you have PTSD?”

The Vault: “I don’t.”

Quinn Foster: “You said you’re afraid of the dark, and it’s not just a normal fear. Judging by the symptoms, it really isn’t.”

The Vault’s long lashes fluttered. “I lied to Julian Grant.”

Quinn Foster: “I think you’re lying to me, aren’t you?”

The Vault replied perfunctorily, “How could I?”

Quinn Foster frowned, his expression serious. “If you don’t cooperate, I’ll have to consult my supervisor. Since you asked me to do a psychological assessment, I have to be responsible for my profession.”

The Vault nodded, “Go ahead.”

Quinn Foster stood up and moved to the seat next to her. “I just don’t get it—why do you dislike my supervisor so much? You’re the first person I’ve met who doesn’t like him. You two are at least distantly related, aren’t you?”

The Vault replied calmly, “No one likes being around a psychologist who’s always in work mode.”