“We’ll now reenact the timeline given to us by the police and see just how ‘precise’ the timing of Nancy Dawson’s appearance really was…” The reporter pressed down her hair, which was being blown about by the wind, put on a serious face, and laid out the timeline of the crime scene for the audience.

The police had not released the detailed timeline to the public, and the residential property management had also been instructed by the police not to reveal too many details. The scene the reporter reconstructed was pieced together from information gathered from nearby residents.

From their perspective, the timing of Nancy Dawson’s appearance was indeed extremely subtle.

It just so happened that he appeared right after the argument between the two victims had ended.

And, by another coincidence, the way he picked up the knife was seen by Mrs. Sun downstairs.

Without clear evidence to corroborate, they were unwilling to accept coincidence as an explanation.

Finally, the reporter made a slightly sarcastic remark: “Do you really believe there are so many coincidences in this world?”

The speculation was reasonable, the logic self-consistent.

To be honest, if Julian Grant weren’t an internal investigator, he might have thought the same as this reporter. But he would respect the police’s position in the face of information asymmetry, rather than rely on his own logical assumptions.

Julian Grant rubbed his forehead tiredly and scrolled to the bottom of the webpage.

As expected, almost everyone in the comments section was questioning the police’s findings. Clearly, they were a group of people who didn’t believe in “coincidence.”

When you’re prejudiced against someone, you start to question everything they do. Even if he just sneezes, you’ll think there’s something suspicious about it—let alone a case as dubious as Nancy Dawson’s.

·

Julian Grant picked up Tiffany Dawson’s phone again and switched to the social media app.

As expected, he found a preserved chat record.

But it was this very chat record that, after reading, left Julian Grant’s hands icy cold, his blood draining away, a chill spreading from his limbs to his chest, nearly shattering the restraint and composure he had always maintained.

He placed both hands on the steering wheel, rested his forehead against it, and buried his face deeply.

One of the records was from a few days ago.

Tiffany Dawson: Bro, I really didn’t want to argue with you today. I just want a peaceful life.

Nancy Dawson: Do you really call your current life peaceful? Don’t you realize this isn’t normal at all!

Nancy Dawson: Why won’t you tell Mom?

Tiffany Dawson: Don’t tell her, she’s so tired. As long as I do a little better, everything will be fine.

Nancy Dawson: This has nothing to do with you!

Nancy Dawson: Get a divorce. Someone like him will beat you to death sooner or later. He never saw you as family.

Tiffany Dawson: What can someone like me do after a divorce? And he won’t let us go so easily—he’ll hurt you.

Nancy Dawson: What are you talking about? You think you can’t live without him? Any life would be better than this! You still have me, we’ll get through it together.

Nancy Dawson: Your brother can support you. Isn’t it enough if we just live an ordinary life?

Nancy Dawson: I can go work. I’ve been studying all along, and when I have money, I’ll get a degree.

Nancy Dawson: My teacher promised to take me on as an assistant. Trust me, your brother will make money.

Tiffany Dawson: There’s no such thing as an ordinary life. We never had one.

Tiffany Dawson: You don’t know, I can’t turn back anymore. You and Mom should just live well.

There was another record, from the day of the incident.

At 11:05, Tiffany Dawson sent several voice messages to Nancy Dawson.

Julian Grant tapped the green voice bar, and Tiffany Dawson’s crying voice came through.

“Bro, he’s coming back soon…”

“Why do I have to live like this? I used to blame you, you know—if you hadn’t gone to prison, I wouldn’t have had to become like a dog… But I know you loved me most. If you were here, you’d never let anyone bully me. Why did you disappear?”

“I can’t be as strong as you, bro, I just can’t… I don’t even know what I did wrong, I can’t take it anymore…”

“I want to go home, bro… Where is our home? Where are you now? Bro…”

Nancy Dawson replied to her in a calm yet resolute tone: “Don’t be afraid, your brother is coming to take you home.”

Before the multiple murder cases were solved, Nancy Dawson had always been under semi-surveillance by the police as a dangerous individual. That day, he shook off the police tail and came to protect his sister.

He wanted to start over, to piece together that shattered family, to protect his loved ones with his own hands.

But he was just a little too late, and all that awaited him was Tiffany Dawson’s corpse.

Sometimes, it’s just that tiny bit that makes all the difference.

Julian Grant logged into the official account and uploaded the domestic violence video. Immediately after, he uploaded the two chat records to explain why Nancy Dawson appeared at the crime scene at such a “coincidental” time.

After transmitting the data, Julian Grant slumped in his seat, exhausted. He rolled down the car window to get some air.

The clouds in the sky seemed even heavier, and the light grew dimmer.

At this time, many people were online, and the news was quickly reposted by major media accounts, spreading rapidly across the internet.

The number of comments under the announcement soared by dozens per second, the topic’s popularity exploding, and public opinion instantly reversed.

“I cried listening to this. Nancy Dawson really is a good brother.”

“??”

“Damn, didn’t a colleague just say that scumbag was gentle and tolerant, never prejudiced against his wife? This? Tolerant?! You have no conscience. I hope your whole family gets ‘tolerated’.”

“Over there they’re mourning the perfect husband’s tragic death, and here his dirty laundry is being aired. What’s the real tragedy?”

“Fastest face-slap in history… I’ll slap his sister!”

“So who’s the real culprit? When will the police release an official statement? I trust you, isn’t that enough?”

“I just want to know, is Nancy Dawson’s mother okay? Her daughter just died, her son was slandered, and she was almost strangled by the husband’s family. She’s had it too hard, hasn’t she?”

Julian Grant saw the last comment, and his eyelid started twitching uneasily, feeling like he’d overlooked something important.

A name flashed through his mind, but quickly disappeared.

He exited the main screen and, with trembling fingers, searched for #宁冬冬母亲#.

A flood of related videos appeared.

A reporter had gone to interview Ms. Ning, and the husband’s family, having heard the bad news, had also rushed over. The two sides clashed at the door, Ms. Ning’s coat was torn by people outside, countless cameras pointed at her, asking for her opinion on her son.

Ms. Ning’s face showed confusion and grief. These people seemed to forget she was a mother, only wanting to dig up “big news” from her.

Ms. Ning forcefully pushed them out, closed the door, and then there was no more movement.

Under the video, people were cursing Ms. Ning for being cold and heartless, saying it was no wonder she raised a child like Nancy Dawson.

Julian Grant froze for several seconds, his heart pounding in panic. An intense sense of unease enveloped him, and he shouted into the communicator, losing his composure: “Captain Zhang, Captain Zhang!”

“What’s wrong?” Wallace Franklin said heavily, “I saw the announcement you posted, Ning…”

Julian Grant cut him off: “Nancy Dawson’s mother! Are there any officers near her home?”

“Did Nancy Dawson go to see his mom?” Wallace Franklin’s voice rose, “Has anyone nearby heard anything?”

“That’s not it!” Julian Grant shouted, “Send someone to her house right now! Hurry!”

A crisp voice chimed in: “I’m here, I’m heading over now, but there are so many reporters.”

Julian Grant said impatiently, “Just rush in, ignore the reporters!”

The rookie, urged on, replied nervously, “Okay, okay, I’m at the door—excuse me, please make way—Ms. Ning, Ms. Ning, are you there?”

The sound of pounding on the door mixed with noisy chatter, and someone shouted, “She won’t dare open the door!”

The rookie said, “She’s not opening.”

Julian Grant could barely hear his own voice, his ears buzzing. He shouted, “Break down the door! Just break it! Now!”

“But… this is a security door?” the rookie said blankly. “Don’t panic, I’ll climb over from next door! Wait for me.”

Chapter 51: Rescue

The young officer knocked urgently on the neighbor’s door. After a moment, the owner came out, looking impatient and ready to curse at the people outside. The rookie didn’t have time to explain, flashed his badge, squeezed inside, and rushed straight to the balcony.

To his disappointment, the balconies of the two apartments weren’t directly connected—there was a gap of nearly one and a half meters between them. Looking down through the glass window, there was a drop of more than ten meters, enough to make anyone’s legs go weak.

“Oh my god…” the young rookie muttered, “Is this heaven testing my sense of justice?”