Henry Harris said, “It has some reference value, but you need to find the source of the feeling, otherwise it’s very likely to become your own bias.”

　　Quinn Shelby lowered his gaze to the ground, blinking heavily twice, his face showing a distracted look of deep thought.

　　Quinn Foster pinched his chin, humming softly in contemplation.

　　“People from different fields have different perspectives and methods of judgment. If you want me to analyze…” Quinn Foster’s tone grew firmer as he spoke, crossing his arms, “If Trident’s modeling is correct, I don’t think Sylvia Shaw is as sad as she appears. Feigned emotions and genuine grief are quite different—her facial muscles are a bit stiff, and her movements aren’t very natural.”

　　Henry Harris said, “That could be because she’s had injections in her face.”

　　A few of Trident’s technical staff chuckled at this, but seeing the others’ serious expressions, quickly held it back.

　　Quinn Foster said, “When she saw the two police officers, she instinctively pulled Xavier Daniels’s arm into her embrace and turned her body to avoid their gaze. That’s a gesture seeking security and showing resistance. When Julian Grant spoke to her, her first reaction was to look toward The Vault. She’s very sensitive to others’ attitudes. I’ve seen some people in deep grief—their ability to process external information slows down, and they become immersed in their own emotions. I’ve also helped counsel some families of the deceased. When they face the police, their first reaction isn’t resistance, but hoping the police can help catch the real culprit. Ordinary people usually see the police as friends by default.”

　　Henry Harris nodded.

　　Quinn Foster said, “Also, she’s too beautiful. I mean, it’s a kind of overly refined sadness, as if she’s acting in a play. You can’t say there’s anything wrong with that, but it just feels… a bit strange.”

　　The other professionals all nodded. Clearly, they too sensed something off about Sylvia Shaw.

　　Henry Harris glanced at Quinn Shelby: “What do you think?”

　　Quinn Shelby said softly, “It’s a feeling I can’t quite describe. I’m not sure yet.”

　　Henry Harris’s tone was calm: “But she’s made several big mistakes.”

　　Quinn Shelby was taken aback.

　　But Henry Harris didn’t seem inclined to explain, only saying, “Let’s keep watching.”

　　A faint bitterness welled up inside Quinn Shelby, probably frustration, but he quickly suppressed it. He focused intently on the screen, as if trying to stare a hole into Sylvia Shaw’s face.

　　·

　　The Vault and the others entered the living room, sitting on the sofa in two distinct groups.

　　The Vault sat closest to Sylvia Shaw, while the young officer at the edge took out his notebook, ready to jot down key points.

　　The Vault offered a few words of comfort before getting to the point.

　　“When was the last time you saw Thomas Daniels?”

　　“Yesterday morning,” Sylvia Shaw recalled. “He actually came home the day before, but it was very late, and I was already asleep. He left very early the next morning, before I woke up, so I don’t know exactly when he left.”

　　The Vault continued, “Do you know who he was meeting yesterday?”

　　Sylvia Shaw shook her head. “No idea. He’s busy with work and has lots of friends. He doesn’t tell me about everyone he meets, and even if he did, I wouldn’t understand.”

　　The Vault: “He didn’t come home on time yesterday. Did he call to let you know?”

　　“He often doesn’t come home on time, sometimes not at all, and he never informs me.” Sylvia Shaw gave a bitter smile, pulling a fresh tissue. “He’s a bit of a chauvinist—likes to make all the decisions himself, doesn’t like me meddling. Besides, I couldn’t control him even if I wanted to.”

　　The Vault stood up, picked up a bottle of drink from the table, and gestured, “You don’t mind, do you?”

　　“Go ahead.” Sylvia Shaw wiped her nose. “Sorry, I haven’t been a good host.”

　　As The Vault unscrewed the cap, he asked, “What was Thomas Daniels wearing yesterday?”

　　“A blue suit…”

　　Sylvia Shaw noticeably paused, then hesitated, saying, “I think so, but I’m not really sure.”

　　The Vault looked skeptical. “Hmm?”

　　Sylvia Shaw continued, “When he left, I opened my eyes in a daze and caught a glimpse, so I have a vague impression. But I might be mistaken. He only has a few outfits in his closet, and he usually wears blue.”

　　“Oh, I just want you to relax. These are just casual questions, don’t be too nervous. It’s normal for people to have memory lapses when they’re grieving.” The Vault said, “The bureau is taking this case very seriously. We’ll definitely get to the bottom of it.”

　　Sylvia Shaw clutched her chest. “That’s a relief. Thank you.”

　　“Let’s continue then,” The Vault said. “Do you know if Thomas Daniels had any enemies?”

　　Sylvia Shaw started crying again, sobbing, “My husband was a good man, and he had lots of friends. I can’t think of anyone who’d want to kill him.”

　　The Vault glanced at the silent Xavier Daniels, who lowered his head to avoid the gaze.

　　The Vault said, “For example, twelve years ago, Thomas Daniels deliberately blocked an ambulance, causing a pregnant woman to miss the best window for treatment and, unfortunately, die. The pregnant woman’s family would count as Thomas Daniels’s enemies, wouldn’t they?”

　　By the time The Vault finished, the veins on Sylvia Shaw’s forehead were already twitching. She became agitated, leaned forward, and said, “Is it related to that? Officer! Our Lao Tao really didn’t do it on purpose! My husband explained many times—he was just distracted at the time. Is the killer that person? Is this revenge? Officer, you have to help my husband!”

　　The Vault said, “We only found this incident while looking into Thomas Daniels’s past. There’s no need to get so worked up.”

　　Sylvia Shaw’s lips trembled, as if in shock. “Do you really have to investigate to this extent?”

　　“Of course,” The Vault replied. “Our goal is to find the killer, so we have to start with motives. Don’t worry, databases from various agencies are now shared. In this age of advanced information, anything a person does leaves a trace. We’ll check everything one by one and will definitely catch the real culprit.”

　　Sylvia Shaw nodded thoughtfully.

　　Julian Grant quietly observed everyone’s expressions. He was naturally empathetic and could sense the strange atmosphere.

　　The Vault leaned forward, turning to Xavier Daniels, and said, “You’re twenty-five now. You should know something about the company, right?”

　　Xavier Daniels shook his head. “I don’t want to inherit the family business. I want to pursue a career in research.”

　　Sylvia Shaw patted his hand. “My son doesn’t like business. My husband didn’t have much education and was mocked for it, so he really hoped Xiao Xi would study hard. He’s always done well in school, and Lao Tao never bothered him with company matters.”

　　The Vault asked, “What kind of person do you think your father was?”

　　Sylvia Shaw: “He’s Lao Tao’s son, of course he admired his father!”

　　The Vault: “Did you know about your father blocking the ambulance back then?”

　　Sylvia Shaw shrieked, “He was just a child then—how could he possibly know!”

　　The Vault paused, his cold gaze sweeping over.

　　“He was a child then, but he’s not a child now. He’s an adult, capable of answering my questions on his own, don’t you think?”

　　Only then did Sylvia Shaw realize she’d gotten too emotional. With Xavier Daniels’s reassurance, she quieted down, leaning back and saying nothing more.

　　The Vault nodded to Julian Grant, who took out a photo of Justin Hall and showed it to Xavier Daniels.

　　“Have you seen him before?”

　　Xavier Daniels’s lips twitched slightly as he shook his head.

　　The Vault: “Have you seen him around here, or heard your father mention anyone like him?”

　　Xavier Daniels: “Really, no.”

　　The Vault: “You don’t know anything about the company’s finances either?”

　　Xavier Daniels: “I just know it seems to be doing okay.”

　　The Vault asked a few more questions but didn’t get any useful leads. The two had become wary after her earlier questions. The Vault simply stood up to take her leave, promising to update them if there were any new developments.

　　The three of them left and got into the car parked by the roadside.

　　As soon as The Vault closed the car door, she said, “Send a few people to Thomas Daniels’s company to ask around, see if they can find out where he went yesterday and who he met. The more detailed his movements, the better.”

　　Julian Grant asked directly, “Is there something off about Sylvia Shaw?”

　　The young officer in the back seat poked his head through the gap between the seats and interjected, “I saw her crying so hard—her eyes were swollen. Captain, why do you seem suspicious of her?”

　　The Vault smiled, reached up to adjust the rearview mirror so it reflected the young officer’s confused face.

　　“When you went to inform her of Thomas Daniels’s death today, what was she wearing?”

　　“The same clothes she’s wearing now,” the young officer said. “She was on the verge of a breakdown, didn’t have the energy to change, and then I took her to the school.”

　　The Vault said, “Shouldn’t she have been wearing pajamas at home? Why was she wearing that dress?”

　　“Maybe she was about to go out?” The young officer tilted his head, hesitating. “A black midi dress, with a cape? Is that a problem?”