If it weren’t for knowing that Justin Hall was already all alone, The Vault would have mistaken the perpetrator for one of Justin Hall’s relatives, to be able to make him defend them so fiercely.

But is Sylvia Shaw really that close to him?

The Vault curled her lips and clicked her tongue. Since the confrontation was fruitless, The Vault simply tossed a file into the middle of the table.

There were several photos tucked inside the file.

“I know it’s not you. The police aren’t as incompetent as you think, and convictions are more rigorous than you imagine.”

“This one is a photo of the shoeprint confirmed at the scene to belong to the killer. Although the tread pattern on the shoeprint is indeed the same as the shoes uniformly distributed to sanitation workers, based on the collected prints, it’s obvious this was made by a brand-new pair of shoes, and you haven’t applied for new shoes recently.”

The Vault pointed at the pattern, her gaze locked tightly on Justin Hall.

“Everyone walks differently, which causes varying degrees of wear on their shoes and leaves different marks on the ground. From the old shoes stored at your home, we found that your walking posture is relatively standard, but this killer walks with a slight outward splay. You couldn’t possibly be that meticulous.”

Justin Hall showed a slight reaction, his eyes moving as he tried to recall along with her words.

The Vault continued, “Besides, big feet in small shoes and small feet in big shoes leave different prints. According to the experts’ preliminary analysis, this pair of shoes is size 43, but the person wearing them has feet longer than size 43. We can also bring in the country’s top footprint analysis experts to help identify the culprit—they can accurately calculate the perpetrator’s height, with a margin of error of less than two centimeters. You dragging things out here with us won’t change anything.”

Justin Hall’s expression changed again, but this time there was a look of confusion. He slightly opened his mouth, tilting his head to the side, lost in thought.

The Vault raised her eyebrows.

Julian Grant looked at Justin Hall, thoughtfully stroking his chin, and suddenly said, “You’re not actually having an affair with Sylvia Shaw, are you?”

Justin Hall responded sluggishly, “What nonsense are you talking about?”

Julian Grant said, “Otherwise, why would you take the blame for her? Your silence—isn’t it to protect Sylvia Shaw?”

Justin Hall finally understood, and said angrily, “Why would I take the blame for her? Is there a single good person in that Ding family?”

His reaction was genuine, not faked. The Vault widened her eyes, looking at Julian Grant in surprise.

Julian Grant shrugged.

The Vault’s voice became forceful again.

“Because Sylvia Shaw, Thomas Daniels’s wife, is the most suspicious person besides you.” The Vault enunciated each word, “We’ve already gathered some evidence, and at present, we can prove that Sylvia Shaw was involved in this matter. Here’s how we deduced the case went: last night, Thomas Daniels returned home and was plied with alcohol by Sylvia Shaw under some pretext, then given sleeping pills. While he was unconscious, Sylvia Shaw drove him to the roadside, and a young accomplice dumped Thomas Daniels on the grass. The two then left the scene separately. Sylvia Shaw doesn’t have strong nerves—she’s already shown many flaws under our questioning. She’s also unfamiliar with the city’s surveillance system, so it’s impossible for her to destroy all the evidence. She’s destined to be caught.”

Justin Hall’s gaze darted around aimlessly, his lips trembling as he began to mutter silently.

The Vault said, “You provided the sleeping pills to Sylvia Shaw. You two had been in contact for a while and plotted the whole thing together. You deliberately delayed your work hours to make sure that when you found Thomas Daniels, he was already dead. Only then did you call the police.”

Justin Hall shouted, “I didn’t!”

The Vault slammed the table, the sharp sound instantly heightening Justin Hall’s emotions. She spoke rapidly, “You really didn’t participate in the most direct part, because you don’t have the guts. It’s been twelve years and you’ve never had the courage to kill. Sylvia Shaw worked with you, but she wasn’t willing to let you off clean, so she dragged you into the mess. She found an accomplice who wore shoes similar to yours, took care of Thomas Daniels, and pinned the suspicion on you. And you’re still covering for her!”

“I didn’t!” Justin Hall stood up, pressing both hands on the table, his chest heaving as he shouted emotionally, “It wasn’t me!”

“I know it wasn’t you. So you didn’t know Sylvia Shaw was the real killer? Looks like there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding between us.” The Vault pushed the remaining breakfast forward and smiled politely, “Do you want to eat breakfast now?”

·

In the screening room, Henry Harris, who had been quietly watching, suddenly said, “The Vault, right? I think her judgment of others’ emotions is always spot on. It was the same when questioning Sylvia Shaw before—she knows how to lower people’s guard, how to apply pressure without them noticing, how to confuse the other party with half-truths. When you look into her eyes, you get the illusion that she can see right through you. She… is very talented.”

Quinn Shelby said, “She’s never studied psychology.”

Henry Harris: “That’s why I say it’s talent.”

Quinn Shelby was silent for a long time, then asked, “If someone could easily know what others are thinking, but lacked enough empathy—wouldn’t that be scary?”

Quinn Foster twitched his lips and rolled his eyes.

Henry Harris asked, “Then if you were faced with a similar situation, how would you handle it?”

Quinn Shelby’s tense nerves were tugged. He opened his mouth wide, feeling a slight sting, and only then realized he hadn’t had any water—his lips were almost dry and peeling. He said, “Handle the case according to the evidence.”

Henry Harris said, “What if the evidence points to Justin Hall, and Justin Hall himself doesn’t deny it? At the same time, there’s a lot of public pressure to solve the case, and your superiors are ordering you to close it quickly. But you still have some unresolved doubts—would you submit the evidence and initiate prosecution?”

Quinn Shelby listened to his own voice, which wasn’t very firm, but he said, “No.”

Quinn Foster, who was nearby, laughed twice and interjected, “That’s because you subjectively know Justin Hall isn’t the culprit. The evidence at the scene is too rough, the framing too obvious. If the perpetrator had staged the scene more convincingly and arranged the evidence more meticulously, and you were seventy or eighty percent convinced, even if there were a few small loopholes, you probably still would.”

Quinn Shelby felt provoked and said with a hint of anger, “If the evidence is real and it points to him, then of course I’d choose to believe the evidence over my own subjectivity. Besides, my job is to investigate the case and collect evidence. The final judicial verdict is made by the people’s court.”

Quinn Foster continued to retort, “The court is psychologically inclined to believe the evidence provided by the investigative agency is genuine. You should first ensure your own evidence sources are reliable, not just shift the responsibility to the people’s court.”

Quinn Shelby said, “That’s sophistry. I already said the premise is, ‘if the evidence is real.’”

“What do you mean, sophistry? Your premise is that your work is flawless? The real premise is ‘you still have doubts.’ If you have doubts, that means something’s off. What you should do is repeatedly verify the authenticity of the evidence and the logic of your deductions, not just initiate prosecution.” Quinn Foster waggled his eyebrows, “Isn’t that right, Captain Harris?”

Quinn Shelby was so angry his liver hurt, and he sneered, “Sir, why are you targeting me?”

“How many of my reports have you rejected? Why shouldn’t I target you?” Quinn Foster retorted bluntly, “Isn’t your view of The Vault just an unfounded prejudice? Didn’t you say you only believe in evidence? Where’s your evidence? Where’s your stupidity?”

Quinn Shelby tried hard to control his tone: “You have your standards, I have mine! Can you not attack others just because things don’t go the way you expect?”

“What are your standards? Why should your standards interfere with another professional field’s standards? I’m the psychologist!” Quinn Foster refused to back down, “The Vault has her own talents—that’s just luck in genetic expression. That doesn’t mean anything else. If you think it’s scary, that’s your problem. When she shows emotion, you say she’s extreme and start guarding against her next move. When she acts neutral, you say she’s cold and unfeeling, lacking empathy, and suspect she’s hiding some unpredictable malice. What do you want? Do you want her to be an ordinary person, or do you just not believe she’s ordinary? Your preconceptions are already affecting your judgment. Ask your Captain Harris if he’s scared.”

“I—” Quinn Shelby was at a loss for words, nervously glancing at Henry Harris.

Henry Harris’s expression didn’t change. He pointed at the screen and said, “Let’s watch the story. If you want to settle this, take it outside. There are so many people here watching the show.”

The technical staff from San Yao immediately lowered their heads, pretending to type a few lines of code, while the psychological evaluators, who had been watching with great interest, reluctantly looked away and started pointing out things about their own clients’ performances.

Quinn Foster ran a hand through his smooth hair and sat back in his seat with an air of pride.

Chapter 67: Inducement

In the interrogation room.

Justin Hall straightened up, took the bun from the table, opened the plastic bag, and took a big bite.