Immediately after, Julian Grant’s phone received a long string of text messages, containing interpretations and analyses of the materials. They were from The Vault.

Even though he felt a bit awkward, Julian Grant still followed The Vault’s instructions and went to meet Sylvia Shaw right away.

Sylvia Shaw’s face was haggard, clearly from a sleepless night. Without makeup, the dark circles under her eyes were swollen, making her look much older.

This woman, who loved beauty, could no longer care about her appearance at this moment. Her shoulders slumped in defeat as she said weakly, “Haven’t I already told you everything? What more do you want to ask? I killed the person, I made the plan, I’m the one who did all the bad things. For the rest, talk to my lawyer.”

Julian Grant didn’t speak. He opened the file, took out a photo, and held it up, studying it carefully, staring at it for about a minute before putting it down.

He turned the photo so it faced Sylvia Shaw, and said, “He’s very cute, isn’t he?”

The little boy was indeed very cute. He wasn’t chubby, but his cheeks were round, and his eyes were especially big, dark, and lively. His hair was a bit dry and yellowish, but his skin was very fair. He wore shorts and was playing with sand in the playground inside the residential complex.

When Sylvia Shaw saw who was in the photo, her whole face turned pale, all color draining away. She instinctively shrank back, causing her chair to scrape loudly against the floor, almost making her fall.

Julian Grant put the photo away and asked, “Why are you so afraid of him?”

Sylvia Shaw covered her ears with both hands.

Julian Grant said calmly, “So you know he didn’t die by accident, right?”

Sylvia Shaw’s hands trembled as she pretended not to hear.

This woman, who had lost her husband, helped her son dispose of a body, and confessed countless times during interrogation to being the murderer, was already on the verge of a mental breakdown. She fiercely resisted all new information, especially anything that made her feel threatened.

She was deeply unwilling to recall that past, yet reality came at her like a floodgate had burst, threatening to drown her.

Julian Grant read from the file: “Shane Donovan, during summer vacation, went to play at the reservoir with Xavier Daniels and his friends. Because he couldn’t swim well, he was swept away by the current and was found drowned.”

He turned a page: “Thomas Daniels’s illegitimate son. Five years old at the time of death, discovered downstream the next day. One shoe missing, skin on the body was swollen from soaking. This is the photo taken when he was found.”

“No—”

Sylvia Shaw screamed, refusing to look at the photo. She lowered her head, her breathing ragged with painful sobs.

Julian Grant didn’t show her the photo. He stopped reading and asked in a gentle voice, “Such a young child, smart and well-behaved—even if he wasn’t your own, could you really be so heartless?”

Sylvia Shaw covered her face, her shoulders shaking, stifled sobs escaping her throat.

Julian Grant watched quietly, then finally pulled out two tissues and handed them to her.

“Actually, you all underestimate the police’s information network. If we want to investigate, we definitely can. After all, at that time, Xavier Daniels was only thirteen—he would have left plenty of traces.”

Sylvia Shaw struggled desperately, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Julian Grant ignored her and, based on the messages sent by The Vault, asked, “I just find it strange. Why would a thirteen-year-old, precocious and calm, suddenly decide to kill? Shane Donovan was only five at the time, and everyone described him as obedient and sensible. He was willing to go out and play with his older brother, which means he liked Xavier Daniels. So what was Xavier Daniels’s reason for killing him? Was it hatred, or fear? Was he afraid Shane Donovan would threaten his place in the family? Or… was it to help someone, to maintain family stability?”

Sylvia Shaw made no attempt to hide her emotions—or perhaps, in her current state, she no longer had the strength to. Her reactions were clear and direct, trembling at Julian Grant’s words.

Julian Grant said, “Xavier Daniels, though emotionally detached and lacking empathy, with a dark temperament, never showed a desire for violence or abuse. Rather than killing with his own hands, he preferred to use his sense of superiority to control others.”

At thirteen, Xavier Daniels must have realized he was different from others and was trying to change himself, to fit into society. But many of his peers around him still lacked a healthy, accurate worldview. Their emotions were volatile, their perspectives on the world one-sided and aggressive, leaving Xavier Daniels without good role models.

He might not have been able to clearly distinguish whether others’ words were genuine plans or just emotional outbursts. But instinctively, he would seek a stable environment to anchor his own unease.

If those chaotic, agitated messages came from his closest mother, appearing around him frequently and intensely, perhaps he would do something against social morals just to please his family.

Julian Grant said, “You know, once a person’s bottom line is crossed, it’s hard to maintain it. Once someone has killed, they gradually lose their reverence for life. The intense fear turns into excitement, then numbness. If they hadn’t killed the first time, maybe they could have lived as ordinary people their whole lives.”

Sylvia Shaw kept hitting her own head, but made no sound. Julian Grant stepped forward and grabbed her wrist, forcing her to stop.

Sylvia Shaw looked up, tears streaming from her bloodshot eyes, covering her whole face.

“Yes…” she said with difficulty, “I was the one who instigated it.”

Author’s note:

Xavier Daniels is the real person, in prison, cooperating to complete the case file.

Henry Harris is a woman! Not only did I give her a name, but when she appeared, I gave her a long description—

“Quinn Shelby followed a middle-aged woman into the room and greeted several staff members inside.

This woman wore a white chiffon blouse and black suit trousers, her expression stern and unsmiling, exuding a strong, commanding presence—clearly not someone to be trifled with. Her short hair was neat and tidy, her makeup exquisite; at first glance, she looked like a capable career woman. But from her calloused and scarred hands, it was clear she was a true frontline detective who had worked her way up from the bottom.

Henry Harris, also the deputy leader of the major crimes unit responsible for solving this case.”

Chapter 74: Stirred

Sylvia Shaw was pulled back to scenes from more than ten years ago, each one still vivid.

She didn’t know why her emotions were so intense back then. Whether it was hatred, anger, or grievance, it was all overwhelming—even after so long, she still remembered the suffocating feeling of her chest being filled to the brim.

Inside, she was screaming hysterically every day, while Thomas Daniels didn’t care, choosing to distance himself to avoid her arguments. The anger that was ignored and couldn’t be vented kept building up, swelling to the extreme, and finally twisted so much that she lost her judgment and said some incredibly vicious things.

She knew it was wrong, but perhaps “possessed by a ghost” was the only way to describe it. Once a person acts on impulse, they rush toward the most irreparable outcome, regardless of the consequences.

She couldn’t help but think, if only Thomas Daniels had comforted her a little back then, shown enough respect, let her vent her frustration, maybe nothing would have happened.

But he didn’t, and all the regrets and missed chances led to today’s result. It was as if everything was destined retribution.

Sylvia Shaw was overwhelmed by these chaotic thoughts, crying and laughing at the same time, when she heard Julian Grant ask, “Did you really hate Shane Donovan moving into your home that much? If you truly hated it, you could have refused, or spoken up. Or do you really think the one most at fault in all this is a five-year-old child with no agency?”

Sylvia Shaw gave a bitter smile and said, “All women would hate having a man at home who likes to make decisions on his own. What is a family? A family is a group made up of your own people. Shane Donovan wasn’t my son—he was proof of my husband’s betrayal. Why should I accept him? Do you men all think that as long as you have enough say at home, your wife will just accept it?”

Sylvia Shaw clutched her chest, struggling to breathe: “Impossible! If you hate someone, no matter how long you live together, you’ll still hate them! You can never get used to it!”

Julian Grant said, “Then you should hate your husband.”

“But he’s my own! I see him as family!” Sylvia Shaw said emotionally. “There’s no logic when someone takes out their anger on others—why do you think I’d be reasonable about matters of the heart? So I hated Shane Donovan! The better Thomas Daniels treated him, the more I hated him. The more well-behaved he was, the more praise he got, the more I resented him!”

Julian Grant was shaken by her madness, unable to connect her with the previously weak and beautiful woman. He hadn’t realized she could erupt with such overwhelming negative emotions when provoked.

A Xavier Daniels in the midst of transformation, facing someone like her every day—what would he become?