An empty room, not much different from The Vault’s original residence. A few machines on the wooden shelves glowed with standby red lights. Julian Grant, worried she might not be used to it, turned all of them to face the wall.

The Vault sat on the sofa, organizing her thoughts, then went to her room to fetch paper and pen and began to take notes.

The Vault had a habit: regardless of whether the information was useful, if she hadn’t found the right answer and lacked progress, she would record every detail that had left an impression on her. Because even for her, sometimes she couldn’t fully trust her own memory. And this kind of detailed and comprehensive review could effectively help her avoid missing important details.

She picked up her pen and densely wrote several lines of keywords, then classified them multiple times according to their characteristics, searching for any overlapping intersections.

This process didn’t have much practical significance, but it helped make her previously chaotic thoughts a bit smoother. After filling the table with useless drafts, The Vault finally began to methodically create a relationship chart of the people involved.

In the evening, when Julian Grant pushed the door open, he saw The Vault sitting there, a stack of papers in front of her, multitasking as she watched TV.

The background sound was turned down very low; only the subtitles gave away what the host was saying.

Seeing her setup, Julian Grant’s years of self-discipline were instantly triggered by reflex.

“When you’re doing homework, don’t watch TV.”

The Vault didn’t take her eyes off the screen and replied perfunctorily, “It helps me brainstorm.”

Julian Grant noticed she was watching a food show and said helplessly, “Is it brainstorming or food-streaming?”

As he spoke, he picked up the notes on the table.

The Vault’s wild and unrestrained handwriting was almost unrecognizable to Julian Grant. He squinted, pieced together a few pages, and carefully read through them before realizing what she was writing.

The Vault had listed out the resumes of several people, arranging them by year for comparison, looking for possible intersections between them. This included the illnesses she knew about, the hospitals they visited, and major life events.

Her information sources were rather limited, mostly relying on Trident’s plot settings, but her observation skills were strong, and she managed to dig out many key issues from the details.

Julian Grant said, “Whether it’s Nina Forrest, Julia Campbell, Ruby Donovan, or Xavier Daniels, all the suspected participants have different professions and economic backgrounds. Even their places of birth, schooling, and work aren’t exactly the same. You’d think these people, in real life, might not even cross paths by chance—so how did they all get drawn into the same circle?”

Julian Grant had already watched the replay of the scenario, and had reviewed it several times. He still found The Vault’s suspicions incredible. He privately hoped it was all just her overthinking. But reality told him that when coincidences happen frequently enough, they can no longer be called coincidences.

Julian Grant looked at the conclusion written at the end of the paper.

These people either had psychological defects, or had long endured unequal and abnormal abuse, or harbored intense hatred that could disregard social morality.

Other than all being psychologically unhealthy, they had almost nothing in common.

Julian Grant muttered to himself, “If there really is such a person, how did he choose and approach his targets? To pick out these cases from a sea of people, ensure their willpower is strong enough, brainwash them without them noticing—that’s not easy.”

The Vault pressed pause on the remote and said, “When your sample pool is too large and you can’t effectively sample, you can wait for them to come to you.”

Julian Grant hesitated, “A psychologist?”

The Vault said, “Maybe.”

Julian Grant knew her offhand tone well—it basically meant denial.

“How likely?”

The Vault held up two fingers and said, “In my mind, less than 20%. The other party might be a psychologist, or have some relevant knowledge. But with these people, the connection probably wasn’t made during treatment.”

Julian Grant had thought she was making a “V” sign.

The Vault added, “Harry Forrest has never seen any psychologist. With Xavier Daniels’s proud personality, it’s also unlikely he’d see one—he never thinks there’s anything wrong with himself. Honestly, mental illness isn’t that common, and those who actively seek help are a minority. If it’s someone as proud as Xavier Daniels, who’s already aware of his own psychological issues, he’d be even more guarded when facing an expert. Besides…”

The Vault stood up and began tidying the messy table.

“The fees among psychologists vary greatly. With the financial situation of Ruby Donovan and Annie Forrest, they probably couldn’t afford long-term counseling, nor could they accept such large expenses. Targets selected this way would be limited, and it would be easy for the police to notice.”

That was true. The people involved had such different characteristics, it was as if they’d been deliberately chosen from different groups—just like the five people who testified against Harry Forrest back then. The person behind the scenes was using their complete unfamiliarity with each other to mislead everyone’s attention. That was also why the police hadn’t noticed for years.

This showed the other party was extremely cautious, and had access to a large enough sample pool.

If these people had the same medical records at a certain hospital, it would be easy to trace.

Julian Grant helped her tidy up the table, his inner balance gradually tipping toward danger. He glanced at The Vault’s expression and asked, “So what do you think the other party’s identity is?”

The Vault shook her head uncertainly. “As long as there’s a criminal case, this person will definitely appear. The parties involved will do everything they can to get the best conditions, even if they’re financially limited, they’ll spare no expense.”

Julian Grant guessed, “Police, or… a lawyer?”

The Vault said, “The locations of the various cases aren’t all in the same jurisdiction.”

Julian Grant murmured, “So…”

They’d actually already had similar suspicions. The only people who could access these matters were either public officials within the system, or doctors, family members, lawyers, etc. directly related to those involved.

“I don’t know.” The Vault rolled the paper into a tube and held it in her hand. “After Harry Forrest went to prison, Logan Carter kept looking for famous lawyers to try to sue, but gave up in the end because she couldn’t gather enough evidence. I don’t know how many lawyers she actually contacted. Thomas Daniels, because of his business, has long had possible contact with lawyers. Shane Donovan’s death case—they didn’t file a lawsuit. I can’t find any file information on the others. If the other party contacted them proactively, and in the end there was no formal lawsuit for any case, this person would be hard to find.”

Julian Grant fell into deep thought.

“If things are as I suspect, the other party must be a well-reputed, positive-image, high-success-rate famous lawyer. He can serve both the rich and the poor, which means he’s highly humanitarian, so people naturally trust and rely on him. And lawyers have seen all kinds of people and know how to read minds—it makes sense.” The Vault said, “Forget it, I’m just speculating. Let’s analyze it after meeting Xavier Daniels tomorrow.”

Only then did Julian Grant remember to tell her, “I’ve made an appointment for you at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”

The Vault smiled and said, “I sincerely thank you.” You really are a good person.

Chapter 80: Speculation

The next day, Julian Grant drove The Vault over. Julian Grant himself hadn’t even realized that he’d somehow become this person’s personal driver. But he was indeed interested in sitting in on this meeting—after all, there would be no replay function this time.

Because the appointment had been made in advance, the process went smoothly. Xavier Daniels had been waiting for them since early morning. Julian Grant submitted the paperwork and went in with The Vault to meet him.

“Xavier Daniels” didn’t look much like the person in the Trident model, but their temperaments were similar. On closer comparison, it was easy to connect the two. In fact, having completely shaken off his mental burden, he looked even more energetic, his eyes clear, no longer showing the cautious distance of before.

He smiled at the two of them and waved in greeting.

His relaxed demeanor made Julian Grant feel nothing like he was visiting someone in prison—it was more like meeting an old friend in his spare time. If it weren’t for the overwhelming discomfort of the environment, he might have even greeted him with a “hello.”

The Vault crossed one leg, looking rather nonchalant, and called out, “Xavier Daniels.”

“Just call me Xavier Daniels.” The man across from them smiled. “I actually quite like this name.”

He turned to Julian Grant beside The Vault, shrugged, and said, “If humans could really use technology to live a completely different life as someone else forever, wouldn’t that be great?”

Julian Grant said, “Role-playing is role-playing, a game is a game. Technology can’t change reality, and Trident’s original intention wasn’t to help people escape life.”

“Who cares if it’s real or not?” Xavier Daniels said with a laugh. “As long as people can enjoy the moment, that’s enough. Self-deception is a form of self-healing—it’s a kind of ability.”