Charles Linton slowly exhaled a puff of white smoke and cursed, “He’s just a lunatic!”

Chapter 91: Accident

The Vault never expected that the first thing Charles Linton would say would be this. And the biggest problem was, no matter how she analyzed it, the expression on Charles Linton’s face when he said this didn’t look like he was simply venting resentment—it looked like he genuinely believed it.

Afraid they wouldn’t believe him, Charles Linton repeated, “He really is a lunatic!”

After speaking, he lowered his gaze, white smoke swirling between his lips.

“It’s because of him that my ex-wife divorced me, and the child was aborted. I spent over a year in prison, and after getting out, I couldn’t even find a decent job. I had to follow my fellow townsmen around, scraping by like a nobody just to get a meal. At my age, I still don’t have a stable job. I’m too ashamed to even face people.” Charles Linton’s voice was low, and his demeanor made him seem more than ten years older than he actually was. “Tell me, how hard is it to live a life? No matter how hard you work in the first half of your life, one wrong step and the rest is ruined. Especially when that step wasn’t even your own mistake. What kind of sin did I commit?”

The Vault seemed thoughtful, hands in her pockets, her gaze circling Charles Linton.

Julian Grant said, “You ran him over and killed him, and you’re still calling him a lunatic? Isn’t that a bit much? Compared to you, he lost his life.”

“What do you mean I ran him over and killed him?” The ash from Charles Linton’s cigarette fell onto his pants, but he didn’t notice. He stiffened his neck and said, “He ran into me himself. He was trying to scam me!”

The Vault leaned in with interest. “Oh?”

Julian Grant glanced at her, then continued, “That can’t be right, can it? Did Harold Thornton have any reason he absolutely had to die? The hospital didn’t hold him responsible for that surgery, he was still working as usual. He was young, highly skilled, with a bright future ahead, and plenty of people willing to speak up for him. Why would he want to die with you?”

“How would I know?” Charles Linton waved his hand, cigarette ash falling everywhere. “Why would I want to kill him? Realistically, it was my nephew who had the surgery, not my son. He ended up with a limp, not dead. There’s a whole generation between me and him—why would I risk my life over this? I have a wife too! Don’t I need to think about myself? I’m not crazy!”

Charles Linton burned his hand on the lighter, but ignored it, pressing the cigarette butt out on the ground. “I admit I was speeding, because that road usually doesn’t have much traffic, and there’s no surveillance nearby. I always drive a bit fast there. But before I went through, I checked carefully—no cars, no pedestrians at the intersection. I honked, trying to make it through the last two seconds of the light, and then Harold Thornton darted out. He was in my blind spot, suddenly popping out—how could I have avoided him? And you call that me wanting to kill him? How was I supposed to know he’d show up in that godforsaken place during work hours?”

The Vault crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against the wall.

Julian Grant saw she hadn’t spoken and explained, “A ‘ghost head’ means—”

The Vault: “I know. A pedestrian or vehicle suddenly appears in a blind spot. He just explained.”

Julian Grant felt awkward. “Oh.”

Charles Linton pulled another cigarette from his pocket, his fingers trembling as he lit it. As soon as the flame appeared, he shoved it into his mouth, trying to calm himself. The bitter taste of tobacco swirled in his dry throat, making his already hoarse voice even rougher.

“I don’t even know how I ended up entangled with him.” Charles Linton forced a smile, uglier than crying. “Even now, people say I’m crazy, that I killed him over a medical dispute. Nonsense! I killed him? How could I control him suddenly swerving out in front of me? Go look at the surveillance footage from back then—my dashcam caught everything. When I hit him, I didn’t even know it was him in the car! But no one believes me! I have no money, I can’t fight the hospital, and no one in society is willing to believe me!”

Bringing this up reignited his anger. Years of grief and resentment, suppressed for over a decade, erupted for the first time, overwhelming his reason. He cursed furiously, “The court found me half responsible, I spent over a year in prison, lost everything, and my wife left me. He took the insurance payout and let his family live the good life, even managed to clean up his own rotten reputation. He really calculated it all—what a bastard!”

He pounded his leg in frustration, hating his own uselessness. “And I’m crippled! Crippled! Crippled!”

“I don’t quite understand.” The Vault touched her earlobe with one hand, speaking in a low voice. “What was his… motive? If he were still alive, he could have easily made three million. He had a family, and it’s not like he had any deep grudge against you. Why would he choose such an extreme way to die? It couldn’t have been for insurance fraud, right? And if it was to frame you, it doesn’t make sense logically.”

“How would I know?” Charles Linton stood up, his legs numb from sitting too long, and hobbled down a step. “What, you don’t believe me either?”

The Vault’s deep, dark eyes glanced over, one hand pressing on his shoulder, pushing him gently back, signaling him to sit down.

Charles Linton shook her off in annoyance, turned his head, and met her gaze, looking straight into her deep, calm eyes.

There was no suspicion or anger in her eyes, only a stillness like dead water, yet shining with a light that seemed to see through everything. Her calm confidence seemed to tell him that only she could help him.

Charles Linton suddenly felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head, his hair standing on end, and the words he was about to say stuck in his chest.

The Vault pressed his shoulder again, and this time Charles Linton obediently sat back down.

Julian Grant’s tense muscles also relaxed.

The Vault asked, “Do you usually take that road often?”

Charles Linton nodded. “Our company has to make deliveries, so I basically always take that road. Usually between six and seven in the morning. That day, Harold Thornton kept his car parked at the intersection, and only pulled out when I showed up. It was such a coincidence—he must have done it on purpose.”

The Vault: “So, based on what you know about Harold Thornton, what do you think the reason was?”

Charles Linton took a deep drag on his cigarette, sitting with his legs apart and hands on his knees, thinking for a long time before hesitantly saying, “I think he planned it. He wanted to clear his name.”

He looked up after speaking, trying to see a sneer or ridicule on The Vault’s face, since such a guess was absurd.

The Vault only replied blandly, not even changing her posture, “That’s a pretty extreme way to clear your name.”

“Every day I was in prison, I kept thinking, I really—” Charles Linton grabbed his head, struggling to find the words, and finally managed, “I thought about it too much, I often dream about it, I don’t even know if I remember the details right. That day, yes, I was speeding, but it was a three-lane road, speed limit 60, and I was only going about 80. I was driving a truck, it’s heavy, hard to brake. Harold Thornton appeared out of nowhere, shot out perpendicularly from the intersection ahead. I was a bit slow to react, but I really risked flipping the truck to slam on the brakes. After turning the wheel, the tires skidded, and I hit him right on the driver’s side. The back of my truck swung out and slammed his car into the guardrail. I… I really have nothing more to say.”

The Vault said, “So, in other words, you were distracted at the time.”

Charles Linton looked bitter. “Distracted? Miss, have you ever driven a car? In an emergency, you have less than a second to react. In that situation, who has time to think? Your hands and feet move faster than your brain, it’s all instinct. How could I have predicted what angle the tires would skid at?”

“Hmm…” The Vault mused, “So if it weren’t for all those variables, with your skills, you wouldn’t have killed him, right?”

Charles Linton grunted gloomily, “It’s no use saying anything now, he’s already dead. It’s my own fault for speeding, just rushing to my own doom.”

The three of them fell silent in the stairwell. Charles Linton flicked the ash from his cigarette and took a heavy drag.

A worker passed by carrying a bag of trash, set it down in the open space ahead, glanced at them, then walked away with a curious look.

Julian Grant’s thoughts were a mess. After all, the information Charles Linton provided was so different from what he’d heard at the hospital that the two versions were almost impossible to reconcile. Strangely, he even found Charles Linton’s account quite reasonable.

Julian Grant looked to The Vault for her opinion again, but The Vault… once again sat down on the floor, missing his cue.

Julian Grant gave up and said, “If what you say is true, Harold Thornton was pretty ruthless.”

“Don’t judge people by appearances!” Charles Linton said anxiously, spreading his hands. “He looks like a good-tempered guy, and I look like a thug, right? I’ve never done anything bad in my life… Who would have thought I’d end up killing someone in my prime?”

The Vault covered her mouth and nose with her hand and asked, “Do you have any concrete evidence about the medical accident?”