Henry Harris took the documents from the table and said calmly, “I want to know too. But whether or not this counts as evidence is another matter.”

The young man hesitated, then said, “Leonard Campbell has interacted with so many people. He gives lectures, is invited to speak, attends seminars and conferences—he’s been everywhere. If we have to check every single one, it’ll be endless. Plus, a lot of places don’t keep data for that long; some text information might have been lost or overwritten. With Leonard Campbell’s level of access, if he wanted to, he could easily make changes himself.”

Henry Harris responded with a muffled sound, not answering his question.

She had asked the young man to look into this information; the first page recorded the source of that modern poem.

The book was published fourteen years ago and included three poems by Leonard Campbell. The print run was very limited, mostly for collectors. Besides the recorded short poems, there were also some of Leonard Campbell’s reflections written in the margins.

According to the notes at the end, the inspiration for this poem came from even earlier, when Leonard Campbell and his wife were still in the passionate stage of their relationship. He wrote this rather reserved love poem as a confession to his wife.

Unfortunately, the two later broke up, separated, and eventually divorced. Leonard Campbell made some minor changes to the poem before publishing it. As a result, the latter half of the poem carries a faint sense of melancholy, perhaps a new insight gained in middle age.

From Leonard Campbell’s own commentary, it seems this poem held special meaning for him. He likely used it as a confession to another person, handing it over casually.

Henry Harris turned to the next set of documents.

Leonard Campbell is a distant relative of The Vault. When The Vault’s parents passed away, he had expressed a desire to adopt The Vault—once rejected by Kevin Quinn, and once by The Vault personally.

He is also the mentor of Quinn Foster. When The Vault was struggling to pass the psychological evaluation for Trident, he instructed Quinn Foster to issue a passing certificate for The Vault.

His image is very much that of a guardian quietly watching over and caring for the younger generation from behind the scenes. So, in fact, he knows The Vault and those around The Vault very well.

The Vault doesn’t seem particularly fond of being around him.

With a serious expression, Henry Harris continued reading.

Further on were some interviews with Leonard Campbell by the media or the school newspaper, recording his views on hot social topics at the time, as well as his research and conclusions in social psychology.

Leonard Campbell is a very popular teacher—if there were student votes, he would make the list almost every year. After all, he is knowledgeable, gentle in temperament, and carries an air of otherworldly wisdom. That scholarly elegance immediately puts people at ease; it’s hard to find a reason to dislike him. Even Henry Harris, just looking at his photo, would feel that he was a good person.

Henry Harris stared at the photo, lost in thought, not noticing when the young police officer had come to stand beside her.

“Oh, here.” Seeing her turn to this page, the young man pointed and said, “From the interview, it looks like he’s known Harry Forrest for a long time.”

Henry Harris lowered her gaze, following his indication.

This was a media interview from long ago. At the time, there was a huge uproar online—netizens were dissatisfied that Harry Forrest, despite his terrible social impact, was only sentenced to ten years in prison. A reporter asked Leonard Campbell for his opinion on the matter.

The small column recorded an abridged version of Leonard Campbell’s statement.

He said he was very disappointed.

At the time, Leonard Campbell had given a psychology lecture at a high school, which included a Q&A session. He happened to call on Harry Forrest. He asked Harry Forrest a few questions, and Harry Forrest’s answers left a deep impression on him.

In that brief exchange, he thought that the handsome boy with two dimples when he smiled, full of youthful energy yet with a lazy attitude toward life, was actually very smart. However, people who are smart enough don’t always fit into society; they tend to have a certain cynical pride. It was a pity that Harry Forrest went down the wrong path.

Below the interview was a candid photo of Leonard Campbell sitting on stage. Whether it was psychological or not, the longer Henry Harris looked at the picture, the more she felt she could see a flicker of darkness in Leonard Campbell’s eyes—it wasn’t so innocent after all.

The young police officer beside her muttered quietly, connecting a few details: “Leonard Campbell once knew Harry Forrest, and accurately judged Harry Forrest to be a genius. We found his handwritten love poem at Sean Hall’s house. He works at Dalton University, is very familiar with doctors at the affiliated hospital, often gives lectures or exchanges there, and has sent many excellent psychiatrists to the hospital. The other patients have all been to the affiliated hospital for treatment, or have even more direct connections…”

As he spoke, he shivered and said bitterly, “No way, right? It kind of makes sense, but then again, it feels far-fetched. Would a big shot like Leonard Campbell really get obsessed with such a pointless game? Isn’t research interesting enough?”

He really didn’t want this suspicion to be confirmed. He didn’t want to see someone he respected turn into the ugliest kind of criminal overnight. He hated this feeling of human nature being overturned.

Henry Harris closed the file and said, “Check even more thoroughly. See if all the related people have had direct contact with Leonard Campbell. Can we find records of Leonard Campbell’s lectures?”

“It was a long time ago. Some were company events, so the records might not exist anymore…” The young man paused, his expression growing stranger. “Oh right, when I was looking up information just now, I saw that Leonard Campbell once worked as a consultant for an MCN company.”

Henry Harris raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

The young man replied awkwardly, “Yes, the fourth deceased witness—the MCN company owner who was poisoned by her own mother’s medicinal wine. When she was starting her business, she invited Leonard Campbell to help analyze and confirm the future development paths of several contracted internet celebrities. It turned out to be quite successful.”

Henry Harris nodded gravely, indicating she understood.

People and events that had seemed completely unrelated were finally connected by the appearance of Leonard Campbell. At this point, it was hard to believe he wasn’t involved; the only question was what role he played in all of this.

The young police officer was about to say something when another young man ran in from outside, raising what he was holding and saying, “Captain Harris, I’ve got the surveillance footage!”

The young man looked toward the door, puzzled. “The footage from Sean Hall’s car accident? We’ve watched that dozens of times and never found anything.”

“Let’s watch it again. I don’t think this accident was just a coincidence.”

Henry Harris turned her chair, signaling for him to come over and play the video.

The three of them gathered in front of the computer, watching the video enlarged to full screen.

The young police officer was confused but held his breath and obediently stood to the side.

In the video, Sean Hall’s car was approaching the intersection. She looked distracted, clearly not in the right state of mind, gripping the steering wheel, ignoring the red light ahead, and accelerating into the oncoming lane.

After realizing she was driving illegally, she seemed to snap out of it, belatedly tried to steer, and ultimately crashed the car into a wall on the side.

It was obvious she was distracted—Sean Hall was probably on the phone with someone from her company at the time. But the police had listened to the recording provided by the HR department, and even before the accident, Sean Hall’s attitude was already a bit strange.

She was perfectly normal when she left Trident; HR was the only person to contact her after that. What could have caused such a drastic change in Sean Hall’s mood that she became so careless while driving?

Henry Harris dragged the progress bar back and replayed the footage.

The two officers watched with her, still confused. After several repeats, Henry Harris let out a long breath, as if she had finally realized where she’d gone wrong.

She leaned back, grabbed her short hair, and, under the puzzled gazes of her subordinates, pointed at the screen with her pen: “Did you notice anything?”

The two officers shook their heads, full of confusion, and tentatively asked:

“Wasn’t Sean Hall trying to commit suicide? She tried to straighten the wheel at the last moment, but the car was going too fast.”

“…All I can tell is that her driving skills aren’t great. And why was she spacing out while driving?”

“No!” Henry Harris tapped with her pen. “I’m asking, what was she looking at?”

Both of them froze for a moment.

Henry Harris rewound the video again, circled Sean Hall’s face with her pen cap, and said, “See? The image isn’t very clear, but her head tilts slightly. Judging by the angle and distance, she probably wasn’t looking at the traffic light, but at something—or someone—by the roadside.”

She said firmly, “Sean Hall! Right at this intersection, she saw someone who shocked her, and in her daze, she ran the red light and caused the accident!”

The officer immediately zoomed out the image and shifted the view toward the roadside in the direction of Sean Hall’s gaze.

“She seems to be looking over here…”

The area was just off to the side of the traffic light, where several pedestrians were walking along the sidewalk.