This surveillance camera only captured their backs, and among them, one person, dressed in a black overcoat with a head full of silver hair, bore a striking resemblance to Leonard Campbell from behind.
The young police officer felt as if he had been struck on the head. He froze for a second, then rushed out the door, eager to retrieve footage from other cameras.
Chapter 106: Inquiry
The Vault held her chopsticks, gazing at Julian Grant across from her for a long time in silence. She pursed her lips and took a sip of the plain rice porridge in her bowl, finding it bland and tasteless, her heart full of wounds.
She didn’t know what Julian Grant had figured out last night, but today, from head to toe, he seemed off in every way, and was being particularly difficult. He kept stirring the crab meat in front of him with clean chopsticks without taking a bite, wasting good food with a touch of lazy indifference, which made the veins on The Vault’s forehead throb.
The Vault asked dryly, “Is it good?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t eaten it yet.” Julian Grant sighed disinterestedly. “It’s alright, I guess. Everyone in my family is sick of it.”
So that’s how it is. The Vault was also someone who could keep her composure. She replied softly, “Oh.”
Julian Grant then picked up a small steaming bowl of broth beside him and waved it in front of The Vault. The clear broth, rich with aroma, seemed to flaunt to The Vault that it came from a pot of chicken and pork bones carefully simmered all night.
The Vault sighed.
Julian Grant asked insincerely, “Is the plain porridge good?”
Shameless rich people—do they not have a deep enough understanding of the power of money?
The Vault just wanted to end this bizarre conversation as soon as possible, thinking now was the time to show her best side. She pulled herself together, carefully observing every subtle expression on Julian Grant’s face, her tone firm, as if she wanted to break the three words into a resounding declaration.
“It’s not good!”
Julian Grant tapped the table, glancing at the array of luxurious side dishes exuding the scent of money yet looking simple and unadorned, and tempted, “Do you want to eat some?”
The Vault answered honestly, “I don’t dare to think about it.”
Julian Grant was amused by her and tried to steer the mood back.
I mean, where do you find someone like this, huh? Where? Eating your food, sleeping in your bed, calling you by your nickname, yet refusing to develop a proper relationship with you.
She’s just a player. Wants everything for free.
Julian Grant coaxed, “Do you know how monotonous the life of the rich is? It’s just delicacies every day, doing whatever you want. Especially in our He family, the family rules are all about freedom… though also very traditional. Traditional yet free, especially happy.”
The Vault replied seriously, “Then life would lose a lot of troubles and joys, or you’d have to seek out more fun yourself. We discussed entertainment thresholds before. Boredom is what drives some people to become twisted; sometimes poverty or incompetence isn’t all bad.”
Julian Grant’s smile faltered.
The Vault hoped, “Would you be willing to share your happiness with me?”
Julian Grant looked at her, seeing her passive avoidance while pretending not to notice, feeling both annoyed and amused. He thought she was really having a hard time with this breakfast, almost selling her intelligence for it—she must have made a big sacrifice. His face twisted for a moment, then he pressed his forehead in defeat and waved his hand, “Forget it, just eat.”
The Vault smiled to show her thanks, then picked up the small dish in front of her and poured it into her bowl.
Julian Grant didn’t eat breakfast, but he didn’t leave the table either. He just sat there, arms crossed, watching The Vault from less than half a meter away. His gaze was full of complicated emotions, making analyses that were of little use.
If this were a game, he’d definitely want to add a visible affection meter to The Vault, so he could know what she was thinking behind every innocent face—whether she was secretly cursing him.
Julian Grant stared at her intently, but never saw The Vault’s face; she kept her head down, eating breakfast, as if she hadn’t noticed his piercing gaze.
After a while, Julian Grant looked away, glancing out the window at the blue, blurry sky. The moment his gaze shifted, The Vault seemed to relax just a little.
Originally, when he wasn’t thinking about it, Julian Grant could pretend not to care, but once he became aware, pretending not to know felt like self-deception.
It seemed like he was the only one being earnest; The Vault was always hot and cold with him, leaving him unable to figure her out.
He wondered if he was the one at fault here.
The more The Vault tried to avoid him, the more curious he became. Like many people, it’s not that he couldn’t accept failure, but he couldn’t accept failing without a reason.
Thinking this, Julian Grant’s gaze, which had just shifted away, drifted back, now with a hint of angry glare.
The Vault couldn’t ignore it any longer, feeling even her chopsticks had become unusually heavy. She looked up and asked, “Are you going to work today?”
Julian Grant, annoyed at being interrupted, replied with a scowl, “Yes.” He finally got up and left the table.
The Vault felt as if she’d been granted amnesty, quickly finishing everything in her bowl and carrying it to the kitchen to wash. Standing at the sink, her eyelids kept twitching as she slowly rinsed her hands under the water, then picked up a sponge to clean carefully.
Julian Grant came out of his room in a suit, holding his tie in one hand, skillfully looping it around his neck. His plan today was to go back to the company and fulfill his duties as a junior boss—after all, he’d been slacking off for days, and if he didn’t return soon, Susan Scott would probably start sticking pins in a voodoo doll of him.
When Julian Grant reached the door, he remembered something and called toward the kitchen, “You have a follow-up appointment at the hospital this afternoon, right?”
The Vault replied, “I’ll call a car myself.”
Julian Grant: “Then remember to bring the flowers back.”
Just like many people, after enduring a high-pressure environment, once they think the crisis is over, they let their guard down.
The Vault didn’t catch on to Julian Grant’s intentions. She went on to ask two of the worst possible questions.
“What flowers?”
“Oh… it’s been so many days, isn’t it unnecessary now?”
The sounds at the door suddenly stopped, as if falling into endless silence. The Vault waited, confirming she hadn’t heard the door open or close. Her instinctive wariness made her feel a chill at her back. She carefully turned off the faucet and slowly turned around to check.
…And was caught off guard by Julian Grant’s face, right in front of her.
Julian Grant was usually easygoing; the last time he got angry was also because of that bouquet of white roses filled with his deep fatherly love. The Vault decided she needed to cherish her life and adjust her attitude, saying, “I’ll go get them today as soon as I go downstairs.”
Julian Grant’s expression looked gloomy as he said, “Let me ask you a question. Answer me seriously—this isn’t a joke.”
The Vault hesitated, put down the dishcloth in her hand, and turned to face him.
Julian Grant said solemnly, “What do you think our relationship is, or should be, in the future?”
“Friends?” The Vault put extra emphasis on the word, as if telling him, or maybe trying to convince him, “Very good friends.”
Julian Grant pressed, “Let me tell you, there’s no such thing as very good friends. When someone is very good to the opposite sex, they usually have an ulterior motive. And don’t say I’m some good guy—I’m not that saintly. Why am I not good to Rachel Thornton? Why am I willing to let you move in? Why did I help you cover up the matter with Harry Forrest? Is it just to keep an eye on you, or do I have no other friends but you?”
The Vault looked at him in silence, leaning back against the counter, her palms braced on the marble surface. She picked at the edge with her fingers, and when Julian Grant didn’t back down, she finally asked, “Are you in a bad mood today?”
Julian Grant curled his lips in a mocking smile, “Looks like even smart people aren’t that good at changing the subject.”
The Vault had no response. But her expression wasn’t embarrassed, nor was it the shame of being exposed—she remained coldly calm, maybe even a little confused. As if no one in this world could make her show a flaw face-to-face.
Julian Grant couldn’t control his emotions like she could, and didn’t want to say anything hurtful in front of her, so he turned to leave.
“Sorry.” The Vault’s slightly chilly voice sounded behind him. “I think this is… something that needs to be considered very seriously.”
Julian Grant didn’t know if this seriousness was meant for him or for herself.
He laughed at himself.
How terrible.
The Vault didn’t know when the house had become quiet again. She wiped the remaining dishes clean, tidied up the kitchen, then slowly walked to the living room and sat emptily on the sofa.
She wondered if she had done something wrong, but her self-reflection wasn’t sincere. It wasn’t her strong suit. Most importantly, even if she was wrong, she didn’t know the right way to fix it.
While her mind was blank, the phone on the coffee table vibrated, the buzzing instantly capturing all her attention.
The Vault quickly stepped forward to grab it. When she saw the caller ID was Henry Harris, she frowned almost imperceptibly, lowered her eyes, and answered the call.