"Yeah. After discovering there was more to the case, we've been working on improving things. Trident's technical support in reconstructing the scene and conducting reverse reasoning has been a huge help. For some of the more complicated or unsolved cases, we often collaborate." Julian Grant fiddled with the computer in front of him, but the irregular tapping of the keys showed he wasn't fully focused. "The body was found too late. By the time the police arrived, the scene had already been badly damaged by rain and nearby residents. We used technology to restore part of it, but with so little information, there are still a lot of missing or incorrect details. We can only fill them in bit by bit..."

The Vault listened carefully to him, then nodded after a moment and gave him a smile.

She reached her hand across the back of Julian Grant's chair, and as she bent over to look at the screen, she naturally leaned in closer to him.

At this distance, Julian Grant could smell the faint scent of her body wash. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and muttered under his breath, "What are you up to now? Always setting fires, never taking responsibility. Scum."

The Vault: "..." So grudges really never disappear, huh?

·

The next morning, when The Vault woke up, Julian Grant had already left. He left so quietly that he didn't wake anyone.

The Vault smelled something delicious through the door, woke up groggily, put on her slippers, and went to the kitchen to check. She found a small pot of broth warming on the stove, a plate of neatly arranged raw wontons beside it, and another pot already filled with water.

Julian Grant had left a note on the cutting board, reminding her to boil a separate pot of water, cook the wontons until done, and then pour them into the soup.

It was a very simple set of instructions, but Classmate Grant had written out every step in a very methodical, engineer-like way. At the end, he even thoughtfully provided a takeout number she could call for help and a do-over if she failed, as if she had absolutely no common sense about daily life.

The Vault was amused by him first thing in the morning, raised her hand to rub her face, and brushed away her sleepiness.

The kitchen window was left open, and the fresh morning breeze flowed in from outside, brushing against her face.

The Vault looked down and counted the wontons, and a scene from half an hour ago popped into her mind—Julian Grant standing in the same spot as her, hunched over, fussily writing out reminders. Halfway through, maybe he'd remember the resentment he hadn't vented yesterday, grumble a few complaints, and then finish the note with a bit of spite.

This kind of life should be ordinary and peaceful, yet in The Vault's memory, it had happened only a handful of times.

After Logan Carter left, there was hardly anyone who cared about her daily life anymore.

The Vault turned off the stove and stood there in a daze for a while, then pushed down the feelings that had risen in her heart, folded the note, and planned to throw it away. She had already walked to the trash can and reached out, but for some reason shivered, hesitated for less than a second, then put the note away and took it back to her room, pressing it inside a book.

Forget it. Everything from the old He family, let's just keep it for now.

·

The woman in front of the security door took off her sunglasses, revealing a pair of bright, lively eyes, and glanced upstairs. The corners of her eyes lifted, her gaze was charming and intelligent. It was just an ordinary gesture, but with her stunningly beautiful face, it carried a touch of elegance.

The next second, she rolled her eyes, swiped the key hanging from her slender white finger across the sensor on the door, then pushed it open and went inside. Her clear voice kept chattering, slightly ruining the picturesque scene.

"Why don't you think about it? Why would people complain about your son? Have you ever cared about him? Given him any warmth? Do you know why your son doesn't want to go to work, why he has no motivation? You come home just to pick a fight—do you really see your son as a corporate drone? Tch!"

The person on the other end could only silently endure her merciless ridicule.

"Why aren't you saying anything? Am I the only one who gave birth to your son? I raised him when he was little, and now that he's grown up, you want to swoop in and take credit for his education. You're already getting the better end of the deal! Picking on him is just a slap in my face, isn't it? Do you have some problem with me?"

The other person clicked their tongue and hurriedly retorted, "I don't! What are you even talking about? I was there for him growing up too, how is that taking credit?"

The woman's tone rose a notch, but her soft, sweet voice didn't sound angry at all: "So you're saying I'm overstepping, making trouble out of nothing?"

The man on the other end was left speechless, realized the situation, and once again shrank into silence.

The elevator came down. The beautiful woman looked at herself in the mirror inside, carefully tidied her bangs, and smiled in satisfaction.

So gorgeous!

But she had no intention of sharing her good mood with the person on the phone. She said bluntly, "See that? Acting so unreasonably—don't you think that's annoying? That's how you treat my son! I'm telling you, if you insist on being difficult, just try comparing yourself to me."

The other person replied weakly, "Who wants to compete with you about that..."

She said impatiently, "Alright, I'm getting in the elevator. Arguing with you is pointless!"

Half a minute later, the elevator reached her floor. Mrs. Grant strode out, stopped at the door, deliberately pressed the doorbell, and waited for someone to answer.

She switched her bag from her left hand to her right, then from her shoulder to her hand, and pressed the doorbell several more times. Only when her patience was about to run out did someone finally open the door.

Mrs. Grant lifted her chin and asked discontentedly, "Why did you take so long to come out?"

The Vault said softly, "Sorry, I was on the balcony and didn't hear anything."

Mrs. Grant was momentarily stunned to see that the person opening the door wasn't her son. When she realized it was The Vault, a visible crack appeared on her proud, flawless face.

She touched her own face first, then stared at The Vault for a few seconds, the crack in her expression growing wider.

The Vault felt she could understand. Anyone would feel a bit like their cabbage had been stolen if they suddenly saw a stranger in their son's home.

Mrs. Grant slowly reached out her hand, and just as The Vault was about to respond, she grabbed the doorknob and closed the door again.

The Vault: ?

A moment later, there was another knock at the door.

The Vault quickly opened it and nodded at the person outside.

"It's not that you opened the door the wrong way," The Vault told her. "This really is Julian Grant's home."

Mrs. Grant had already regained her composure. She gave a couple of awkward laughs: "Hehe... hehe..."

Maybe she realized that laugh didn't sound very dignified, so her voice abruptly cut off.

She cleared her throat silently, and when she looked up again, she forced a smile, though it was tinged with embarrassment no matter how you looked at it.

The Vault stepped aside and calmly said, "Please come in."

She was a bit confused herself, but she was always good at hiding her emotions. After the initial surprise, she just braced herself to face whatever came.

Mrs. Grant walked in with small steps and asked, "Is Julian not here? Someone from his company said he hasn't been to work lately."

The Vault thought to herself, Your family sure gets news slowly.

"He took a couple of days off for something, but he started going back to work yesterday," The Vault explained. "I got a bit injured, so he took me to the hospital."

Mrs. Grant said understandingly, "Of course, of course, I understand. As long as you're okay. Are you alright now?"

The Vault: "...Thank you for your concern. I'm fine now."

After just a few words, the two of them had already reached the sofa in the living room.

Mrs. Grant chose a seat at the end of the sofa, her movements a bit tense. But The Vault was also a bit out of it and didn't notice anything unusual.

The Vault brought her some fruit and drinks, but Mrs. Grant politely raised her hand to decline.

The two sat facing each other, their gazes crossing. Staring at each other felt awkward, but looking around aimlessly didn't help either. The atmosphere was so strange it made their skin crawl, and they didn't know what to do with their hands and feet.

After all, Mrs. Grant was experienced. She thought for a moment, opened her bag, and took out a notebook and a pen.

The Vault could no longer stay calm. She sat up straight, every muscle tense, eyes peeking at what the other was writing.

She knew this routine all too well, could practically recite what would happen next.

Mrs. Grant wrote while glancing at her out of the corner of her eye, scribbling several times on the paper, never quite satisfied. Finally, she tore out a new page, filled in an amount, and hesitantly handed it over.

She had no idea how much Julian Grant was worth.

The Vault looked at the paper, excited.

So many zeros.

Seven zeros.

One Julian Grant was worth ten million. No wonder.

The Vault's eyes almost went blurry.

Mrs. Grant watched her expression closely, and as soon as she saw something off, she immediately said, "Your name is The Vault, right? I've seen you at Trident, and I've even chatted with Old He about you. I just never expected my son would... um... haha..."

The Vault put the paper on the table, very much minding the words she had left out.