“Mm. Zachary Campbell’s company has a charity program to sponsor students from poor backgrounds, and your mother was one of the beneficiaries. Because she was struggling financially, Zachary Campbell proactively introduced her to this job. He even specifically spoke to people at the hospital, asking them to assign Kevin Quinn some female patients who were easier to get along with for her to care for. Leonard Campbell is quite reputable at D University Affiliated Hospital, and even though Kevin Quinn’s work hours were unstable, she still got quite a few assignments. Later, your father injured his eyes and was also sent to D University Hospital for treatment.” Henry Harris rattled off a string of information, paused to catch his breath, and continued, “At that time, your father had just gotten injured. He was very stubborn and insisted he didn’t need a caregiver. Later, Zachary Campbell asked Kevin Quinn to give it a try, so she went. Coincidentally, the two of them unexpectedly got along well, and ended up together.”

“Ah…” The Vault murmured, “So that’s how it was…”

It was as if she had just witnessed the entire process of her own creation.

Henry Harris added, “That’s how it was. Not long after your father was discharged, he was already preparing to propose. Honestly, I didn’t expect that even with his poor eyesight, your dad still had such sharp taste—he found such a beautiful wife. Isn’t that something to be jealous of?”

The Vault thought to herself, she was pretty envious too.

Henry Harris paused, then said, “Zachary Campbell and your father actually got along fairly well. Although they’re not closely related by blood, since they lived in the same school district, they interacted quite a bit. Later, your dad became a police officer, and Zachary Campbell went into business, so their relationship gradually faded. Other than that, there’s nothing special.”

The Vault responded with an “Mm,” and Henry Harris also fell silent on the other end.

Julian Grant was lounging lazily against the back of his chair, patiently listening to The Vault’s origin story, when he suddenly realized it had gone quiet, and there was a burning gaze fixed intently on him.

Julian Grant felt a chill on his scalp, straightened up, and warily asked, “Why are you looking at me?”

The Vault encouraged, “Relationship expert.”

Julian Grant replied sarcastically, “Aren’t you a social ethics expert yourself?”

The Vault sighed, “This skill doesn’t work on myself, and I want to hear what a normal person thinks.”

“What, you want me to analyze something? What do you mean by a normal person’s thoughts?” Julian Grant held his breath, feeling the two of them were being ridiculous, and spread his hands, “I don’t even know that much!”

Henry Harris gently coaxed, “Just say what you know, give it a try.”

“What can I even say?” Julian Grant was at a loss, so he just made something up, “Could it be that Zachary Campbell secretly loved your mother, took great care of her, but before he could confess, Ms. Qi fell for your father thanks to his introduction? Zachary Campbell was always overshadowed by your father since childhood, and after losing his true love, he finally snapped and his mind became twisted, slowly turning into a psychopath. He used all the information Leonard Campbell had access to for scheming, taking pleasure in ruining other people’s lives. Do you think that’s believable?”

“The logic is very clumsy,” The Vault said disappointedly, “Looks like Q-ge’s imagination isn’t rich enough.”

Henry Harris said, “How about I let Little Shelby try?”

The Vault refused, “Comrade Little Shelby is too fanciful, better to be cautious.”

Julian Grant saw that they were actually getting into it, and said, half laughing, half exasperated, “Do you think this is a story club? This is way too unserious!”

Henry Harris suppressed a laugh and said, “Alright, alright, let’s stop joking around and talk business. The Vault, we have to interrogate Henry Jameson tomorrow. If you’re interested, come by.”

Julian Grant didn’t react at first, “Who’s Henry Jameson?”

“That addict from last time, the one who almost strangled The Vault.” Henry Harris’s tone turned stern, “This guy keeps pretending to be crazy and refuses to confess anything. Neither side has been able to get anything out of him. I suggest you come with us and give it a try. Just act as the victim and come in with us to negotiate.”

As soon as she mentioned it, Julian Grant remembered and cursed under his breath.

The Vault quickly replied, “Okay.”

Chapter 115: Pride

“Henry Jameson has been using drugs for many years.”

The police officer leading the way glanced back to make sure The Vault and Julian Grant were following, then continued in his unhurried tone, explaining to her, “He used to be a journalist. During an interview investigation, he accidentally came into contact with drugs. According to him, it was because of work pressure and a bit of curiosity that he tried it. Heh, with drugs, there’s no such thing as just trying it once. Unsurprisingly, he got addicted.”

A look of helplessness and mockery appeared on the young officer’s face. The career they risked their lives for was, in the eyes of the ignorant, just “looking for some fun.” Clearly, they’d heard this excuse many times, but every time, it still sounded absurd.

“Henry Jameson doesn’t know much about the drug trade and has been caught by us several times. We’ve tried counseling, warnings, community rehab, but with drugs, once you get hooked, quitting is basically impossible. Especially with meth and some new types of drugs—once you try them, you’re done for. Henry Jameson has been using for so many years, he actually understands this, but he still can’t help himself. He even used his connections to get his hands on this stuff, successfully sending himself down a road of no return. We couldn’t stop him even if we tried.” The officer tapped his forehead with a finger, exasperated, “People who use drugs for too long, their minds really aren’t right! Sending him to prison is actually saving him.”

The Vault couldn’t help but touch her own neck. The pain from before was gone, but the bruise still lingered faintly. It probably wouldn’t fade completely for a while. She asked, “Does Henry Jameson usually behave himself?”

He glanced back at The Vault again and nodded, “He’s well-behaved.”

This officer was clearly very familiar with Henry Jameson—an “old acquaintance”—and knew all about his daily life and past career.

“Among the addicts we keep an eye on, he’s one of the more obedient ones, only using himself. He doesn’t sell, doesn’t share, doesn’t gather people together, and he’s never gone out and hurt anyone while high. His family actually has some savings—his parents left him two old apartments that were both demolished, and he also makes some money writing articles, so he gets by. But the stuff he writes is mostly nonsense, just for clicks, with no bottom line. Sigh, he used to be a decent investigative journalist, but now he’s completely turned into a gossip tabloid reporter, and not even an ethical one. Luckily, no one’s sued him, or he’d have lost everything by now…”

“There, we’re here.”

The officer stopped, opened the door in front of them, stepped aside, and made an inviting gesture.

The Vault nodded at him and walked in first.

Inside, several unfamiliar young men were already standing. When they saw The Vault, they glanced over, then quickly looked away without saying anything.

Two people were sitting in front of the monitors, staring at the figure inside. Another was quietly huddled in a corner eating cookies. The rest were quietly waiting for the interrogation to proceed.

The Vault stood by the wall, her gaze sweeping over the screens.

In the sealed room, Henry Jameson was strapped to a chair, his prison uniform wrinkled and disheveled.

His back was deeply hunched, resembling a bow that could never be straightened. His cloudy eyes darted around restlessly, unable to focus, and his right hand kept scratching at his face or neck, leaving red marks on his skin.

No matter how you looked at him, his mental state was clearly abnormal, in a state of mild anxiety.

The anti-narcotics officer who had been explaining things to The Vault was quite friendly, stopped beside her, and continued chatting, pointing at the screen, “Can you believe it? He’s not even forty yet.”

Henry Jameson really didn’t look like a man in his thirties. His eyes were dull and lifeless, his skin saggy and sallow, and his hands and feet were covered in acne scars. You could easily believe he was in his fifties.

Opposite him sat Henry Harris and another detective. Behind the long table was a camera set up, its lens aimed straight at Henry Jameson.

Henry Harris wasn’t in a hurry to start questioning. She stared intently at the person across from her, spinning a pen in her hand. The pen tapped rhythmically against the table. If not for that faint sound, The Vault would have wondered if the video was on mute.

Both of them were pretending to be patient, trying to wear down the other’s nerves.

Finally, Henry Harris opened the file in front of her and asked, “Do you remember November 18th, eleven years ago?”

Henry Jameson clasped his hands together, covering half his face, and kept blowing into his palms. His eyes were wide open, staring at Henry Harris, but he said nothing.

Henry Harris continued in a calm voice, “That night, it was pouring rain in City A. You followed and killed your colleague, Kong, and then conspired with others to frame Fan Huai for the crime. This was a premeditated crime that let you get away with it for more than ten years.”

Henry Jameson let out a muffled laugh, his shoulders shaking. The laughter sounded like a strange noise forced out of his throat. He lowered his hands and said exaggeratedly, “Officer… no, comrade police officer, really? You’re blaming me for murder from so many years ago, on top of drug use and disturbing the peace?”