Henry Harris lifted his chin, glancing at him with utter disdain, and sneered, “You know perfectly well in your heart whether things are really as unclear as you claim.”

Henry Jameson bared his teeth in a cold, chilling smile and said in a low voice, “I didn’t kill anyone. You have no proof.”

Henry Harris closed the file and tossed it aside, his gaze fixed intently on him. “You started using drugs because you killed someone and couldn’t bear the pressure. You could have had a bright future, but you threw away your entire youth over this. Do you think it was worth it? Even now, you still don’t dare to tell the truth. Are you planning to muddle through your whole life like this, all the way to the grave?”

Henry Jameson forcefully licked his molars, his eyes wandering, only repeating, “I didn’t kill anyone, I didn’t!”

Henry Harris: “If you didn’t kill anyone, then why did you kill The Vault? Clearly, you were afraid your tracks would be exposed, so you acted with a guilty conscience.”

“I don’t know her!” Henry Jameson straightened his face and said, word by word, “I used too many drugs, my mind was unclear, do you understand? I don’t even know who she is. I hit someone, at most I’ll be detained for a few more days. Don’t try to pin a murder charge on me!”

Henry Harris softened his tone, trying to persuade him: “I know someone incited you to do this. That person is using you. Look at the sorry state you’re in now, and then think about how glamorous their life is. Don’t you feel resentful?”

Henry Jameson stared blankly at the ceiling, acting as if he couldn’t hear a thing.

The onlookers pinched the bridges of their noses and sighed wearily.

Henry Jameson kept repeating the same few lines, refusing to cooperate or admit anything. When asked about sensitive topics, he would clam up, afraid of giving himself away. If the situation looked bad, he’d pretend to have a drug relapse and act crazy, demanding treatment. No one could do anything with him.

Seeing the scene fall into a familiar deadlock, the middle-aged man nearby sighed regretfully, “Looks like even Captain Harris from the criminal investigation team can’t do much.”

A dark glint flashed in The Vault’s pitch-black eyes as she curled her lips in a silent, mocking smile. She reached up to undo the top button of her shirt, feeling her breathing ease, and said in a low voice, “I’ll go in and take a look.”

Julian Grant grabbed her arm, his expression showing clear disapproval—after all, he had nothing but absolute disgust for Henry Jameson.

“Should I go in with you?”

The Vault raised her hand to refuse: “No need, everyone’s here, there’s no danger. Just wait for me here.”

She was brought in at Henry Harris’s request. Although the police officers didn’t hold out much hope, they didn’t stop her either.

Investigating the Harry Forrest case was originally the criminal investigation team’s job; the narcotics officers were just here to observe out of curiosity.

The officer at the door opened it for her, and the slight sound of the door moving drew the attention of the three people inside.

The Vault walked in unhurriedly, and the moment she appeared, the atmosphere in the room subtly shifted.

She deliberately made her footsteps heavy on the floor. Her relaxed attitude and casual posture were nothing like someone coming to confront a criminal who once tried to kill her, but rather like a proud victor inspecting her own territory.

Henry Harris chuckled and signaled to the officer beside him. The young policeman quickly packed up his things and stood up, leaving the chair for The Vault.

The Vault didn’t sit down. She slowly circled around Henry Jameson.

Surrounded by footsteps, Henry Jameson grew visibly agitated. He kept licking his lips, tearing at the dead skin with his hands and teeth, while lowering his head to stare at the pale tabletop in front of him.

Suddenly, a pair of hands slapped down on Henry Jameson’s shoulders, making him shudder.

The Vault’s low, icy voice sounded in his ear, tinged with a hint of laughter.

“Since you dared to come looking for me, you should know who I am.” She bent down, speaking close to his ear, “Some people aren’t the type you can mess with and then just run away. Are you regretting it now? So, why did you start using drugs? If you hadn’t exposed yourself, I wouldn’t even know where to find you. Thanks for saving me the trouble.”

Henry Jameson rolled his eyes blankly, shrugging her hand off his shoulder.

The Vault didn’t mind, continuing to pace around the small room. “You think that just because we don’t have evidence, we can’t do anything to you? That’s where you’re wrong. Just because you won’t talk doesn’t mean I can’t get answers.”

She happened to stop by the empty chair, picked it up with one hand, and moved it to sit directly across from Henry Jameson, less than a meter away. Then, under his evasive gaze, she sat down leisurely.

“Henry Jameson, be careful. I don’t expect you to tell the truth—even if you did, I wouldn’t believe you. But as long as you lie, I can see it. You’d better make sure you don’t give anything away. Control your expressions…” The Vault wore an arrogant smile, pointing a finger at him, enunciating each word: “For example, any pupil tremors, flaring nostrils…”

Henry Jameson turned his head away.

“Finger twitches, changes in posture.”

Henry Jameson immediately pulled his hands off the table, clasping them together on his lap.

“…Adam’s apple trembling, muscles tensing.”

Henry Jameson leaned back a bit, rolled his shoulders, and let out a heavy breath through his nose.

The Vault laughed out loud, crossing one leg over the other, sitting with complete disregard for decorum.

“The most revealing thing about humans is their subconscious actions. Isn’t that what you all want to challenge me with? Since you’re so interested, I’ll let you see for yourself.”

She turned her head toward the camera and said, “Could you turn on the lights?”

Soon, someone hurried in with three small desk lamps, placing them beside Henry Jameson and adjusting the angles so his face was fully illuminated.

Henry Jameson shouted angrily, “Take them away! What are you doing!”

Ignoring his protests, the officers set up the equipment and quickly left.

Henry Harris picked up the camera, set it at Henry Jameson’s side, gripping the tripod with three hands, standing quietly to the side, watching him struggle with a half-smile.

Henry Jameson glanced quickly between the two women, never having imagined he’d be so suffocated by their presence.

One stood, one sat, their gazes—one high, one low—were both probing and contemptuous, as if looking at some worthless scum. This made his already unsettled emotions even more turbulent. The drug craving that had subsided earlier seemed to be surging back, crawling up to his head through his veins, trying to seize control of his mind.

Henry Jameson twisted his neck, looked away, bit his lip, forcing himself to calm down.

“November 18th, late autumn, night, heavy rain. It was chilly that day. You put on the hoodie you’d prepared in advance and followed behind your colleague, Kong. You knew she was meeting someone today—a student, Harry Forrest.”

The Vault’s voice was low and calm, like someone reading a book from a distance.

“You decided to kill, not because someone ordered you to, but because you wanted to do it yourself. You were colleagues. You came from an ordinary family, felt inferior, were slick, and before your hometown was demolished, you were especially poor. But Kong was different. She was beautiful, generous, never troubled by money, and embodied the spirit of a media professional… Hah, of course. With your personality, how could you possibly sacrifice yourself for someone else? You could only do it for yourself—to cover up your own… shameless desires.”

Henry Jameson’s face twitched. Being the only one under the harsh light made him feel utterly exposed.

The Vault smiled confidently, prompting Henry Jameson to glare at her again.

“You’re so afraid of seeing me because you know what you did back then wasn’t flawless, don’t you?”

“You watched as Trident released one after another of those instances related to Harry Forrest, and you were scared, thinking the police would eventually trace it back to you. After all, framing Harry Forrest wasn’t your idea. You didn’t know those five witnesses well, nor did you have any confidence. By nature, you’re timid, cowardly, and selfish. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have needed drugs to cope after the incident.”

The muscles on Henry Jameson’s face began to twitch uncontrollably, and he bared his teeth at The Vault.

The Vault acted as if she hadn’t noticed.

“You watched as the five witnesses were killed one after another, certain that someone else knew the truth from back then and was on a killing spree. You didn’t know if you’d be next, or what the killer’s motive was—revenge, or silencing witnesses.”

Henry Jameson raised his cuffed hand and touched his neck.

“You were extremely anxious, tormented. Because of this case, drugs destroyed you beyond recognition. When you killed, you never imagined your future would turn out like this. You can’t accept that after struggling so humbly for so many years, it all came to nothing. Even though you know you were wrong, even though you’ve taken so many wrong steps, you want it to keep going wrong forever. Because you can’t face the feeling of regret… There’s no ‘what if.’ You don’t dare imagine ‘what if.’”

The Vault spoke slowly, her breath so close it was as if she was whispering in his ear.