Julian Grant had absolutely no hope for the two of them. With strong, forceful arms, he pulled the door open another inch, leaving no room for doubt, and said, “Sir, please calm down. Cooperating with an investigation is a citizen’s duty.”

The man, seeing he couldn’t win the argument, simply let go and started searching for his phone inside his thermal shirt. “How many times do you want us to cooperate? Duty? This is harassment! I’m filing a complaint right now!”

Julian Grant replied calmly, “If you don’t want us coming to ask for your cooperation every day from now on, then just cooperate with us this one last time. This is the last time.”

The man put down his phone and pointed at him fiercely. “Fine, this is the last time—you said it yourself! I’ll go get the key. If you go back on your word, I’ll call the press, your superiors, I’ll complain until you’re done for!”

“No need for the key,” said Julian Grant. “We’re not here to search Mei Shiyong’s home this time. We’re here to see William Thornton.”

William Thornton was Mei Shiyong’s son, currently in sixth grade.

The man had just stepped out of the entryway, but turned around at these words, staring at them with a complicated expression.

Julian Grant said, “We just have two questions for him.”

“What do you want?” the man asked warily. “He’s just a child! His mother is already gone, he can’t take any more stress from you. Why can’t you ask me? Why do you have to ask him?”

Julian Grant pointed at himself, then at the two women behind him who had been silent the whole time, and asked, “Which one of us do you think would upset him? We’re all here to solve a problem—no one’s here to stir up trouble for fun, right?”

The man hesitated, his face showing clear reluctance. Maybe he realized there was no point in dragging this out, so after a moment’s consideration, he gave in stiffly: “Fine, come in.”

Recently, things had been heated online, so William Thornton had temporarily switched from boarding at school to commuting, to reduce the impact of public opinion and help him adjust to his new family.

The man went to knock on the door of a small room inside. Soon, a half-grown boy came out slowly.

William Thornton wasn’t actually close to his uncle, but after his mother’s death, he had nowhere else to go and could only follow along.

The sudden tragedy of losing his closest family had forced William Thornton to grow up quickly; he looked more mature than other kids his age. He walked into the living room, stood there, and stared coldly at the three of them with his eyes showing the whites below the irises.

Julian Grant invited him to sit on the sofa. William Thornton, acting much older than his years, walked over, picked a seat, and sat down without a word or any resistance.

The man sat down as well, positioning himself between the two, using his sturdy body to block most of Julian Grant’s view, as if he were a dangerous enemy.

In today’s world of highly developed social media, a thirteen-year-old actually understands a lot, especially someone as obviously smart as William Thornton.

Julian Grant considered a few tactful ways to start, hoping to ease into the conversation, but after just a couple of pleasantries, William Thornton cut him off mercilessly.

“If you have something to ask, just ask. Don’t waste my time.”

The Vault and Henry Harris, sitting on the other sofa, both nodded in agreement.

Julian Grant said irritably, “…Why don’t you two do it?”

Henry Harris replied politely, “You go ahead.”

Giving up on any pretense, Julian Grant asked directly, “Did your mother leave you anything special? Something old, at least ten years old.”

William Thornton replied expressionlessly, “No.”

The Vault suddenly interjected, “He does.”

William Thornton glanced over at her. The Vault met his gaze and smiled slightly. But William Thornton was unmoved, turning away coldly.

The man protested, “What, you’re answering your own questions now? If you don’t believe us, why bother asking? Are you just trying to scare us?”

The Vault stood up with a flourish, and under the man’s watchful eyes, went to the water dispenser and poured two cups of water. She handed one to Julian Grant, and another to Henry Harris.

She sat back down on the sofa, one hand on her knee, and said lazily, “Go on, don’t mind me.”

Her calm, fluid movements left the man momentarily stunned.

“Wait, what exactly are you people here for?”

The Vault replied innocently, “Just having a glass of water, hope you don’t mind?”

Her interruption made the man forget what he’d wanted to say, and he gave up, disgruntled.

Julian Grant bent down so he could see William Thornton past the man, and continued, “Where did you put it?”

William Thornton’s still-childish face looked a bit stiff.

The Vault answered again, “He’s thinking about how to lie to you.”

William Thornton glared at her in annoyance.

The Vault chuckled, “Now he’s angry out of embarrassment.”

Julian Grant felt a headache coming on, though he wasn’t sure which of these two kids was the bigger problem.

“Big brother, could you please not talk for a moment?”

The Vault shrugged indifferently and temporarily withdrew from the fray.

Julian Grant asked again, “Where did you put it? You know what it is, don’t you? It’s important. Your mother kept it for so many years, which means she hoped to tell the truth one day. You shouldn’t let her down.”

William Thornton’s face was dark. The man, seeing he didn’t want to answer, was about to interrupt, when William Thornton clearly said two words: “Burned it.”

Everyone present was shocked.

Julian Grant’s expression became very unnatural. “Burned it?”

William Thornton nodded calmly, keeping his gaze straight ahead. “Burned it with my mom’s ashes. What’s the point of keeping something like that?”

Julian Grant shot to his feet. “Are you serious? Do you realize that your offhand words could decide the fate of so many people? William Thornton, you’re not a little kid anymore. I hope you think carefully before you speak.”

William Thornton’s fingers clenched on his knees as he replied, word for word, “I hope you’ll stop wasting your energy on meaningless things.”

Julian Grant asked, his voice rising, “Meaningless things?”

William Thornton spoke each word as if he’d rehearsed it many times, not stumbling once: “The dead are already dead, those in prison are already in prison, but the real killer hasn’t been found. Isn’t it the police’s job to find the murderer, not to dig into the victim’s past and responsibilities? All I know is, my mom didn’t kill anyone.”

Julian Grant was so angered by the boy’s self-righteous attitude that he couldn’t find words to refute him.

The Vault put down her cup and sneered, “You think that if you don’t produce the evidence, the police can’t close the case, Trident can’t make and release the game story, and no one will ever know what your mother did? Naive.”

William Thornton looked sharply at The Vault, his body tensing.

The man’s gaze shifted between the group, and when The Vault spoke, he felt goosebumps rise all over his back.

He turned sideways to shield William Thornton, wary and a little afraid of The Vault, and asked, “What do you want?”

“Nothing, I’m just pondering a question.” The Vault’s tone gave no hint of anger, but the words themselves were far from pleasant.

“Are all elementary schoolers these days so cynical? Is that how you show you’re clear-headed and useful? Do you really think that with your decade or so of life experience, you can direct society’s elite, people many times your age, on what to do?”

“Wait, wait!” The man realized things were going in the wrong direction, and that they were in the weaker position. He looked over the three of them, decided that The Vault was the one in charge and also the most temperamental, and went over to pull her aside. “Come with me for a moment.”

The Vault got up and followed him out to the balcony.

The man closed the glass door and drew the curtains, making sure no one in the living room could hear, then lowered his voice: “Look… comrade, I know it’s not easy for you all, but this kid, it’s even harder for him.”

He fumbled a cigarette from his pocket, his fingers unsteady, and tried to offer one to The Vault.

The Vault: “I don’t smoke.”

“You don’t…” He put the cigarette back, looked up, and said, “Comrade, please don’t talk to the child like that… He’s still young, he doesn’t understand.”

The Vault smiled. “Do you know what phrase I hate most in my life?”

The man’s hand, holding the cigarette pack, froze in midair.

“It’s ‘He’s still young, he doesn’t understand.’”

The Vault’s face instantly darkened. Facing this adult man, she no longer bothered to pretend to be friendly.

“He doesn’t understand, so he wastes the entire criminal police squad’s manpower, watching them run in circles without saying a word. He doesn’t understand, so for the sake of his mother’s reputation, he treats other people’s sacrifices as a matter of course. Just like his mother—because she was young at the time, she selfishly destroyed other people’s families, doing whatever it took to get what she wanted…”

The man guessed what she was about to say, and the color drained from his face, replaced by shame and discomfort. He snapped, “That’s enough! Don’t say another word!”