“It was our mistake.” The Vault half-squatted to the ground, grabbed the paper and pen in front of her, and drew a red circle around several names. “Actually, the characteristics of the target have always been very clear.”

She tapped the pen next to several women’s names, her pen tip moving swiftly.

“Female. Similar to Ms. Steele when she was young, weak-willed, will gradually obey his instructions, and change toward his ideal image. Like Sean Hall, Nina.”

“He poured love, control, and possessiveness into these people. Harold Thornton was not his target, but he is Sean Hall’s husband, so he hoped Harold Thornton would divorce Sean Hall. For this, he even instigated Meredith Stone to destroy the marriage between Tian and Han.”

Julian Grant moved over, glanced at the paper, then looked at The Vault’s tense face, and asked doubtfully, “But after Harold Thornton was killed, he disappeared.”

“Because Sean Hall disappointed him. Sean Hall’s cleverness and selfishness indirectly caused Harold Thornton’s death. This may have deviated from his plan.” The Vault analyzed calmly. “Ms. Steele is a very gentle person. Even if Sean Hall is similar to her, with such a personality, she could never become her.”

Henry Harris asked, “Then why did he kill Nina but not Sean Hall?”

“Because of possessiveness.” The Vault jabbed the pen tip onto the paper. “Sean Hall has always loved him, willing to divorce and give up everything for him, while Nina broke up with him. To him, breaking up is a kind of betrayal. He cannot tolerate betrayal. Or rather, he cannot tolerate his target falling in love with someone else.”

Julian Grant mumbled a few words: “…Is he really that double-standard?”

The Vault pointed to another name and said in a cold voice, “Xavier Daniels. Lacks emotion, distant family relationships, excellent learning ability, lacks accurate self-awareness. His characteristics are actually somewhat similar to Leonard Campbell. This person spent a great deal of effort on Xavier Daniels, guiding and educating him for a long time, accompanying him through his entire adolescence, trying to shape him into his ideal person.”

Julian Grant picked up the thread, “But Xavier Daniels also disappointed him. So he gave up on Xavier Daniels.”

The Vault nodded.

Julian Grant looked up and asked, “Then what about Harry Forrest? Why did he choose Harry Forrest?”

The Vault: “Harry Forrest. Happy family, outstanding appearance, exceptional intelligence, excellent interpersonal relationships. Optimistic personality, positive attitude…”

Julian Grant almost blurted out “enough” at this string of praise, thinking it would be easier to just call him “perfect.”

The Vault didn’t notice, and finished the rest in one breath: “He seems to want to lead Harry Forrest onto the path of real crime, so he is extremely cruel to Harry Forrest. What he feels for Harry Forrest is destruction, hatred, and a kind of madness that will stop at nothing.”

Julian Grant recalled all the things the mastermind had done to Harry Forrest, and had to admit that The Vault’s analysis was spot on.

Everything was becoming clear.

“One represents the father, one represents the mother. Then who does Harry Forrest represent?”

The muscles on The Vault’s face twitched from tension. She swallowed hard and said softly, “Do you remember that article about Zachary Campbell when he was young? The person he was most grateful for was his mother, the one he admired most was his father. And he also mentioned someone else, maybe a person he could never forget in his life.”

Julian Grant recalled, feeling a chill crawl up his spine, and couldn’t help but take a sharp breath.

Henry Harris, unable to wait for them to speak, urged, “Who is it?”

The Vault lowered her eyes and said lightly, “My father.”

Henry Harris exclaimed, “What?”

The Vault stood up, curling her cold fingers into her palm. “I need to go back to my hometown.”

Chapter 119: The Cabin

Julian Grant didn’t hesitate, grabbed the keys, and left with The Vault.

The silver car’s headlights pierced the quiet darkness, speeding down the road.

In the city near midnight, skyscrapers still glittered with lights, a dazzling display of color forming a scene of prosperity, set against the dim stars scattered across the sky.

Julian Grant freed one hand to adjust the rearview mirror, his eyes moving as he carefully observed The Vault’s condition.

At first, The Vault seemed distracted, lost in thought, and then that contemplation slowly turned into drowsiness. Before long, she was half-leaning on the seat, lightly snoring.

Julian Grant couldn’t help but laugh, slowed the car down, and after nearly an hour, finally crossed half the city and brought The Vault back to her old residence.

He had just stopped the car and hadn’t called out when The Vault opened her eyes. She raised a hand to her forehead, her eyes quickly clearing, and pushed the door open to get out.

It had been a long time since The Vault had returned here. After resigning, her activities had mostly been around the city, only occasionally coming back to fetch things she needed.

When she moved out before, she had thrown some cloths over the furniture, but hadn’t really organized anything else. So when she pushed open the old door, the smell of dampness mixed with dust drifted out of the air.

The Vault groped her way inside and flipped the switch by the door.

Light spilled down, the scene clear. Though she had arranged it herself, after some time away, it now felt strangely unfamiliar.

Julian Grant followed her in and asked, “What are you looking for?”

The Vault remembered her purpose and headed straight for the small storage room next to the study.

The metal hinges on the wooden door were already rusty, and as The Vault yanked it open, they made a suspicious noise.

The Vault ignored it, squatted down, and picked out a plastic storage box from a row of boxes at the bottom.

She pulled the box out with effort. As she moved it, dust billowed up.

This level of neglect couldn’t have happened in just a few months. Clearly, The Vault rarely touched this place.

Julian Grant waved a hand in front of his nose, bent down, and watched as The Vault opened the box and pulled out a stack of cards.

Julian Grant asked blankly, “What are these?”

“Greeting cards, postcards, thank-you notes, and things like scholarship envelopes from school.” The Vault lowered her gaze, her slender fingers carefully sorting through the items, her fingertips already stained black.

“Kevin Quinn rarely received gifts as a child, so she kept everything from others, whether it was useful or not.”

Some of these were from patients, some from former classmates, and some were blank postcards issued by the school.

Kevin Quinn would never look at them again or use them, just stored them all in the little storeroom.

The Vault quickly sifted through them, and when she came to a blue card, she paused.

Strong, powerful handwriting recorded a few short lines of poetry—not explicit, but full of emotion.

The signature was a single character: “Campbell”.

Julian Grant saw it too, and at first glance caught two lines:

“…Your eyes are the brilliant sky at dusk, shimmering with radiant light, the vast sea sparkling with silver waves…”

He instantly got goosebumps, regretting that he didn’t have Zachary Campbell’s literary flair; otherwise, he wouldn’t have ended up as “just” a friend, a man and a woman alone in a room… for so long.

What a tragedy.

The Vault kept flipping through, and found two more postcards from “Campbell” at the back.

These cards were mixed in carelessly with other things, showing that Kevin Quinn hadn’t cared about them at all, not even taking the poems seriously.

“Look.”

The Vault’s voice was especially steady in the quiet night, like a clear stream flowing slowly over smooth stones.

“Kevin Quinn is very dense. No matter what Zachary Campbell did, she only ever liked my father.”

Julian Grant took the things from her hand. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“It is.” The Vault pulled at the corner of her mouth, showing a not-so-pleasant smile. “The bad part is, my father left too early.”

Julian Grant didn’t know how to comfort her. Life’s meetings and partings always leave one sighing at the whims of fate.

The Vault buried her head, and finally, at the bottom of the box, found a folded piece of white paper.

This time, it wasn’t a poem, but a finely drawn hand sketch.

A beautiful woman with long hair, eyes closed, sleeping in the afterglow of dusk.

A blanket covered her, already slipped from her chest to her waist. She lay on her side, letting her straight black hair cover half her face, sleeping soundly.

Behind her was a vaguely outlined wooden cabin, with lush woods in the distance, and the sky painted in a riot of color.

This exquisite drawing had not been treasured; its rough storage at the bottom of the box made that clear. After years of poor preservation, the image was already a bit blurred, with many yellowish water stains spreading in the middle, as if something dirty had gotten on it. Especially the upper left corner, where a large chunk was missing.

Julian Grant leaned in, carefully examining every detail of the drawing.