Chapter 120: Chapter 118: He and She, The 2-Foot Distance (Part 1)
"How have I wronged you? How has Nora Ainsworth ever wronged you in the slightest? Why did our problems always have to drag her in? I don’t love you. I made that perfectly clear from the very beginning. Do you have any shame at all? Now that you’ve killed her, do you really think I’ll let you off as easily as before?"
Catherine Callahan’s face was a mask of astonishment, but she quickly retorted, "So what if you kill me right now? Is that going to bring Nora Ainsworth back to life?"
He stood up, pulled out a gun, and aimed it at her. "You’re right. Even if I cut you into a thousand pieces right now, she won’t come back. So, why should I let you die so easily?"
Catherine Callahan was shocked. "What are you doing? Don’t forget, I’m your mother’s— AHH!!!"
Before she could finish, a bullet tore through her mouth. A wave of excruciating pain washed over her, and blood streamed from her lips, pooling on the floor. Catherine Callahan clutched her mouth and fainted from the agony.
"Men! Take her to the police station. Lock her in the men’s wing of a death row prison."
Mrs. Grant was frightened. "Quentin, can’t you reconsider? She’s my—"
To everyone’s surprise, a rare smile touched Quentin Grant’s lips, and he even let out a soft chuckle. "She’s your goddaughter, I know. But Mom, you have a son and a daughter. What’s the use of a goddaughter like her? I didn’t ask you here to stop me. I just wanted you to know, Mom, that no matter who she is, if she crosses me, I will make her wish she were dead."
Mrs. Grant frowned, then finally waved her hand in dismissal. "Do as you please. I’m going home."
The Men in Black dragged Catherine Callahan out.
The living room fell silent once more.
Quentin Grant looked at the others, his voice laced with crushing self-reproach. "If I had just executed her on the spot last time, this wouldn’t have happened. I can’t forgive myself—"
He closed his eyes, and his body suddenly crumpled.
With quick reflexes, Ethan Ellsworth and Herman Hawthorne caught him, their eyes filled with sorrow.
They helped him to the bed and covered him with a blanket. The group sat in a row in the bedroom. Ethan Ellsworth cupped his own chin in his hand. "What is this thing called love, anyway? It can make a person waste away, make them willing to live and die for another."
"A major general like you, who’s used to flitting through a field of flowers, would never understand," Jean Grant couldn’t help but tease.
Ethan gave her a wounded look. "Among all those flowers, you’re the only leaf I see. But you, you blockhead, have your eyes glued to Marlon Marshall’s belt!"
Jean Grant was left speechless, then smacked him on the head. "What are you talking about! How dare you tease your good friend’s sister!" She followed up with a few more punches.
Ethan waved his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, my mistake! Stop hitting me!"
"You all should get some rest. I’ll watch over my brother."
Herman Hawthorne nodded. "We’ll be in the other guest rooms."
Chloe Marshall pulled out her IV needle. Her fever hadn’t broken, and her head was starting to feel dizzy again.
She pushed open her bedroom door and went to sleep. Ethan, however, stood on the balcony for a long while before returning to his room.
No one slept well that night.
The light rain was still falling as Leon Lynch drove onto the large bridge.
Two or three reporters were scattered about, taking pictures. He stood there, his body rigid, staring at the broken guardrail.
He went down from the bridge. On the river’s surface, the raindrops created endless circles of ripples.
After a long time, his shoes were caked with heavy mud, and each step felt so heavy he could barely lift his feet.
He climbed back up from the riverbank and leaned against his car, drenched by the rain.
He pulled out his phone and searched for Nora Ainsworth’s name. Tens of thousands of news articles appeared instantly.
Her name was trending on social media, with countless posts sharing candle emojis in remembrance.
Leon Lynch drove off and bought a large number of candles and a big umbrella.
He tied the large umbrella to the guardrail. He arranged the candles along the edge of the bridge in the shape of a heart, then sat on the ledge, his legs dangling over the side. His phone rang incessantly, but he didn’t answer.
After calling so many times with no answer, Mrs. Lynch grew anxious. She and Mr. Lynch got in the car to go look for him.
When they arrived at the bridge, wasn’t that solitary figure their own son?
Mrs. Lynch gasped. Not daring to make a sound, she and Mr. Lynch slowly approached Leon from behind and grabbed hold of his ice-cold body.
"Leon, come home with Mom."
Leon didn’t move. His voice was bleak and hoarse. "Mom, this can’t be real."
Mrs. Lynch tried to compose herself. "Oh, Leon, this is her fate. Don’t be so sad. You can just burn more paper offerings for her in the future."
Mr. Lynch shot her a glare. "Let’s talk about this at home. We’ll go to the police station tomorrow to get an update."
With Mr. and Mrs. Lynch pulling at him, they finally managed to drag him into the car.
The two cars drove away.
Beside the candles, a large bouquet of roses glistened with raindrops. A gust of wind blew past, extinguishing all the candles. An eerie wind swept across the dark bridge, the autumn breeze like an endless, desolate black hole.
「The next morning.」
The sky had cleared, and the wind had stopped.
The police had solved the case. The suspect, Catherine Callahan, was handed over to the court on charges of intentional homicide.
To bring the case to a definitive close, the police dispatched a large force to search for Nora Ainsworth’s body.
After a full morning of searching, at around two in the afternoon, they recovered a woman’s foot. There was an anklet on it.
The bone was exposed and white, with suspected bite marks from the fish in the river.
Since Nora Ainsworth had no living relatives, there was no way to use a blood test to confirm her identity. However, Chloe Marshall was able to identify the anklet. She confirmed that they had bought matching anklets together at a boutique, one for each of them. With this, little other corroborating evidence was needed. The case caused an uproar online.
Searches for Nora Ainsworth’s name shot to number one. Netizens dug up the few old photos of her that existed, and her past engagement to Leon Lynch was even spun into all sorts of new dramatic theories.
Quentin Grant was propped up in bed. Jean Grant came in carrying a tray of food. "Brother, I’ve already reheated this several times. Please, at least eat a little."
Quentin Grant waved his hand dismissively. "Jean, just go to class."
"It doesn’t matter if I go or not. I’m just waiting to submit my thesis now. I’m fine. What’s important is you, Brother. The company still needs you. You can’t collapse, okay?"
"I’m fine. You should go home for now. I have to go out in a bit." His voice was raw, tinged with misery.
Jean Grant had no choice but to take the tray of food back out.
Just as he got out of bed, his phone rang.
"Young Master, we confirmed that someone was working with Miss Callahan. He’s a male anesthesiologist from the obstetrics department of a private hospital, specializing in C-sections. We’ve already reported it to the Public Security Department, and he has confessed to everything."
Quentin Grant’s eyes darkened. "Continue."
"According to his confession, Miss Callahan was holding a tranquilizer gun, but it was actually loaded with a syringe of anesthetic. Once it entered the body, it would cause complete paralysis. That night, she took Miss Ainsworth by surprise and injected her with it. Afterward, Miss Ainsworth could only move her head; she was completely paralyzed from the neck down. Because the dosage was so high—"
