Chapter 121: Chapter 119: He and She, a Distance of Two Feet (2)
The phone in Quentin Grant’s hand clattered to the floor. He stood there, his body trembling violently.
Finally, he knew where he had to go. He picked the phone back up.
As he came downstairs, the people in the living room fell silent when they saw him.
"Let’s go."
They all got into the stretch Lincoln and drove to the police station.
At the medical examiner’s office, they saw the foot with their own eyes. There was nothing to do but look.
Afterward, they went to the scene of the accident.
The deep, dark river was laid out before them. Many people had gathered on the bridge, once again laying flowers to commemorate the departed.
Some of them noticed the group, looking on with confusion and surprise.
Especially when they saw Quentin Grant. One woman even took pictures of him, but no one stopped her.
The photos were uploaded to social media and instantly went viral, sparking a new round of news stories. Everyone speculated about their connection to Nora Ainsworth.
But given the situation, no reporters dared to approach them for questions.
They didn’t stay long before leaving.
Ethan Ellsworth had postponed his work for a few days, and Chloe Marshall was in no mood to go to the office. Herman Hawthorne, for his part, wanted to be there to help Quentin through this crisis.
As they pulled up to the villa, they saw Jasmine Walsh and Shea Rhodes pacing back and forth from a distance. The moment they saw the car, they rushed forward.
"Boss!"
"Boss!"
The two women called out in unison.
Herman Hawthorne looked at them, puzzled. "What are you two doing here?"
Jasmine Walsh stepped forward. "I tried calling you, but your phone was off. We figured you’d be here, so we came to find you. We heard what happened to Nora Ainsworth. We were on the same team for a few months; we wanted to at least pay our respects."
"You two should head back. Don’t ask any more about this. Go home now."
Jasmine Walsh had been shocked by the news. She’d always felt Nora Ainsworth was unlucky, and while she had never liked the woman, now that she was dead, it felt wrong to hold onto old grudges.
"But, Boss, when are you coming back to the team?"
Herman Hawthorne raised an eyebrow. "What? Are you trying to boss me around?"
Shea Rhodes reached out and tugged on Jasmine Walsh’s arm, signaling that they should leave.
"I have something to tell you," Jasmine Walsh said, feeling she had no other choice.
Herman’s reply was the same. "Whatever it is, it can wait until I get back."
"Alright then." Dejected, Jasmine Walsh turned and walked away.
Jean Grant watched their car drive off and said bluntly, "Herman, that girl has a crush on you."
"She’s not my type. I have certain standards for my future wife."
As the group walked inside, they inevitably saw Charlotte Young on the swing set again.
Jean Grant, ever the impatient one, marched up to her. "What are you doing here again? Didn’t I tell you last night not to come back?!"
Charlotte Young gave a small smile. "Jean, Quentin and I were set up on a date. I’m very pleased with him, so naturally, I’ll be coming around more often to get to know him better."
"Now is not the time for you to ’get to know him better.’ Get out."
"Jean, don’t be like that."
Quentin Grant finally spoke up. "You should go home for now."
Charlotte Young took the initiative and linked her arm with his. "Quentin, I made some chicken soup. It’s still on the stove. Come on, let me get you a bowl. You look pale."
He reached out and removed her hand from his arm. "I mean what I say. Don’t make me repeat myself."
Charlotte Young watched him walk into the living room without a backward glance. She had no choice but to turn, grab her bag from the swing, and leave.
A large crowd of reporters had swarmed the gates of the Lynch Family estate, completely blocking the entrance. They all wanted to know what Leon Lynch had to say about the incident.
This was, without a doubt, like rubbing salt in Leon Lynch’s wounds.
In the end, Leon Lynch stood at the gate of his home, holding a cluster of microphones from the major news outlets, his face visibly haggard.
Dozens of cameras were pointed at him, waiting to hear what he had to say.
He struggled to compose himself before speaking. "This was completely unexpected and has been a devastating blow to me. I had asked her to hold onto the wedding ring for me... I never imagined she would truly keep it for a lifetime. Just not the lifetime she was supposed to spend by my side. I don’t have much to say, except that now that I’ve lost her, I feel like I’ve lost my entire world."
A reporter asked, "If Miss Ainsworth hadn’t had an accident, would you two have gotten married?"
Leon Lynch looked up at the sky. "Yes. I would have given myself to her as a gift. But it seems a gift like me was never meant to be delivered."
"We’ve heard that Mrs. Lynch is arranging dates for you. You can’t stay unmarried forever, especially since you’re the only son in the Lynch Family. Will you go along with your mother’s arrangements?"
Leon Lynch gave a sad smile. "We’ll see what happens. Right now, I don’t want to think about marriage. That’s all. Please, everyone, go home. I won’t be taking any more interviews. There’s no need."
He turned and walked away, his solitary figure looking as fragile and desolate as a bare tree in winter.
Last night, amidst a light rain and a gentle breeze, no one could have imagined what Nora Ainsworth was feeling.
The moment the car plunged into the river, she stared in terror as it was swallowed by the water. She felt the hand of death reaching for her.
The front windshield shattered completely, and glass cut into her skin, but because of the anesthetic, she couldn’t feel a thing.
Carried by the water’s buoyancy, she drifted out of the broken window and began to sink. Nora Ainsworth swallowed mouthful after mouthful of water until she couldn’t take in any more. She closed her eyes, ready to surrender to death.
But just then, she could suddenly move her arms.
She opened her eyes in the deep, dark river.
The anesthetic had worn off.
She kicked desperately, swimming toward the surface. A powerful will to live pushed her to break through the water just as she was about to suffocate.
She gasped for air, panting for a long time before she finally came to her senses.
Her arm and stomach throbbed with intense pain, and she could feel blood seeping from her wounds.
Just as she was about to climb onto the bank, she saw something white floating on the surface. As she got closer, she realized it was a foot—and it looked like it belonged to a woman!
Nora Ainsworth heard the wail of sirens in the distance. She quickly unfastened the anklet from her own foot and clasped it onto the severed one. Then, with a final burst of effort, she swam for the shore.
Her stomach was bloated like a balloon from all the water she’d swallowed. She stuck her fingers down her throat and forced herself to throw up much of the river water.
She couldn’t stay here. Barefoot, Nora Ainsworth ran toward the woods along the riverbank.
She didn’t know how far she ran before she stumbled out onto a road, staggering toward the city.
She walked for over three hours before she finally reached the city.
By then, it was the dead of night. Aside from the occasional passing car, the streets were empty.
Stinging pain wracked her body, making every step an ordeal.
With every step, she told herself, ’I absolutely cannot die here.’
’I fought so hard to climb out of that river. I fought so hard to stay alive. How can I just die here now?’
