When Curtis saw the message, it was 3:10 AM.
The night was silent, with a lamp still burning in the living room of his penthouse. On the sleek and stainless steel coffee table, documents and case files were scattered, dust from two decades undisturbed unti
now.
The crime scene photos showed an abandoned and cluttered storage room, the victim's body clear in the grisly aftermath.
Rose had been a true beauty. Her daughter, Leanne, inherited her looks. But Rose's elegant face, so similar to Leanne's, appeared in the photo with the pallor and rigidity of death, giving off an eerie vibe that was worlds apart from the vibrant person he remembered.
The witness statement was in Curtis' hands. It was a record of six-year-old Leanne sitting in a police station, recounting her story to an officer.
"...It was so dark, and the factory was so big, I couldn't find my way. I missed my mom and dad so much. I saw them lying there, covered in so much blood. Mom's hand was so cold, and it felt so stiff. Dad always said to find the police, but it was too dark, and I was so scared. I walked for a long time until the sun came up..."
The statements were handwritten, the officer's scribbling worse than a rushed note. Curtis struggled through the messy lines, unable to fully grasp the terror little Leanne must have felt witnessing her parents' demise.
How frightened she must have been when her parents turned into such a horrifying sight.
How alone she must have felt when she walked in the dark until dawn.
Curtis set aside the statement, resting his forehead in his hands, alone in the silent house.
His phone pinged, a message from Leanne, "When are you coming home?"
"Why are you still up?"
Curtis started to type a reply but decided against it, instead dialing Laura.
Laura, groggy from being woken up at 3 AM, reported in a daze, "Madam has been sleeping late these days, not even drinking the lemonade I've been making... Whatever is going on between you two, you need to talk it out. You can't just not come home."
"Send the cat over to keep her company," Curtis suggested.
"She won't let the cat in the bedroom," Laura replied. "She's worried you'll be allergic when you come back."
It felt like a punch to Curtis, leaving a dull and lingering pain.
He hung up and slumped back on the couch, the case files silently watching over him.
It was about a seemingly straightforward kidnapping case, a silenced accomplice, and a clear but elusive perpetrator.
All clues pointed towards VectorVista, then vanished within its maze.
These events aligned perfectly with the tragedy that befell the Richardson family.
Who dared to target Vector Vista Bank with such ambition and audacity?
Why did Charles suddenly suffer a heart attack?
What was the reason for Hanley's fallout with the family? What role did his family play? Curtis wasn't naive.
Maddox returned from a trip, only to be confronted by his son at his doorstep.
A black Bentley came hurtling towards him, its experienced driver braking just in time.
The Bentley stopped right in front. Curtis stepped out and knocked on the rear car window.
The glass lowered. Curtis, with a rare serious expression, said, "Need to ask you something."
Maddox, seated on the leather upholstery, glanced at the car blocking his way, "Is this about asking questions or a threat?"
Curtis was ice-cold as he said, "I'll decide after I get my answers."
He had been digging into VectorVista and Maddox had heard the rumors. Without much reaction, Maddox told his driver, "You can step out."
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