Chapter 270 Roadblock Blocking the Way
Chapter 270 Roadblock Blocking the Way
Vernon frowned, "Benjamin? Someone from the Jones family?"
Jessica nodded in response.
Vernon didn't ask any more questions.
He had the technician lift fingerprints from the gift box.
A technician carefully dusted the velvet surface with a brush and powder, and soon found several complete fingerprints on the ribbon of the bow.
The police entered the fingerprints into the database for comparison, and the name that came up was Benjamin.
Vernon stared at the name on the screen, silent for a few seconds, then picked up the phone and dialed the Jones Manor.
Nathan was in his study reviewing documents when he received the call.
When the phone rang and he answered, his brow furrowed as soon as the caller identified themselves.
"Benjamin? Impossible. He's been in the hospital recently, how could he do something like this?"
Vernon's voice was calm, "Mr. Jones, we lifted your son's fingerprints from the gift box. We don't have a conclusion yet, but we need him to cooperate with the investigation. Where is he now?"
Nathan's fingers tightened around the receiver.
Where was Benjamin?
He didn't know. Benjamin hadn't returned to the Jones mansion since being discharged from the hospital, wouldn't answer calls, wouldn't reply to messages, as if he'd vanished from the world.
He'd sent people to look for Benjamin, but all the properties under Benjamin's name were empty, and no one at the company had seen him.
Nathan wasn't sure if he could find Benjamin, but he was very clear about one thing—he had to find him before the police did.
The reason wasn't that he wanted to protect Benjamin, but that he couldn't let someone from the Jones family appear in news headlines this way.
The Jones family couldn't withstand such a scandal now.
"I'll find him," Nathan's voice was low, "I'll contact you immediately when I do."
He hung up the phone, sat in his chair, and closed his eyes.
He muttered to himself, "Benjamin, what are you doing? Do you really think you can get away with this?"
He didn't hesitate for long. Benjamin being an illegitimate child had always been an open secret.
Nathan had never officially announced his identity publicly, not because Nathan felt ashamed, but because Nathan felt it was unnecessary.
But now he had to make a decision.
Before the police came knocking, before all the shareholders learned the truth, he had to completely erase Benjamin from the Jones family tree and all records.
He picked up the phone and called the PR department. "Issue a statement saying that Benjamin is an adopted son of the Jones family, with no blood relation to me. Whatever he does outside has nothing to do with the Jones family. Effective immediately, the Jones family severs all legal ties with Benjamin."
The PR person paused, "Mr. Jones, once this statement goes out, the stock price—"
"Issue it."
Nathan hung up directly. He thought back to what Benjamin looked like when he was brought home.
Benjamin had been terribly thin then, standing at the Jones family's door, looking awkward and uneasy.
At the time, Nathan thought he'd brought back an heir who could be groomed, a tool to keep Henry in check, a chess piece that would always be on his side.
He was wrong.
What he brought back was not an obedient heir, but a weapon—one that would eventually turn on him and cut him instead.
He had people bring Azalea and Henry.
He originally didn't want to see either of them again, but now he needed them.
He needed everyone to see that the Jones family wasn't just Benjamin. The Jones family still had an heir, still had a future, still had hope to show the world.
Even if this heir was worthless, even if this hope was like a candle burning down to its end, he had to hold up this candle and let everyone see—the light was still there, the Jones family was still there.
When Azalea was brought back, she'd lost a lot of weight, her hair was mostly white, her eye sockets sunken, her cheekbones protruding, looking like a shell barely managing to walk.
She stood in the living room, looking at Nathan, her gaze holding no hatred, no resentment, only an extreme exhaustion, a calm that seemed like she'd already died once spiritually.
"Why did you call me here?" Her voice was hoarse.
"To put on a show," Nathan didn't look at her, "to play a family."
Azalea laughed coldly, "A family? Nathan, when have you ever really treated Henry and me as family?"
Nathan didn't respond.
He didn't want to argue, didn't want to dig up old grievances, and didn't want to create new trouble at this moment. He just stood there, looking at the sky outside the window, waiting for the photographer to arrive.
When Henry was called down from upstairs, he also looked hollowed out.
By the time the photographer arrived, the three of them had already taken their positions.
Nathan sat in the middle, Azalea on his left, Henry on his right. The three sat very close, close enough that their arms almost touched, yet the atmosphere between them was like a bottomless chasm.
The photographer sensed something was off but couldn't pinpoint exactly what, and could only bite the bullet and press the shutter.
The flash went off once, illuminating three pale faces with unusual clarity.
The photo was released that evening. The caption read: [Nathan with his wife Azalea and his son Henry preparing to attend a charity gala, a happy family of three.]
When the photo was released, Benjamin was sitting in the darkness.
The light from his phone screen fell on his face, illuminating that pale, gaunt face like a corpse just pulled from water.
He stared at that family portrait—Nathan sitting in the middle, Azalea on the left, Henry on the right, the three sitting very close, the whole image seeming to announce to the world that they were a tightly united, inseparable whole.
The corner of his mouth slowly curved into a smile, as if watching an absurd play, or looking at a portrait already sentenced to its fate.
These three people in the photo had all died by his hand in his previous life. In this life, of course, they needed to be gathered together again to be complete.
Nathan cut ties with him remarkably fast. After he'd served the Jones family for so many years, Nathan didn't even grant him the smallest token of loyalty; he just took off that invisible leash and walked away.
The Jones mansion.
The doorbell rang.
Nathan's brow furrowed again.
This late, who could it be? He walked to the door and opened it.
Outside stood two uniformed police officers and a plainclothes investigator in his forties with graying hair and a serious expression.
Vernon stood at the door, "Mr. Jones, sorry to disturb you. We'd like to know Benjamin's current whereabouts."
Nathan's fingers tightened on the door handle, "He's not here. I've already issued a statement, he has no connection to the Jones family."
Vernon looked at him, his gaze calm and firm, "Mr. Jones, statements are statements, investigations are investigations. Benjamin is currently a suspect in this case, we must find him. When was the last time you saw him?"
Nathan was silent for a while, "At the hospital. He woke up, I went to see him. After that he was discharged."
Vernon nodded and asked a few more questions, noting the key information in his notebook, then left with his people.
Following the fingerprints on the gift box and the leads Jessica provided, the police quickly tracked toward the direction of the fighting arena.
That mountain road was extremely remote, with trees growing densely on both sides, almost covering the sky and blocking out the sunlight completely.
Vernon sat in the passenger seat, watching the trees flying past outside the window, his brow furrowing tighter and tighter.
"How much farther?"
"The GPS shows three more miles ahead," the young officer driving sounded a bit tense.
He also felt something was off about this place. From the moment the car turned onto this mountain road, that unease had been like a thin needle stuck in the back of his neck, never disappearing.
The road grew narrower, the trees on both sides grew denser, branches reaching out and scraping against the roof with sharp scratching sounds.
Then they saw a roadblock, a military one.