Chapter 175 175

Chapter 175 175
Matilda had given her word before the call ended, promising Wilma that she would meet him at the Parkhouse by the side of the ocean. Wilma had chosen to believe her words. After hearing everything she had revealed over the phone, he needed to hear the rest of the truth directly from her face to face.

To make sure nothing interfered with their conversation, Wilma had cleared the entire Parkhouse. He had ordered every single servant to leave the property for the day. He had dismissed every guard from the gates and the surrounding grounds. Not a single person remained inside or outside the building. He wanted privacy so that Matilda could speak without hiding anything. Most of all, he wanted real answers to the questions that had haunted him for years.

He stood inside the silent main room, waiting. He checked the screen of his phone, then put it back on the wooden table. Then he waited some more. The seconds turned into long minutes, and the minutes stretched into a full hour. The house remained completely quiet, except for the sound of waves hitting the rocks outside. Still, nobody arrived at the gate.

Wilma tapped his fingers against his thigh, pulling his phone back out to look at the display. There was no message and no missed call. He pressed her number and held the phone up to his ear. The line rang once, then twice, before the call was abruptly cut off. Matilda had rejected his call.

Wilma stood frozen, his jaw tightening as he stared at the dark screen. He pressed her number a second time and held the phone back up to his ear. This time, the call rang continuously until it went straight to automated voicemail. There was no answer at all.

He tossed the phone onto the wooden table with a loud clatter.

"I should have known," Wilma said to the empty room.

He pushed himself away from the table and began pacing back and forth across the floor, his heavy shoes echoing against the wooden boards.

"I should have known better than to trust that woman," he muttered, his voice growing sharper with every turn he made.

His anger built up inside his chest with every step. Even years ago, back when they had worked together as agents, Matilda had always operated in the exact same way. She did not care about the safety of anybody else around her. Her mind was always fixed entirely on completing her own mission, regardless of the cost. If someone working beside her fell into danger, she would leave them behind without hesitating, moving forward with whatever plan she had set for herself. She had never been a person who would risk her own skin for another human being.

Wilma stopped pacing near the middle of the room.

"And I actually believed her," he said, letting out a short, bitter laugh that died instantly in his throat. "She was only playing with my head."

Now that he had finally set aside his doubts and agreed to listen to her explanations, now that he had cleared out his entire schedule and emptied his house just to hear what she had to say, she had not even bothered to show up.

Wilma walked back to the table and picked up his phone one more time. The screen remained blank.

He threw his body down into the heavy leather chair beside the table, staring blindly at the front door.

"Never again," he said firmly into the silence.

While Wilma waited at the ocean, Justin was still working endlessly on his investigation. He had spent several full days searching for any scrap of evidence that could explain the truth behind Cynthias sudden accident.

Justin had walked the same city streets countless times, retracing every possible path. He focused his search on the area close to Rose's office building, following the road that led up toward the high rooftop. He visited every small business along the sidewalks, stepping inside the local shops, the bakery, the cake shop, and the clothing boutiques. He asked every owner and worker if they had seen anything unusual on the day of the crash.

He tried to gain access to every security camera mounted on the outer walls of those buildings. But everywhere he went, the answer was always the exact same. The local records claimed that Cynthia had been driving her vehicle alone. The official report stated that she had simply lost control of the wheel on the road, causing the vehicle to crash. That was the official narrative given to everyone.

Justin stood on the sidewalk outside the cake shop, feeling a deep wave of anger rise within him. He was not angry at the store owners or the police; he was angry at himself. He felt as though he was failing, as though his efforts were simply not good enough to uncover the truth. Nearly a week had passed since the accident occurred. He had spent hours questioning strangers, checking camera feeds, and following every thin lead he could find, yet he had gathered nothing useful.

When Justin finally returned to report his progress to Wilma, Wilma face hardened into a cold mask.

"What is all this?" Wilma asked, his voice low and heavy.

Justin lowered his head, unable to look his superior directly in the eye. "I've checked everything I can."

Wilma raised his hand and rubbed his fingers firmly against his forehead. "Check more."

Justin lifted his gaze and looked straight at Wilma. "I will."

"I don't care how long it takes," Wilma said, his eyes dark with focus. "Keep doing whatever you can."

Wilma did not rely solely on Justin. He took matters into his own hands and began spending vast amounts of money. He went so far as to buy out several small businesses around the crash site, purchasing the properties outright just so he could demand full control over their private files and security systems. He tried every tactic he knew to extract information from the area.

Despite his money, nobody in the neighborhood wanted to speak. The single store positioned with a view of the street did not even possess a security camera on its exterior wall.

Frustrated, Wilma tapped into every old resource available to him. He reached out to contacts remaining from his years as an agent, and he called upon old acquaintances from his military service days. He attempted to gain access to city surveillance files and private security networks. He pushed every boundary he could reach.

Nothing came of it.

The continuous failure filled him with deep rage. He possessed more than enough wealth to buy almost anything he desired. He had enough standing to make influential people listen whenever he spoke, and enough personal power to secure almost any resource he needed. Yet, despite all those assets, he could not obtain a single piece of real evidence regarding the accident. Not one clear photograph, not one clear recording, not one single witness.

Wilma stood alone inside his dark office, staring through the tall glass window at the city below.

"This isn't funny anymore," he said quietly, his hand closing into a tight fist at his side.

He pressed his knuckles against the window pane. "I'll find something."