Chapter 149 Another Person
"Zachary, have you lost your mind?"
He dragged her straight out of Apex Global Group, still wearing her blue cleaning uniform. Fury and confusion warred across her bare face.
Was he insane? Why would he do this? Or had he been faking all along?
"Cindy, those people are mean. Lucas said this company is mine, so I get to make the rules. Don't be scared—when Lucas gets back, I'll have him give you a better job. You don't have to mop floors anymore. They were bullying you on purpose, and I won't let anyone do that."
His tone shifted instantly back to childish sincerity. He'd been commanding and protective in front of all those people—she should feel grateful. But gratitude wouldn't come.
"You're not really sick, are you? You've been faking this whole time. Haven't you?"
Quinley's eyes narrowed, boring into him. His tall frame cast a shadow over her as he blinked those innocent eyes—but all it did was amplify her doubts.
Why fake amnesia? Was he setting some elaborate trap? Getting revenge for Susan?
Her thoughts spiraled into chaos. She backed away, putting distance between them.
"Cindy, what are you talking about? Faking what? I don't understand."
That innocent expression again. She kept retreating. He kept advancing.
"You understand perfectly. You understand everything. And you're still pretending?"
A bitter laugh escaped her. Zachary looked ready to cry, caught between throwing a tantrum and fear of her anger.
"I'm not! You're being unfair. I woke up and came to find you because I didn't want people being mean to you. Why are you saying these things? Do you hate me that much?"
Then he actually started crying. Full-on tears and sniffles. But Quinley's heart refused to soften.
"Enough. Stop performing."
She spun around and ran. At the corner, she flagged down a cab and climbed in without looking back.
"Where can we meet?"
Her mind churning, Quinley dialed Detective Wilson.
"Actually, I need to talk to you too. Was going to call tonight, but I'm free now. Meet in thirty?"
He texted an address after hanging up. Quinley gave it to the driver, who got her there quickly. This time she arrived first. She'd barely finished half her coffee when Detective Wilson showed up.
"Shouldn't you be at work right now?"
He removed his sunglasses, curiosity written across his face. Today's outfit was something else—loud floral button-down, jeans, and a thick gold chain around his neck. Total hustler vibes.
Quinley lifted her cup for another sip. "I got fired."
Honesty was part of their agreement. Before deciding to work together, they'd established ground rules—Quinley had to tell him everything, no matter what.
"They figured you out?"
His brows drew together slightly.
"What if Zachary's faking?"
Quinley's question hung in the air, suspicious and uncertain.
"Impossible."
Detective Wilson's response came immediately. He pulled several papers from his pocket and slid them across the table.
"This is his medical file. Took a lot of favors to get my hands on it. That accident nearly killed him. The head trauma was severe—him waking up at all is basically a miracle. I consulted with specialist friends overseas. His current condition is actually a best-case scenario."
He paused. "Also, Lucas has been contacting international experts. They might be sending Mr. Jennings to Europe for consultations soon."
Detective Wilson was meticulous—never made assumptions without evidence. The information he dug up was solid. No reason to doubt it.
Yet suspicion still gnawed at Quinley's gut. So she recounted everything that had happened over the past few days, detail by detail.
To her surprise, Detective Wilson actually laughed.
"Mr. Jennings definitely has amnesia. But there's a documented phenomenon in neuroscience—patients lose their memories and forget people, but if someone left a deep enough impression, they're still drawn to that person even after forgetting them completely. You two might be experiencing exactly that."
So she'd left an indelible mark on Zachary's memory? Enough that he was drawn to her all over again?
The theory made sense. But Quinley couldn't bring herself to believe it. Susan still stood between them like a wall. That woman was his true love—Quinley had only ever been a substitute. Susan might be dead, but she lived on in his heart.
The memories pressed in. Quinley shoved them aside.
"You said you needed to talk to me about something. What is it?"
Detective Wilson held her gaze for a long moment, then took a large gulp of coffee.
"That woman who looked exactly like you? She's not Susan."
"That's impossible."
The denial came automatically. If that woman wasn't Susan, why had she been targeting Quinley so relentlessly? She didn't have concrete proof of the woman's identity, but her instincts were screaming.
Detective Wilson produced two documents—one was Susan's medical records from overseas treatment, the other was the dead woman's death certificate.
"Look carefully. Notice anything different?"
Quinley studied both documents closely. Within seconds, the discrepancy jumped out at her.
"How is this possible? The blood types don't match."
The medical record clearly stated blood type O. The death certificate listed type B. Anyone with basic medical knowledge knew that was impossible—blood types don't change.
"Exactly. The real Susan died five years ago. Her grave is right here in Rosewood City. The woman who died in your place was impersonating Susan's identity. As for who she actually was—no idea yet."
The revelation hit like a tidal wave. Quinley's fingers tightened around her coffee cup.
That woman had been impersonating Susan? But why?
"Take me to the grave."
Quinley's voice came out steady and firm. Detective Wilson considered for a moment, then stood.
"Let's go."
Thirty minutes later, they arrived at the cemetery on the city's outskirts. They climbed the stone steps for several minutes before finding Susan's headstone. Weeds choked the area around it—clearly no one had tended the grave in ages. Other headstones showed signs of recent visitors, flowers and offerings. But Susan's sat alone, forgotten and abandoned.
A photograph was embedded in the stone. Quinley leaned in for a closer look.
Yes. That familiar face stared back at her. Identical to her own, except for those distinctive single eyelids.
"How did she die?"
Quinley's fingers traced the photograph gently.
"Car accident."
She straightened, scanning the inscription. Dust obscured most of the engraving, but the dates were clear enough. Born the same year as Quinley. Died five years ago, in winter.
They'd hit a dead end. The person she'd been trying to investigate was confirmed dead. And the woman who'd died in her place remained a mystery.
"Could that woman have been Susan's twin sister?"
It was a wild theory, but Quinley threw it out there anyway. She'd seen that woman, albeit from a distance. The resemblance to Susan was uncanny.
Detective Wilson shrugged, letting out a long breath. "Unlikely."
The case was growing more tangled by the minute, like a knot that refused to come undone. Quinley stood before the headstone for a long time, lost in thought.
Then something clicked. A spark of insight.
"Detective Wilson, I need you to investigate someone else for me."