Chapter 56
She fell silent for a moment, her voice taking on a note of urgency and unwillingness. "Benefits... does Mr. Wilson only care about benefits when choosing a partner?"
"What else?" Benjamin asked coolly, then shifted his tone with a hint of scrutiny. "A person's value needs to be proven by themselves."
The fish had taken the bait.
I picked up my coffee and took a small sip.
In the recording, Amelia was indeed provoked by this remark and lost her composure, her voice rising slightly. "Value? What value does Ophelia have? The things she has are just what my mother didn't want and left for her! The wedding gifts my mother prepared for me are worth much more than that junk she got!"
"Is that so?" Benjamin's voice carried a barely detectable doubt.
"Of course it's true!" Amelia was eager to prove herself. "Those things are locked in the most hidden safe in my mother's dressing room, and only my mother has the key! Any single item in there would be enough for Ophelia to work her whole life for!"
"Words mean nothing without proof." Benjamin used the calmest tone to push her into a corner.
"I can prove it!" Amelia's voice trembled slightly with excitement. "Mr. Wilson, wait for my message. I'll definitely get the key and show it to you!"
The recording ended there. I set my coffee cup down and looked at Benjamin.
His expression was unchanged, as if he had just handled a trivial matter.
"Will she steal the key?"
"She will," Benjamin nodded, then added, "I've already had Luca make arrangements. Once she gets the key, someone will be there to receive it. That person will immediately authenticate and copy it, leaving no trace."
His arrangements were flawless, but I suddenly thought of something. "Is the contact person reliable?"
"Don't worry," he said, looking at me with deep eyes. "He's my man."
Amelia moved faster than we expected.
The next evening, just as I finished a meeting, I received a message from Benjamin saying Amelia had already arranged to meet "the contact" at a café near StoryArc Media.
He asked if I wanted to come.
I thought for a moment and replied with one word: Yes.
When I arrived, I sat in an inconspicuous corner on the second floor. Through the gaps in the plants, I could see the window booth downstairs. Amelia was dressed to the nines, her face showing barely suppressed pride and excitement.
Sitting across from her was a man in a black trench coat, wearing a hat and mask, his features unclear.
They didn't talk much. Amelia quickly took out a small envelope from her bag, looked around cautiously, and then quickly pushed it to the man across from her. The man took the envelope, checked what was inside, and got up to leave.
The whole process took less than five minutes.
Amelia contentedly picked up her coffee and took out her phone, seemingly reporting the good news to someone.
I didn't watch any longer and turned to leave. Just as I reached the stairs, Amelia also got up to leave. She was on the phone while walking, her voice very low, but some words still drifted to my ears.
"...Don't worry... I already gave him the thing, don't you trust me when I handle things..."
Her voice was still coquettish, but the man's low response from the other end of the phone, though muffled and brief, made me stop dead in my tracks.
That voice... why did it sound so familiar? Like I'd heard it somewhere before.
Alarm bells rang in my mind. I immediately hurried downstairs and got into Benjamin's car.
Seeing my expression was off, he asked with concern, "What's wrong?"
"The person who met Amelia at the café just now—that was your arrangement, right?" I asked.
"Yes."
"What about the phone call she made afterward?" I stared at him intently. "I heard a man's voice on the other end. It was very familiar, but I can't remember who it was."
Benjamin's fingers on the steering wheel paused slightly. He was silent for a moment before turning to look at me, his eyes holding a depth I couldn't understand. "If you think it's familiar, it's probably not your imagination."
He started the car and smoothly merged into traffic, his voice low in my ear. "I've found out some things about Marlowe's past, related to your mother."
My heart sank.
"Marlowe's secrets may run deeper than we imagined." Benjamin looked at the changing lights ahead, speaking deliberately. "That voice you found familiar might be the key to unlocking all of this."
The air in the car grew heavy with Benjamin's meaningful words.
That voice...
I closed my eyes, trying hard to fish it out from the depths of my memory. The voice was low, with a deliberately suppressed fawning tone, fleeting but like a fishhook caught on my nerve endings. It was familiar, so familiar it made my whole body turn cold.
"Back to StoryArc Media," I opened my eyes, my voice carrying a tension I hadn't noticed in myself. "I need a list of all the White Group's senior executives."
Benjamin didn't ask questions, just turned the car around and drove smoothly toward StoryArc Media.
Back at the office, I dismissed everyone.
Benjamin sat on the sofa across from me, his presence calm and reliable, silently giving me support.
Soon, Vida brought in a printed list with photos, names, and positions of all executives at the director level and above.
My gaze swept down from top to bottom, one by one.
Most of these faces were familiar to me; some were even elders who had watched me grow up.
Benjamin had somehow moved to my side. His slender fingers tapped on the list, circling three people. "Based on Marlowe's early social connections I've investigated, and the unusual fund movements within the White Group in recent years, these three are the most suspicious."
My eyes followed his guidance downward.
When I saw the third name, my pupils suddenly contracted, and all the blood in my body seemed to freeze instantly.
Lloyd Wallace.
Vice President of the White Group, he had been by Preston's side for over twenty years and was Preston's most trusted right-hand man.
That voice that flashed by on the phone instantly overlapped with this gentle, refined face, matching perfectly.
How could it be him?
I looked at the photo in disbelief. In it, the man wore gold-rimmed glasses and smiled modestly and properly.
In my memory, he was always the one following behind Preston, diligent and loyal.
He had even held me when I was little and bought me candy.
Yet he was actually Marlowe's accomplice.
A bone-chilling cold rushed from my feet to the top of my head. I felt dizzy, my hands and feet ice-cold.
Certain fragments deliberately forgotten and buried in the corners of my memory were suddenly blown open by this name.
I suddenly remembered the night Cecilia died.
It was a stormy night. Young me was awakened and sneaked out of my room, wanting to find Cecilia. I hid at the corner of the second-floor hallway and saw Lloyd leaving our front door with an umbrella, hurrying away. His figure quickly disappeared into the pouring rain.
The next day, I received the devastating news that Cecilia had died of a sudden heart attack despite resuscitation efforts.
At the time, I thought he had come late at night to report urgent business to Preston. I never connected his presence with Cecilia's death. But thinking about it now, what urgent business would an ordinary subordinate have that required a personal visit on a stormy night?
If he and Marlowe had been in league all along... then was Cecilia's death really an accident?
This thought exploded like thunder in my mind.
I didn't dare think further. The truth lurking behind it was too dark and cruel, almost enough to swallow me whole.
My face must have looked terrible; even my breathing became rapid.