Chapter 57
A warm, large hand covered my ice-cold hand, wrapping my slightly trembling fingers into his palm.
That steady, powerful warmth pulled me back a few degrees from the abyss of fear.
"Ophelia," Benjamin's voice was low and serious, carrying an undeniable soothing power, "Don't be afraid. It's just speculation. Everything needs evidence."
I looked up and met his unfathomably deep eyes. There was no pity in them, only calm analysis and firm support. He saw through my fear and understood what I needed most right now.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to break free from that suffocating memory, though my chest still felt painfully tight. I looked at him, my throat terribly dry, "Thank you... Benjamin, thank you for telling me all this."
Without him, I might never have connected these scattered clues, might have remained in the dark forever.
He held my hand and squeezed it a little harder, as if passing his strength to me, "Your business is my business."
Before leaving, he looked at me and warned, "Lloyd has deep roots in the White Group. Don't alert him."
"I understand." I nodded, my emotions already back to calm.
Fear wouldn't solve anything. What I needed to do was lift that disguise and expose all the dirty secrets to the light.
I immediately called Vida over. "Look into Lloyd," my voice was cold without a trace of warmth, my eyes carrying an icy chill. "All the projects he's handled in the past five years, his financial records, and who he's been closely associating with privately—dig into everything."
Vida was intimidated by the sharp aura I was giving off and didn't dare ask any questions, immediately nodding, "Yes, Ms. White."
Watching Vida's departing figure, I slowly walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the bustling city below.
Lloyd, Marlowe... whatever secrets you're hiding, whether or not you're connected to my mother's death, I will drag you out, one by one.
Night deepened, and I was alone in the office.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling window was the city's brilliant river of lights, but I had no mood to appreciate it.
Spread across my desk were files of all the projects Lloyd had handled over the years—behind the dense text and data seemed to lurk a massive web that devoured people's hearts.
My eyes were sore from reading, but the shock and anger in my heart wouldn't leave.
Just then, my phone screen suddenly lit up, its vibration particularly jarring in the silent office.
The name flashing on the screen made me instinctively frown.
Michael.
This name I'd already cut from my life—his appearance now was like an annoying fly.
I wanted to hang up directly, but the ringtone persisted, carrying a sense of determination.
I finally swiped to answer, my voice devoid of warmth: "What is it?"
Michael's voice came through, suppressing anxiety and even carrying a pleading tone I'd never heard before: "Ophelia, could you... Could you come to my house? My grandfather... he's sick, not doing well, and he keeps calling your name."
My fingers tightened slightly around the phone, but my heart remained unmoved.
The Johnson family's affairs—I had no desire to get involved anymore.
"He has grandchildren around him, the best doctors and nurses. Why would he call for me?" My tone was distant and cold. "The Johnson family and I—we have nothing to do with each other anymore."
"No, Ophelia, listen to me!" Michael's voice grew more urgent. "My grandfather really wants to see you! I know, I know I have no right to ask you, and I know about your relationship with Freya... We won't make this public, just... just come back and put on a show for him, to put his mind at ease, okay? I'm begging you!"
The humility in his words surprised me, but what really made me waver was his grandfather, Maddox Johnson.
In my memory, Maddox was a wise and kind elder.
Michael was still anxiously explaining on the other end, but I cut him off, "Address."
He paused, then couldn't hide his joy, "You... you agreed? Great! Don't move, just wait downstairs at your office, I'll be right there!"
He seemed afraid I'd change my mind and hung up hurriedly.
I put down my phone, looking at the heavy night outside, and the irritation caused by Lloyd was joined by an indescribable heaviness.
Moments later, I picked up my coat and turned off the office lights.
Whatever the Johnson family's situation is now, I couldn't ignore Maddox's kindness.
Michael's car quickly pulled up downstairs.
I opened the door and got into the passenger seat. The atmosphere inside instantly became awkward and oppressive.
He tried several times to say something, but after meeting my indifferent gaze, he swallowed his words, finally turning them into an almost inaudible sigh.
I couldn't be bothered with his complicated feelings, just leaned against the window, watching the rapidly retreating street scenes, my mind still thinking about Lloyd's situation.
The car sped along and finally entered the Johnson Mansion.
The Johnson Mansion was brightly lit, but this brightness carried an unusual commotion.
Before even entering, I could hear the vague sounds of people inside.
A trace of doubt crossed my mind. Visiting a sick person—why would it be so noisy?
Michael parked the car and quickly came over to open my door, his face showing unnatural urgency, "Let's go in, everyone's waiting for you."
"Everyone?" I caught the keyword in his statement.
His eyes flickered, and he explained vaguely, "Grandfather is sick, relatives have come to visit—it's only natural."
I didn't ask more and followed him inside.
However, the scene before me instantly made me understand what "only natural" meant.
In the spacious living room, there was no sign of the quiet atmosphere around a bedridden patient.
The sofas were full of people—several Johnson family elders, even some distant relatives only seen during holidays, were all present. Only Maddox was nowhere to be seen.
My steps stopped abruptly.
As Michael and I entered, the originally noisy living room instantly fell silent.
Dozens of gazes turned toward me in unison, their eyes extremely complex—scrutinizing, probing, curious, even carrying undisguised hostility and contempt.
Winter stood up, a fake smile on her face but eyes like ice, "Ophelia, you're finally here. We've been waiting."
Behind her, Freya stood with her arms crossed, looking at me with a cold smile, her gaze as if looking at prey walking into a trap.
My heart sank heavily. I swept my cold gaze across the room full of people, finally settling on Michael's face, written all over with guilt and difficulty.
I instantly understood—this wasn't a sick visit at all, but a trap set specifically for me.