“Mr. Flynn, I’ll handle it from here.”

With that, he and his assistant headed inside.

Night deepened outside.

In the waiting room, Ernest, Hadley, and Ferris sat in tense silence.

Before the interrogation, Cristian, as the defense attorney, was granted a brief meeting with Eric.

“Mr. Scott,” Cristian began without preamble.

“Tell me everything that happened over the past few days—in detail. The more precise, the better.”

“Alright.” Eric nodded, though his story was short. Only a few sentences.

“That’s all. That’s everything…” he said finally, slumping back in his chair, exhaustion etching his features.

Cristian stared, stunned.

“So after the elevator dropped, you lost consciousness? Everything after that—you remember nothing?”

“Yes.” Eric’s reply was firm.

It was the truth.

“But…” Cristian frowned deeply.

“When the police found you, you were awake—on your feet—and holding a knife.”

“I don’t know what happened,” Eric admitted, his face pale.

“I wish someone could tell me.”

A silence stretched between them.

Cristian pressed further.

“Who were those two people?”

“I don’t know.” Eric shook his head, his brows furrowing.

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“I’ve never seen them before. But…”

He hesitated.

“I know who sent them.”

Cristian’s gaze sharpened.

“Who?”

“Gifford!” Eric said at once.

“I heard his voice.”

“Gifford?” Cristian was taken aback.

“Mr. Scott, you recognized his voice? But after your surgery… didn’t you lose your memories?”

“They came back.” Eric touched the back of his head lightly.

“I hit it here.”

“Oh.” Cristian nodded slowly.

“That’s… something, at least.”

It was a rare bit of fortune in the midst of it all.

But a new problem surfaced.

“You just said you were unconscious the whole time. So how did you hear Gifford’s voice?”

Eric froze, his throat bobbing.

.

.

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