Debbie glanced at the security officer’s nameplate as he questioned her.

Jeffrey Brown.

She recalled Lorraine signaling with her eyes that everyone here was in cahoots. Perhaps this man was part of it too. Debbie remembered the newspaper she had seen that morning and the article mentioning someone who had turned himself in as the culprit.

If the article was published so quickly, shouldn’t the culprit’s face have been included? Yet the newspaper only displayed Lorraine’s face prominently and an irrelevant photo of a search under a bridge.

Inside Debbie’s bag was the keyless keyring Lorraine had given her. She had intended to hand it over if they seemed genuinely interested in investigating, but sensing their urgency, she kept quiet. The decisive moment came when she relayed Lorraine’s words to the security officer.

“She said ‘Welcome back, my priest’ in her final moment? Are you sure you heard correctly? How could someone being kidnapped calmly say something so irrelevant? Are you in your right mind?”

Officer Jeffrey consistently spoke to her informally, with a condescending tone.

“Do you have anything else to add to your statement?”

“No.”

Debbie hesitated about mentioning how the phantom thief had knocked her unconscious and brought her home, but the officer’s next words made her seal her lips.

“So the deceased Lorraine went willingly, meaning she knew the person well… and since there was no resistance or struggle, you felt it was natural too.”

A smile flickered across Officer Jeffrey’s face as he spoke.

“So you just went home after work, not knowing things would end so tragically.”

He showed no interest in additional information.

“Is your statement accurate? You’ll be punished for perjury.”

Though she found his threats of punishment contemptible when proper investigation seemed secondary, Debbie masked her expression.

Officer Jeffrey’s bulging frog-like eyes glinted.

“Debbie Jones, adult magazine journalist. Your past is quite interesting—daughter of the Terium rebellion instigator. The world has certainly improved, hasn’t it? The child of a traitor freely doing whatever she wants?”

He suddenly slammed his palm on the desk.

“In my day, traitors were punished for three generations! Three! If you were spared by imperial grace, you should live on your knees in gratitude, serving with a repentant heart…”

As Jeffrey prepared to spout more nonsense, another officer approached and whispered something in his ear. Jeffrey’s lower eyelid trembled.

When Debbie stared at him directly, he cleared his throat several times before speaking.

“The culprit has already surrendered. We just called you to understand the circumstances, so don’t worry and go home.”

Though she didn’t know what had been whispered, Debbie realized the truth: the newspaper and investigation were all staged.

Just like the grand scheme when her parents died, when no amount of crying or pleading for mercy changed a single word in the statements they had prepared.

“Don’t go around talking about this after you leave. With the political situation already unstable, if rumors spread about security concerns, we’ll call you back and hold you responsible.”

The officer grinned, revealing his yellowed teeth.

“May I go now?” Debbie asked cautiously as she prepared to stand.

“Why such a hurry? You’re a journalist for Troublesome, right? Seems you know many courtesans—introduce me to some. Who knows? I might be able to help if you ever find yourself in trouble.”

She felt nauseated.

“If your parents’ criminal record becomes problematic, come to me. I can mediate quite well.”

He spoke with the air of bestowing a favor.

When Debbie exited the Security Office, Team Leader Louis was waiting for her.

“Debbie, I heard something serious happened. Did the questioning go well?”

Louis had come to meet her. Debbie stopped walking, turned around sharply, and confronted him.

“Where is the editor-in-chief right now?”

“Well… he had a car accident…”

“What?”

Debbie’s eyes widened. Not only had Lorraine died, but Gray had been in a traffic accident too.

“How did that happen?”

Louis scratched his chin awkwardly before answering.

“Apparently he crashed into a carriage at an intersection while following his ex-girlfriend.”

“His ex-girlfriend…”

“Henrietta.”

Upon hearing this, Debbie felt anger surge within her involuntarily.

“There’s a limit to being pathetic!”

“Oh! Debbie! Why are you crying?”

Louis fumbled through his pockets in confusion but couldn’t easily find his handkerchief.

Debbie gritted her teeth, her eyes brimming with tears.

“If the editor-in-chief had stayed there, we could have escaped with Lorraine!”

“Ah. Here it is. Took me a while to find it. Handkerchief…? What do you mean about staying there?”

“When Lorraine was being taken by those men, if the editor-in-chief had been there, I would have thought of running away with her somehow. Instead of regretting it helplessly after she’s dead!”

“What?”

“While the editor-in-chief was chasing after his ex-girlfriend, I stood there watching with perfectly functional arms and legs…”

Debbie couldn’t continue. Her self-loathing and resentment toward Gray erupted simultaneously.

Passersby glanced at them, and Louis, reading the situation, awkwardly helped the sobbing Debbie into a carriage.

“I don’t know how to comfort you at a time like this.”

He opened and closed his mouth several times like someone with much to say, then placed his hand on Debbie’s shoulder.

“For now, Debbie, take a rest today. No, take about three days off. Don’t think about anything. I’m sorry to bring up work at a time like this, but the editor-in-chief won’t be able to come to work for about a month due to his accident. Still, we need to meet deadlines and publish.”

He seemed embarrassed by his own words, rubbing his palms together, then clenching and unclenching his fists as he continued.

“With the editor-in-chief absent, I have to take responsibility for everything this time. We need to separate personal matters from work. It would be difficult if you were absent too when we’re already short-handed. The deadline is approaching, so…”

An awkward silence fell between them. Louis scratched his head with a bitter expression.

“Please take the carriage to Voluptas,” Debbie said, trying to compose herself as she wiped away her tears.

“Huh? Why Voluptas? Oh, you want to see the president?”

“No, I have something to deliver to Mr. Fret.”

“What do you have for Mr. Fret?”

Debbie started to tell Louis about the keyring but stopped herself.

The thought suddenly crossed her mind that if it was something so secretive, it might be better to deliver it directly to Fret without any intermediaries.

She wasn’t sure if she should mention the keyring to Louis when she had been reluctant to reveal it to the security officer.

Though he was a colleague, they weren’t particularly close, and she knew nothing about him outside of work.

Moreover, the phantom thief—whom she had considered an ally—knocking her unconscious and taking her home had contributed to this distrust.

She couldn’t tell who was friend or foe anymore.

If it was something Lorraine had risked her life to convey, Debbie had to fulfill her wish.

“What do you have for Mr. Fret…” Louis prompted.

Instead of mentioning the keyring, Debbie repeated what Lorraine had said.

“In her final moment, Lorraine suddenly said to me, ‘Welcome back, my priest.’ Then she said to cancel the interview… Those were her last words.”

She had already shared this with the security officer, so she felt comfortable telling Louis.

Louis narrowed his brow and scratched his chin.

“Does that ring a bell for you?”

“Well… the phrase ‘Welcome back, my priest’ is practically legendary in our Troublesome magazine…”

“What does it mean?”

“Debbie, haven’t you read our back issues? You should have come across it at least once.”

“Since no one specifically mentioned it, I might have overlooked it even if I saw it.”

“Well… do you remember ‘James Strock’?”

“James Strock?”

Louis burst into laughter at Debbie’s question.

“There was a character named James Strock who suddenly became wealthy. He returned from abroad after making a fortune and was lobbying for railway businesses when AB mentioned him in the ‘S*xual Discourse Column,’ completely out of context, and wrote, ‘Welcome back, my priest.'”

Debbie tried hard to remember if such content existed.

She liked AB’s articles and had read all his writings without fail, but she couldn’t recall a column with that reference.

“Naturally, readers wondered why James Strock was called ‘my priest,’ right?”

Louis scratched his head and continued.

“It turned out that James Strock was actually Father Charlie Stigma, who had fled abroad after causing a s*x scandal. He had returned with a new identity. People’s attention naturally shifted to how a fugitive returned wealthy and engaged in lobbying. This led to the Golden Gate incident, which exploded in political circles!”

Debbie’s eyes widened at Louis’s words.

“Ah…”

She might not know everything, but she was familiar with the Golden Gate incident.

It had been a hot issue for quite some time when Debbie was working as an assistant teacher in Terium. If even the countryside knew about it, how much more intense must it have been in the capital?

The incident had led to the resignation of the Conservative Party’s leader.

Louis smiled wryly at Debbie, who was too surprised to close her mouth.

“Oh my, you didn’t know? AB was fired in retaliation for that.”

“What? I thought he resigned to take responsibility for the controversy caused by the S*xual Discourse Column?”

Debbie’s eyes widened.

“That was just the surface story. The trial for that case dragged on. And only when the trial ended did they quietly retaliate…”

Debbie felt shell-shocked.

“Why are you so surprised?”

Debbie’s lips trembled.

“So what happened to AB afterward?”

“We don’t know much about him either. I heard he worked here before I joined. Apparently, he just delivered manuscripts due to his personal relationship with the editor-in-chief. I was told it was to protect the journalist’s identity.”

‘AB must be the phantom thief, it’s clear now.’

Among the people who frequented the publishing house, he was the only one who would need to wear a mask.

‘He had resigned, so I didn’t know him, but that’s why he was so familiar with the publishing house.’

‘Why did he knock me unconscious and take me home? How did he know where I lived? Did he perhaps learn my address from my personal information in the publishing house records?’

‘I don’t appreciate being knocked out, but if it was AB, he must have had his reasons.’

Was Lorraine trying to expose something?

Or…

Debbie bit her fingernails nervously.

Could Mr. Fret be both the contributing journalist AB and the phantom thief?

She gasped involuntarily.

With Fret, it was entirely possible.

Above all, his height and build were similar to the phantom thief’s. The main obstacle was their very different voices, but there were several known techniques for voice modulation.

Lorraine asking me to deliver that keyring to Mr. Fret, whispering that line from AB’s column to me… everything…

But the scenery passing by the carriage window indicated they were heading somewhere unexpected. Debbie was so shocked she shouted.

“Where are we going?”

Louis flinched at her sudden outburst.

“Here? Blake’s villa. Remember where we had the after-party last time?”

“Why are we coming here? I asked you to take me to Voluptas!”

Louis gave a bitter smile at Debbie’s words.

“Voluptas is currently closed, and Mr. Fret is dealing with urgent matters, so you probably won’t be able to see him for a while.”

“How could you bring me here without my permission?”

“Calm down. It’s the editor-in-chief’s request. He said you’d feel anxious at home and should rest at the villa instead.”

Debbie was full of discontent at Louis’s explanation, but there was nothing she could do.