?Chapter 418:


    William was stunned for a moment, not expecting her to be so honest.


    “So, did you find anything useful?” he asked.


    Seeing the light blush on her cheeks, he decided not to me her.


    Besides, he’d seen his own reflection earlier, and yeah, he did look ridiculous. If anyone found out that he got cornered by a middle-aged woman in a shabby, low-end hair salon, he’d never hear the end of it.


    “I found them. There were some papers hidden under the bed. I took quick photos of everything.”


    Once they were back in the car, Ste sent William the photos, and the two began looking through them together.


    After flipping through the pictures, Ste turned to William, shocked. “Wait—does this mean Nixon wasn’t really behind all of this? Like someone else is pulling the strings and setting him up?”


    William’s brow furrowed as he scanned through the documents.


    The files hinted that Nixon had been forced into selling those poor-quality materials from the beginning.


    Ste went over the pictures again, still unable to believe what she was seeing. “But didn’t your clues already prove Nixon was guilty of murder? How does this suddenly flip everything?” she asked in confusion.


    William answered calmly, “I asked Luca to look into it.”


    He trusted Luca—there was no way he’d lie about the facts.


    “Do you think the documents could be fake?” Ste asked, now doubting everything she’d found.


    Everything so far had pointed to Nixon as the viin, but these files told a different story.


    Could Brenna and her grandmother have gotten it wrong? Was Nixon really the one behind Finley’s death?


    Ste stared at the images on her screen, more confused than ever.


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    “Mr. Briggs, what’s your take on this?” she asked.


    William lowered his phone and rubbed his temples. “These documents don’t seem very credible.”


    That was what she’d been thinking too.


    If the documents were fake, did that mean all her effort had been for nothing? Ste couldn’t shake the feeling that something—or someone—was quietly steering her every move, nudging her along whether she realized it or not. First, she found Brenna, then that office building, next, the hidden factory, and now, this sudden twist—maybe Nixon wasn’t the real viin after all.


    It was starting to feel like someone had been leading her in the wrong direction the whole time.


    Leaning back in her seat, she let out a slow, frustrated sigh. Where had she gone wrong?


    She put her phone down and stared out the window, deciding not to think about it anymore—for now.


    The afternoon passed, and they still had to return and take Brenna to the station to give her official statement.


    When they arrived at the police station, Brenna helped her grandmother walk up the steps. As an officer stepped forward to assist, Brenna immediately swatted his hand away. “We can manage on our own!” she snapped, her tone sharp.


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