Let Me Go, Mr. Howard Chapter 276

In the airplane's bedroom, Scarlett lay on the bed, carefully and thoroughly reviewing the latest investigation file Chris had sent over.

The file had arrived three hours ago.

Back at the villa, Scarlett hadn't had time to check this new material while preparing to leave.

Now that she was on the plane and Sebastian wasn't around, she finally had the chance.

This time, Chris's file was incredibly comprehensive.

He hadn't added much extraneous information—almost everything centered around Clinton.

[Clinton Seymour's time of death was October 31st, twenty-two years ago...]

That day, Clinton had just finished a finance-related business dinner. The venue was The Heptagon Club, registered under his wife's name.

"Clinton."

After seeing his clients into their car, Clinton heard Diana's voice.

He turned around to see Diana emerging from the club and quickly walked over, taking her hand. Sure enough, it was ice-cold to the touch. "What are you doing out here? You just got over a cold—you can't be in the wind."

The two walked back inside together.

Diana, however, didn't take her husband's concern to heart. "Don't go home tonight. Come with me to Alvina's place? Letty's there too. She hasn't seen you in days."

"Better not. You two ladies want to talk—what would I be doing there?" Clinton shook his head, then seemed to remember something and added, "I recently learned something. Apparently, people from the Holy Light Society are still tracking the Cooper family."

As if she hadn't expected Clinton to bring this up, Diana's expression froze. She slowly withdrew her hand from Clinton's palm, her tone turning sharp. "Didn't I tell you not to investigate this?"

Seeing her displeasure, Clinton quickly apologized. "I wasn't investigating—I just happened to hear about it."

"Who would randomly tell you something like that?" Diana frowned, glaring at him. "I'm telling you, if you want your child to stay alive, nobody—and I mean nobody—talks about my past!"

The matter involved life and death, so Diana's voice rose.

But as soon as the words left her mouth, she lowered her head to hide her welling tears.

Clinton hurried to console her with a few more words.

This conversation took place near the club's front desk and was partially overheard by one of the staff members.

God knows how Chris managed to track down that receptionist to produce such a detailed investigation report.

The Holy Light Society immediately caught Scarlett's attention.

Of course, it wasn't just Scarlett who noticed this—Chris had caught it too. Following the account of that incident, he'd highlighted a brief introduction to the Holy Light Society in red text.

Those few sparse lines instantly sent a chill down Scarlett's spine.

[Unknown organization, appears to involve multiple participants, most of whom are wealthy individuals or celebrities.]

Scarlett involuntarily clenched her fingers, her fingertips tingling slightly. If the Holy Light Society was really behind this, then this matter was probably far beyond what Sebastian or Marco could handle.

However, this information was just the tip of the iceberg in this investigation.

Further down was more material Chris had compiled himself. [Clinton left in a taxi with a license plate ending in 730.]

What followed appeared to be the taxi driver's oral account, uploaded as a direct audio recording.

Scarlett pressed play. A man's voice came through the tablet, nervous and tinged with an accent.

"This passenger seemed fine when he got in. He even said goodbye to the woman who saw him off. I remember that woman too—she was gorgeous."

"I've never seen a woman that beautiful in my whole life."

"Later, I said something wrong that upset the passenger... What did I say? Oh, I asked him how much his wife cost. No, wait—I didn't know that was his wife at the time..."

"A few minutes later, he suddenly said he needed to pick someone up at Riverside Drive, and he'd pay extra—fifty bucks more! Who'd be stupid enough to turn down money? I agreed right away."

Scarlett's brow furrowed at this. Riverside Drive?

The recording continued.

"When we got there, sure enough, there was a guy waiting. But I couldn't see his face clearly—he was wearing a hat, a knit cap. Can't remember what color his hair was."

"The two of them knew each other, I think. They were chatting and laughing. What they said, I don't know—it wasn't in Lumarian."

"They both got out at a residential area. What happened after that, I have no idea. I found out later that the passenger had died, and a few years after that, the Heptagon Club changed hands."

"Come to think of it, I actually made money off a dead man. Maybe that's why I've had such bad luck?"

The recording ended there.

Scarlett had been frowning since halfway through. On the surface, the taxi driver didn't seem to provide much information, but the most crucial detail was buried in there.

If Clinton had gone back with that person, then that man was the last person he saw.

By logical deduction, that person had to be connected to Clinton's death.

However, Chris had noted at the end: [Police records contain no information whatsoever about this man.]

This part was extremely strange.

As the last person to have contact with the deceased, this man should have been thoroughly investigated by the police at the time.

The investigation reports that followed were almost all official information Chris had dug up from police archives, including but not limited to Clinton's autopsy report and forensic analysis from the crime scene.

Scarlett refused to overlook any possible lead and carefully went through the materials again and again.

Chris had said that one person might miss things, which was why he'd sent over every bit of information he had, down to the smallest detail—so that Scarlett could analyze it and potentially find something new.

"What are you looking at?"

Just as Scarlett was deeply absorbed in the materials, a male voice came from beside her.

She nearly flung the tablet across the room in fright.

The tablet wobbled in her hands several times before finally landing on the pillow beside her.

Scarlett looked at Sebastian, her heart still racing.

Sebastian glanced at the tablet, his brow furrowing. Before Scarlett could reach for it, he picked it up.

"Looking into this?"

One glance was all it took for him to figure out what she was investigating.

Scarlett snatched the tablet back. "Is that not allowed?"

"No, but you could just ask me directly." Sebastian removed his jacket. He'd had quite a bit of red wine—not enough to get drunk, but the scent of alcohol still lingered. "I know more than he does."

"You'd actually tell me?" Scarlett put away the tablet, her tone flat.

Sebastian looked at her, genuinely puzzled. "Why wouldn't I?"

"You didn't bother telling me about my cousin." Scarlett's lip jutted out in a pout, completely hung up on that particular incident.

Sebastian headed for the shower. "That was Mike's call."

Scarlett made a noncommittal sound in response.

Sebastian's shower was quick—he was out in about ten minutes, hair freshly washed and everything.

When he emerged, Scarlett was gazing out the window.

The plane had long since taken off, but she'd been so immersed in Chris's materials that she hadn't noticed.

Hearing him open the door, Scarlett glanced at him briefly before turning back to the window. "So do you actually know how my father died?"