Facade of Love

Chapter 314 The man below
If someone were really set on finding out the truth, it was not that tough to start digging I was clueless, however, about how deep
Sir Young had buried his secrets, or whether Maxwell could even trace the breadcrumbs back to the Young family tree. That
night, I tossed and turned, my dreams a jumbled mess.
I snapped awake to a world still shrouded in darkness. Tired but wired, I could not sleep anymore, so I dragged myself out of bed
and trudged downstairs. The onset of a light rain wrapped everything in a cold, dreary blanket that weighed on me.
I turned on the floor heating in the living room and sat for a bit until I began to thaw out. Curled up on the couch, I switched on
the TV, thinking I would kill some time since the sun had not risen yet.
Instead of finding a show to watch, I stumbled upon a shonews headline.
“Lake City’s former deputy director Zanier has committed suicide by leaping from First Hospital early this morning.”
Zanier? Hospital?
Those two words hit me like a lightning bolt, and my mind raced straight to Jack.
I had this nagging suspicion that I was making a mountain out of a molehill, but I could not help myself. I snatched up my phone,
itching to catch up on the latest gossip. There it was, as the news feed lit up with a glaring “breaking” alert, all about the suicide
of some bigwig from Lake City.
I dove into the sea of comments, where everyone was dying to know who bit the dust. The insiders did not mince words: they all
said it was Jack, and the rumor mill was going wild with guesses about why he would check out early.
Job gone, daughter in the slammer–it looked like the guy had more on his plate than anyone could handle..
As I scrolled through the comments, one from a user named ‘Little Bird‘ snagged my attention: [So now murders are just
happening in broad daylight? Man, what a world.]
That one line sparked a wildfire of curiosity.
Netizen A was quick to jump in: [Murder? Do you know something we don’t? Come on, dish the dirt!]

Netizen B was right on their heels: [If it’s actually a murder, then spill the beans! What’s with the secrecy? Are you trying to cause
a scene or just throwing shade?]
Netizen C dropped a bombshell in the chat: [Heads up, guys. I have a friend at the hospital who told me the truth. Zanier did not
take his own life, he was taken out. The cops are snooping around for clues on the down low now.]
The comment thread was a total trainwreck, and I caught myself biting my lip, now almost sure that it was Jack who was gone.
Did he jump to his death?
No way that fit Jack’s style. He did not need a fancy title to enjoy the stash of cash he had saved
up
for a rainy day. With Christina locked up, she needed a lifeline on the outside. Jack was crazy about her. There was no way he
would bail on her like that.
What was really happening? Was I missing something?
Emily’s words from last night were like a haunting melody in my mind, stirring up a sense of discomfort.
Maxwell’s voice floated down from the stairs, casual and a bit teasing. “Wow, up at the crack of dawn? You didn’t stay up all
night, right?”
I slipped my phone into my pocket and faced him with a composed expression. “Nah, just got an early start. Didn’t mean to wake
yo
you.”
He gave a nonchalant shake of his head and ambled over to the water cooler, filling his cup. I’ve been a ghost at the office lately,
totally out of the loop. Guess I should head in early today... ” he pondered out loud, his eyes flicking to the morning news
flickering on the TV.
His forehead scrunched in confusion.” Director Zanier? Who’s that supposed to be?”
Chewing on my lip, I mumbled, “Jack, maybe.”

With a shrug that showed he had no idea about the mess Jack was in with the Youngs or the whole Christina kidnapping thing,
he commented, “Dude’s been riding high forever, then outta nowhere, he jumps off a building. That’s rough.”
I kept quiet. The house was already buzzing–Mom was up at the crack of dawn, and the nanny had swung by with groceries to
start on breakfast.
Breakfast could wait. I had to track down Idris and figure out what was really going on.
I stepped outside and stopped dead in my tracks. There it was a shiny black Bugatti, looking. totally out of place in the early
morning light. It had to be Idris’s. The question that arose was why it was still here. He could not have stayed, could he? No way.
The only thing that made sense was that he had not left at all last night.
I scrunched my eyebrows, puzzled. What was he up to?
Peering into the tinted windows got me nowhere, so I knocked on the glass.
“Tap!” A muffled sound came from inside, followed by the window rolling down. The driver’s seat slowly moved up from a flat
position.
There he was, looking like a total mess, stubble covering his jawline. He had sper
his car.
The chill of the night had been biting, and he....
spent the night in
That realization deepened my frown. I pulled open the passenger door with a swift tug and hopped inside. “Have you been out
here the whole night?” I asked, struggling to maintain
calm demeanor.
He adjusted the seat upright and reclined against it, rubbing his temples with slender, bony fingers. “Just couldn’t sleep at my
place,” he murmured, his voice heavy with weariness.
For a moment, I was at