Chapter 508

“Maybe.”

“Do you truly not know who killed my parents?”

Andrew hesitated, then shook his head. “I don’t.”

Debra helped Andrew into the car, and the driver seated him in the back. Debra’s mind raced with questions and doubts. Sleep would be elusive tonight.

“Can you take me to our old house?”

“Address.”

Debra pulled out her phone and sent the address to Andrew, who relayed it to the driver.

“Drive.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tucked away in the heart of the city, it had been years since Debra had last visited. According to family tradition, visits were reserved for New Year’s Day, and since her father’s death, she had lived with Ralph.

The main estate, which had only accommodated older generations, was now unfamiliar. The villa stood abandoned, its grandeur faded.

The night wind chilled her, and she pulled Andrew’s coat tighter around herself. The yard was overgrown and neglected, but security was surprisingly tight. Debra pushed Andrew’s wheelchair to the door, producing an old, tightly wrapped key she always carried.

The house was a retro two-story villa, a century-old relic of a bygone era. After her grandfather moved out, the place had been left to gather dust, except for the ancestral shrine within.

“If I remember correctly, the shrine should be in the back house,” Debra murmured, following her memory.

The backyard was walled off, concealing a second house starkly different from the retro style in front. This house was ancient, as if it had stood for centuries.

“I never understood why we had such an old house,” Debra said. “My dad told me it had always been there. Our family was once prominent in Seamar City, with ancestors who were officials. I didn’t think much of it at the time.”

Andrew nodded. “Your ancestors were indeed officials. Your grandfather was a diligent learner and a remarkable strategist.”

Debra approached the house, her steps faltering as she saw the lock on the door.

“I don’t have the key.”

Andrew began to cough, his body wracked with the effort.

“Don’t panic. I don’t remember this door having a lock.”

“The shrine has been locked for years. The keys to the shrine and the main house were probably kept by your father. Think, Debra. Who might have the key?”

“Ralph?”

Ralph was in prison; his personal belongings were likely seized. He hadn’t given her the key when she inherited the Frazier family estate.

“Probably. I’ll have my people check at the police station. They should be able to find it.”

“Maybe I should go myself. I need to ask him some questions.”