"If you don't believe..."
Mrs. Fairchild stared unblinkingly at the door slowly opening before her, as Miles Hughes handed her a phone.
"You can contact the old gentleman."
Mrs. Fairchild's fingers trembled slightly as she shakily dialed the number.
But it was always a busy signal, showing no sign of someone answering.
Miles continued to smile, "You can keep trying, dinner will be sent to you soon; it's the French cuisine you love."
Mrs. Fairchild was no longer paying attention to what Miles was saying, as an inexplicable suspicion loomed in her mind, only to be repeatedly overturned by her own denial—she dared not believe it.
Maeve Lane returned to the Fairchild Residence.
Julian Fairchild had warned everyone yesterday through Miles, so Maeve faced no obstacles upon entering.
After walking a few steps, she saw a long line ahead.
Looking to the end of her line of sight, Maeve saw Sylvia Lane kneeling on the ground, washing someone's feet.
