Cindy opened her mouth to say more, but a sharp look from Jethro silenced her. The three of them finished the meal in a tense, unspoken truce, each lost in their own thoughts. After lunch, Jasper thanked them, mentioning he wanted to visit his father's grave in the afternoon. Having no car in the country, Jethro handed him his keys. "Take mine." Jasper offered a thin smile. "Thanks. I'll buy one tomorrow." Cindy's heart sank. Buying a car. He really is planning to stay. Once Jasper drove off, Cindy, unable to shake her unease, made an excuse to leave the office and followed him at a distance. Seeing his route indeed led to the family cemetery, she relaxed a little. Near the cemetery, Jasper stopped at a florist for two bouquets before proceeding.He first went to his own father's grave, placed a bouquet, and bowed deeply. Cindy watched, expecting him to visit her father's grave next. But instead, he turned and walked back down the hill, got in the car, and drove away. Frowning, her grip tightening on the steering wheel, Cindy continued to trail him. Twenty minutes later, Jasper's car stopped at a public cemetery. It was a modest place compared to the Blackwood family plot—smaller, more crowded, less picturesque. Why would he come here? Who was he honoring? His parents came from prestigious families. No relatives should be buried in a place like this. Puzzled, Cindy got out, put on sunglasses and a hat, and followed him at a discreet distance. She saw him stop before a simple headstone, place the bouquet with careful reverence, and bow deeply. He seemed to murmur a few words, perhaps a promise. From her distance, she could only catch fragments: "take care," "rest assured," that kind of thing. After a few moments, his expression grave, he turned and left. Cindy ducked behind a bush, waiting until he was completely gone before hurrying to the grave. When she saw the name on the headstone, her eyes widened in shock. Joel Roby. The man responsible for their fathers' deaths. Jasper had come here specifically to lay flowers on their murderer's grave. He hadn't even visited his own uncle, her father, yet he'd come here. Cindy's jaw clenched hard. She couldn't understand. Why would her cousin lay flowers for the killer who took his father's life?Why? Seriously, why?! Joel had been a driver for the Blackwood family—first driving for her grandfather, then, after her grandfather retired, for her father and uncle. He'd worked for the family for over a decade. They'd treated him like one of their own. But Joel, in his middle age, had developed a gambling addiction. The losses mounted, the debt spiraled out of control—a bottomless pit with no end in sight. Joel had chosen a road with no way back. That fateful night, her father and uncle had finished a client dinner. Joel was sent to pick them up. As usual, he helped the two slightly inebriated men into the back seat. Then he used the chance to slip their phones from their suit jackets. He took the driver's seat and locked the car without a sound.The plan was to drive up a mountain he'd picked out and abduct them both, then demand ransom from Arthur. Midway, Cindy's father had sobered up enough to realize they were on the wrong road. He'd demanded to know where Joel was taking them. That's when Joel revealed his true face, laughing wildly, demanding ten million dollars—or they'd all go down together. The commotion woke Cindy's uncle. He blew up when he heard, then tried hard to talk Joel down. No use. He and his brother locked eyes. They agreed out loud to pay, while silently plotting how to get out. Her uncle spotted a fishing rod in the car. He quietly maneuvered behind Joel, attempting to loop a cord around him. But Joel sensed the movement. Realizing he'd been tricked, that no money was coming, Joel snapped. The first kidnapping had left Joel's nerves frayed to a thread, and this final straw sent him spiraling into madness. He let out a maniacal roar, flooring the accelerator—and the vehicle streaked ahead like a bolt of lightning. Night on the mountain road was dim. Streetlights barely held. Speed was insane. In minutes, the car smashed into the guardrail. The car flipped end over end, followed by a deafening explosion—and then flames shot high into the night sky. Without the dashboard camera footage, the truth might never have been known. Cindy would never forget rushing to the hospital with her mom and brother, panic clawing their insides—and the white sheet in the ward. A hand jutted out from under the sheet—her father's—blackened and mangled beyond recognition. Her proud, unyielding mother had collapsed on the floor, sobbing until she could hardly breathe. And Jethro—she had never seen her brother look so utterly broken. Remembering it now, Cindy began to tremble uncontrollably. Her eyes stung, and hot tears rolled down her cheeks in heavy drops.