The Mad Ҡìղց

Lan Wanji's life. 20

Mr. Fang sat across from Wanji in the cold, sterile room. His face was lined with the weariness of too many late nights, too many cases, and yet another client on the edge of catastrophe. He clasped his hands together, leaning forward as he asked, "What happened, Wanji? I need the full truth." He had heard enough convoluted stories in his career to know when something didn't add up.

Wanji's voice wavered, his gaze fixed on the table, recounting the events that led to his current predicament. As I returned to my car, I was startled to find Victor slipping inside just as I did. Without thinking, I demanded, "Get out of my car."

He didn't move at first, his eyes full of a pleading intensity. "Please," he said, his voice almost desperate, "don't tell Wei Ying."

"Why shouldn't I?" I asked, keeping my voice calm but firm. His response was quick and earnest, explaining, though vaguely, that it was his past—one that Wei Ying mustn't know about.

I sighed, unsure of how deep the situation really ran, but something told me that telling Wei Ying wasn't my battle to fight. "Fine," I said at last, "I won't tell him"

Relief washed over his face as he quickly thanked me and quietly exited the car.

Mr. Fang sighed deeply, running a hand over his face as though trying to massage clarity into a mess that seemed impossible to untangle. "Wanji, I want to believe this is the real story," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "But I need to be absolutely sure. Is this exactly how it happened?"

Wanji nodded, his fingers tapping nervously on the table, the weight of his words and their potential consequences pressing down on him.

Mr. Fang reached into his briefcase and pulled out a sheet of paper. He scanned it quickly before reading aloud, "But at home, this was your statement. You said: 'We argued. He wanted me to leave you alone, and I told him I would if he stopped pretending you were happy with him.' Then you said, 'The next thing I knew, he was in my car, begging me not to tell you about our conversation.'"

Wanji stared at the statement, his heart pounding.

Mr. Fang met his eyes, his voice gentle but firm. "These are two different stories, Wanji. The police are going to think you're lying, and when people think you're lying, they'll start to believe you had a motive to kidnap Victor."

Wanji exhaled sharply, frustration rising in his chest. "I only said that because I didn't want everyone to know what Victor had really done," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I understand that," Mr. Fang replied. "But now, you've given them two different narratives. That doesn't look good in a case like this. I'll try to negotiate bail, but things don't look great right now."

"Thank you," Wanji replied quietly, his voice hollow, Wanji allowed himself to be led back to his holding cell, the metal door closing behind him with a resounding clang that echoed in the silence. His thoughts were in disarray, looping endlessly around the same question: how had things gone so wrong?

Meanwhile, Lan Qiren sat in his study, furiously pacing back and forth. His temper flared with each step, ignited by the growing scandal and the stubborn refusal of Wei Ying to settle the case out of court. The news of Wanji's alleged kidnapping of Victor had spread like wildfire, staining the Lan family name with accusations and rumors.

Qiren slammed his fist on the desk. "Wei Ying! He's only making this worse."

Days blurred into each other as the investigation into Victor's disappearance deepened. Every attempt to validate Wanji's story came up empty. Victor's past was clean, his record unblemished. Nothing supported Wanji's version of events.