A Rich Man's Crime: Face My Wrath

The migrant worker looked humble and honest.

Upon learning the purpose of my visit, however, his expression took a drastic turn. He repeatedly denied ever stepping out that night, and his wife chimed in to back him up. She was adamant that her husband had been with her the entire night.

But he was my last sliver of hope.

I dropped to my knees and begged him for his help.

In response, he, too, got onto his knees. Bowing down to the floor, he pleaded, "Ma'am, please don't make things harder for me than it is. I have over a dozen mouths at home to feed. There's really nothing I can do to help you. I'm broke to the core!"

…

Back at the police station, I shook my head again.

"There's nothing," I helplessly replied, my voice shaky. "There's nothing left."

The officer taking notes heaved out a sigh and handed me a glass of water.

"I understand where you're coming from, but this sounds like it could be either a big case or a small one. You're accusing someone of serious violation and illegal organ transplantation, but there is no direct evidence of such events. We won't be able to open a case like this—we need proof. Why don't you head home for the time being and have a good think about it?"

Think? What was there to think about?

In the heat of the moment, all my pent-up emotions erupted. I cried, "If it were your own daughter, would you be 'thinking about it'? What the hell are you trying to say? That's my daughter! My own flesh and blood!"

6

The moment I left the police station, I knew.

The chances of winning the lawsuit were slimmer than slim.

Today was Mimi's supposed discharge date, but I couldn't even bring myself to take a step toward the hospital.

Until I got a call from them.

"Your daughter attempted suicide. She slit a major artery, but we managed to rescue her."

I ran back to the hospital at lightning speed.

In the hospital bed, Mimi lay still, looking like an old rag doll.

"I've been tainted. I am no longer whole.

"Have I done something wrong, Mom?

"I should have listened to you."

She kept repeating those few sentences over and over, like she was in a trance.

My brain strung together words of comfort, yet nothing fell from my lips.

The young nurse beside me handed me a mobile phone. The screen showed a picture of Mimi in that alleyway that night.

All sorts of forums and websites had disseminated the invasive picture. Under each article were nasty comments; some perverts were even asking for our address!

I clutched the phone tightly, frozen in place.

Then, I received a text message. "How'd you like my surprise, Ms. Lawson? I told you to tame yourself, didn't I? Or do you really want Mia dead?"

Another followed that read, "I will give you one last chance to get your act together. Or else, you won't like what will happen to Mia next."

My eyes trailed over to my daughter helplessly.

Was this tragedy going to repeat itself?

7

72 hours after Cedric's disappearance, the police had come knocking on my door.

I knew they suspected me.

A woman with a motive for revenge.

It was a very simple and compelling cause for action.

At that moment, I was simmering a pot of meat stew. The fragrant aroma was spreading far and wide, drawing in dogs from the surrounding neighborhoods. They scrambled over, fighting for the bones scattered on the ground.

As soon as the police entered, the lead officer strode straight toward me. "Good day. I am Toby Grant, captain of Criminal Investigations Division One. Are you Sheila Lawson?"

I glanced at him and rasped, "What can I do for you, Mr. Grant?"

Before he could reply, I ladled out a few bowls of my stew and distributed them to the officers and the nosy neighbors who had gathered. "Have a taste. I've been simmering it all night."

One of the neighbors hesitated, her eyes darting between the policemen before her and the bowl in her hands. Ultimately, unable to resist the tempting aroma, she began taking big gulps of the stew.

"Cedric Sutton has gone missing. Our investigation shows that he was last seen near your residence."

He added, "Cedric Sutton, the suspect in the assault and illegal organ transplantation case."

When the word "suspect" left his lips, tears welled up in my eyes.

After all this while, this man was the first and only person to refer to him that way.

But his bowl of stew remained upright in front of him. I stared at him and urged, "Aren't you going to give it a try? It's really good."

"Ah... What is in this stew? It smells... strange."

Before he could finish, someone in the crowd let out a shriek and spat out a piece of meat.

I chuckled quietly, my eyes drifting toward the pot on the stove. The stew was still bubbling on low heat.

My lips pulled into a wide grin.

"It's my first time cooking with these ingredients, which I'm not quite familiar with. I suppose I'll let it simmer a little longer next time."

After hearing that, those who had tasted the stew started retching.

As if on cue, the police chased away the dogs gnawing on the bones.

"What a waste; it was good soup," I muttered.

I lifted my gaze and stared into Mr. Grant's eyes.

"Ever heard of 'like cures like'?"