Looking at Qiao Mo, he earnestly said, "Qiao Mo, setting aside the causes and effects, I want to ask you a question first."
Qiao Mo felt inexplicably nervous, seemingly infected by his seriousness: "Ask."
"What you just recounted was entirely from Qiao Dehou’s perspective, without any concrete evidence. Now, I ask you, do you truly believe Qiao Dehou’s words? Do you believe that he really didn’t commit murder?"
Qiao Mo was taken aback, not expecting him to pose such a question.
But on second thought, it made sense that all the evidence currently was against Qiao Dehou, who insisted on denying anything.
"I believe him. My father isn’t what you would strictly call a good man—he drinks, gambles, and womanizes, indulging in almost everything. But for any woman who’s been with him, he’s never mistreated any of them. He’s honest and sincere with his friends, and as for the little sches within the family, he never cares. I know for him to survive all these years, he can’t be entirely good-hearted, but in my view, he has his own bottom line. If he really committed murder, he wouldn’t deny it."
Qiao Mo’s gaze drifted away, unconsciously recalling scenes related to Qiao Dehou.
He liked to drink and often ca back in the middle of the night, but no matter whether she was asleep or not, he always ca to her room to ask about her day.
He also liked to brag, wearing a thick gold chain around his neck, which was tacky beyond words, and then he loved to pile shiny things on her.
He liked to play cards, and while others frowned over losing money, he was the only one smiling contentedly despite his losses.
He had many won but was always good to Song Yuqin and even better to every woman who had been with him.
As for his grandmother’s favoritism toward his uncle, he turned a blind eye as if he hadn’t noticed, continuing to show filial respect to his parents.
Facing his aunt’s petty calculations, he always waved his hand and easily handed over considerable family assets, which often made his aunt think he was foolish.
But only she knew, Qiao Dehou wasn’t foolish; he was too clear-headed.
He saw through everyone’s thoughts effortlessly but pretended not to know, maintaining a rare obliviousness.
Thus, with him around, the Qiao family appeared harmonious.
But now that sothing had happened to him, the Qiao family was in constant conflict and falling apart.
"In that case, let’s have a al together, and after that, I’d like to et your father," Han Zirui said gently.
Qiao Mo snapped back to reality, realizing that the conversation had already dragged on until noon.
Halfway through the al, Qiao Mo glanced at her phone but still hadn’t received any ssages.
She couldn’t help but feel a bit lost.
If he hadn’t said anything, did that an she didn’t have to go back tonight?
On one side, Qiao Mo and Han Zirui were having lunch, while on the other, Fu Nancheng had no appetite at all. Seated at the head of the eting room, his expression was gloomy, his gaze cold, his thin lips pressed together without a word.
The executive directors and managers, all elites, were on edge, not daring to take a deep breath.
One manager was giving a report, but Fu Nancheng’s gaze involuntarily fell on the phone in front of him.
It seed to fear disturbing his work, remaining completely silent all morning.
"President, these are the docunts for this project."
He withdrew his gaze, looked at the docunt in his hand, his brow furrowed, and his aura grew even colder.
Zhuo Lin, the secretary beside him, was cautious, not daring to breathe deeply. The entire eting room was silent, cold and stifling, yet causing quite a few shirts to be drenched.
Fu Nancheng pressed his thin lips together, casting a frosty look at the manager who had spoken, then coldly put the docunt down, saying in a deep voice, "Redo it."
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