Chapter 5 — 12 Million Yuan Compensation And 30 Years Confidentiality

I was "invited" out of the Hoan Cau Financial Center by security. Standing under the building. The sunlight was so bright that it hurt my eyes. I raised my head to look at the towering building in front of me. At this time, Cao Phuc Lam must have been completely confused. What I just said. My father actually mentioned the fire that year. It was also said that truth does not lie in what people see. But whether he kept the newspaper or not... I'm not entirely sure. It's just a psychological trick. A risky move aimed at collapsing Cao Phuc Lam's last line of defense. Looks like now. I bet right. His reaction proved it all. The fire that year. It is his grave. I immediately took a taxi. Return to the old house that my parents left behind. It is a two-bedroom apartment located in the old neighborhood. The place containing all my and their memories. The door just opened. Familiar furniture immediately came into view. The air still seemed to carry the scent of the food my mother used to cook. The bridge of my nose is stinging. But this is not the time to be weak. I forced myself to calm down. Go straight to dad's office. The room is not big. An old bookshelf. A desk. Dad is an extremely tidy person. Everything is carefully classified. Arrange neatly. I started searching on the bookshelf. Every old book. Every old file. I pulled out the desk drawers again. Inside are invoices, letters and advanced labor medals that Dad received when he worked at the factory. Still can't see the newspaper. Could it be... I guessed wrong? Maybe dad just accidentally mentioned it. But I didn't actually keep that newspaper. My heart gradually sank. If no evidence can be found. Just based on speculation. I absolutely cannot shake Cao Phuc Lam. He has countless ways to push the matter down. Maybe even come back to deal with me. I am not satisfied. Continue searching the room again. Every little corner. Every gap. Until my eyes stopped at an old wooden chest under the table. That is my father's "treasure chest". Where he kept the most precious items to him. I remember very clearly. That box is always locked. I sat down. Sure enough, I saw a small yellow brass lock. Where's the key? I try to remember. Where will you hide the key? He has a very special habit. Things are more important. He prefers to keep it in the most ordinary place. I stood up. Take a look around the room. My eyes finally stopped at the pen holder on the desk. I stepped forward. Pick up the pen tube. Pour out the entire pen inside. At the bottom of the pen tube. A small shiny copper key was quietly lying there. Found it! My heart was pounding. With slightly shaking hands, he picked up the key and put it into the lock. The lock popped open. I took a deep breath. Then slowly open the lid of the trunk. There was no gold, silver or jewels inside. There are only photos that have faded over the years. These are photos that record my growth process since I was a child. Along with a few letters I wrote to my parents. Lying under those items. I saw a set of documents carefully wrapped in a brown kraft paper bag. I took out the paper bag. Open the sealing layer. It's an old newspaper folded neatly. Giang Thanh Daily Newspaper. Release date is in the fall of the thirties last year. Right on the front page. A loud headline caught my eye.

“Hong Tinh Mechanical Factory suddenly had a fire, serious damage, luckily no one died!”

I quickly read the content below. According to the official conclusion. The cause of the fire was due to a short circuit in the old electrical system, leading to an unexpected accident. At the end of the article is a list of injured people. My father's name is Hua Kien Quan. Right in there. Degree of injury: minor burns. Above his name. I see another name. Cao Phuc Lam. Also a minor burn. That doesn't prove anything. I continued reading. My finger stopped. At the bottom of the list. There was a name that my father circled very boldly with a red pen. Degree of injury: severe burns. And right next to that name.