Chapter 7 — The Photograph Without a Third Person

Minh Tuan agreed to accompany Ha to the Phan Group office as her consulting lawyer, a reasonable and legal reason for him to be present in the meeting without causing the other side to suspect anything further. Before leaving, he gave her careful instructions.

"Don't confirm or deny anything about the identity of the man in the photo," he said as the two sat in the car, preparing to enter the downtown area where the corporate headquarters building was located. "Let them speak first. The more they talk, the more they reveal what they know and what they fear."

Mr. Tran Dat's office is located on the top floor of the building, a spacious space with glass walls overlooking the entire city. Mr. Dat, a man in his sixties with neatly combed silver hair, stood up and shook hands with both of them with a fake warmth that Ha clearly felt from the first moment.

"Miss Ha, nice to meet you," he said, inviting them to sit down on the luxurious leather sofa. "I heard you're a photographer with a lot of professional principles. That's really valuable these days."

"Thank you," Ha replied briefly, not revealing his emotions.

Mr. Dat poured tea for the guests, his gestures were slow as if he was deliberately prolonging the time to observe Ha's reaction. "I know Mrs. Kim Oanh came to see you about the photo issue. I apologize if her approach made you feel uncomfortable. Sometimes, mothers who are worried about their children often act more hastily than necessary."

"I don't feel uncomfortable, sir. I just don't understand why a photo of a lost guest is so important that it needs to be bought out and completely deleted."

The smile on Mr. Dat's lips stiffened for a very short moment, but enough for Ha to recognize. "That's simply the caution of a famous family, Ms. Ha. We don't want any unnecessary misleading images to appear, even if it's just a stranger accidentally entering the frame."

"Then why don't you simply tell me the person's name, so I can verify and explain clearly if necessary?" Ha asked directly, carefully observing Mr. Dat's reaction.

This time, the silence lasted much longer. Mr. Dat put the cup of tea on the table, his eyes briefly revealing a sharp calculation behind his affable appearance. "Miss Ha, I think you are a smart person, so I will speak frankly. There are family secrets that should not be stirred up, because that stirring up not only affects our family, but can also affect the safety of those who accidentally know them."

Minh Tuan, sitting next to Ha, spoke with the calm but sharp voice of a professional lawyer. "Mr. Dat, I hope that what I just said did not imply a threat to my client. If any pressure or intimidation occurs, we will not hesitate to take this matter to law."

Mr. Dat laughed, a short and cold laugh. "You misunderstood, young lawyer. I was just showing sincere concern for Ms. Ha's safety. This world is more complicated than what you young people can imagine."

That statement, despite being wrapped in politeness, made the atmosphere in the room become visibly tense. Ha felt anger rising in her heart, but she tried to suppress it, remembering Minh Tuan's advice.

"I thank you for your concern," she said, her voice still outwardly calm. "But I believe that the truth, no matter how complicated, is not as scary as living your whole life with a well-covered lie."

Mr. Dat's eyes narrowed, staring at Ha as if trying to assess how much she knew. "You talk as if you already know a lot, Ms. Ha."

"I'm just saying what I believe is right," Ha replied, not avoiding his eyes.

The meeting ended not long after, without reaching any specific agreements, but both sides had a better understanding of the other. On the way out of the building, Minh Tuan sighed with a serious expression.

"He didn't deny there was a secret," he said. "And the way he talks about 'safety' makes me even more worried about you. This is not the type of person who would stop just because he was rejected once."

"I know," Ha replied, looking back at the tall building behind her through the car's rearview mirror. "But I'm even more certain that I'm on the right track. People aren't scared enough to threaten an ordinary photographer, unless the truth they're hiding is truly terrible."

That evening, while Ha was sitting alone in the studio, her phone received a text message from an unknown number with no sender name: "Don't go near Lam Dien project. For your safety." Ha looked at that line for a long time, a feeling of fear creeping into her heart, but at the same time it was also the clearest confirmation ever that she was getting very close to the heart of the whole secret.

She saved the message as evidence, then opened the map on her phone and searched for the phrase "Lam Dien project". A location appeared, about a forty-minute drive from the city center — a completed apartment complex that appeared to have never been lived in, lying silently behind an old corrugated iron fence that had rusted over time.

Ha took a screenshot of the message and immediately sent it to Minh Tuan with a short caption: "They just confirmed that Lam Dien is the key." A few minutes later, her phone rang.

"You are not allowed to go there alone," Minh Tuan said as soon as Ha picked up the phone, his voice had a rare urgency. "This threatening text message is important evidence, but it also shows that they are watching your every move. If you go near that structure alone, no one knows what could happen."

"I know," Ha replied, although in her heart she had already begun to imagine her next plan. "But if Lam Dien is really where the incident that caused Phan Gia Bao to 'disappear' occurred, then it may be the only place that retains physical evidence — cracks, old construction records, anything that can prove what you suspect."

"Then let me make the arrangements. I have a friend who works at the construction department and can get a legal survey permit so we can go inside without being considered trespassing." Minh Tuan stopped for a moment. "Give me a few days. Don't act hastily."

Ha agreed, although the impatience in her heart did not subside. After hanging up the phone, she sat quietly in the darkness of the studio, the only light coming from the phone screen that still displayed the threatening text message. She read it again, trying to analyze each word the way she analyzed the lighting and composition in every photo she took.

"Don't go near Lam Dien project." Not a vague warning, but a specific name, a specific location — the clearest evidence yet that it was that name that was scaring someone behind the scenes into action.

She thought of Nam, wondering if he knew anything about this project, if this was the place that took away his normal life. She wanted to ask him right away, but she held back, remembering Minh Tuan's advice about not forcing him to open up too soon.

Instead, she reopened old photos of the Lam Dien project that she found through a few rare articles left online — photos of the loud groundbreaking ceremony from six years ago, with red ribbons, the group's leadership team smiling at the camera, and a large sign proudly reading: "The project symbolizes the sustainable future of Phan Group." There were no photos of the project upon completion, no inauguration ceremony, no residents moving in — it was as if the entire project had quietly disappeared from all public records, exactly the way the name Phan Gia Bao disappeared four years ago.

"Two disappearances, at the same time," she muttered to herself, piecing together the events in her head. "It can't be a coincidence."

She closed the computer, but couldn't sleep right away. Lying on her bed, she reviewed all the pieces of the puzzle she had collected over the past two weeks: the photo with the man who appeared just once, the poorly reported death of Phan Gia Bao, the fifty million rejected, the threatening meeting with Mr. Tran Dat, and now a building called Lam Dien that seemed to have disappeared from all the city's collective memories.

Each piece, when standing alone, can be explained by some harmless reason. But when placed side by side, they paint a picture that Ha cannot deny: a serious incident happened at that project, serious enough to force an entire corporation to stage the death of the person in charge of engineering, bury all traces of the media, and now ready to threaten a photographer who accidentally touched the truth.

She thought about the people who might have been affected by the incident — if there had indeed been a collapse or serious damage as she suspected, would anyone have been injured, or worse, lost their lives in this cover-up? That thought made her whole body cold. This is no longer simply a story about a strange wedding photo. This could be a story of buried justice for nameless victims, and of an innocent man who paid with his life to keep quiet for the sins of others.

Before falling asleep, Ha told herself that no matter how dangerous the road ahead was, she would not stop until she found out the whole truth — not just for Nam, but for everyone who had been forced to stay silent for the past four years.