American comic book: I, with my abundant martial virtue, love to do good to others.

Chapter 209 Forgotten Clues

Kate pursed her lips, not responding immediately. The two stood at the entrance of the apartment building, the night breeze making the atmosphere slightly quieter.

"Do you always think like that?" Kate asked softly, her voice much gentler than usual. "You always have the worst-case scenario in mind for everything?"

"This isn't an idea, it's experience." Lynn's tone was calm, but it carried an undeniable coldness. "When you've seen enough danger and betrayal, you'll know that any relaxation can be fatal."

Kate looked at him, a complex emotion flashing in her eyes. She knew Lynn's words made sense.

But she also knew that such a life would make people feel exhausted and lonely.

"Maybe you're right," Kate said softly, but then a slight smile appeared on her lips. "However, sometimes taking a break isn't necessarily a bad thing."

Lynn's gaze fell on her face, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he just nodded. "Go back, make sure the door is locked."

"Thank you for bringing me back." Kate smiled slightly, reached out and opened the apartment door, but before stepping inside, she suddenly turned back to look at Lynn. "Lynn."

"What?"

"If one day you need to relax," Kate's voice was gentle, yet carried a meaningful frankness, "you know how to find me."

Lynn was slightly taken aback, but before she could answer, Kate had already turned and entered the building, the door closing gently, leaving only her back view.

Lynn stood in the doorway, silently watching it close. His brow furrowed slightly, then relaxed. He didn't know what Kate meant by those words; perhaps they were just casual remarks. But those casual words, like a seed, had planted something lingering in his mind.

The following evening, after a long day of investigation, Lynn surprisingly called Kate. He didn't intend to explain much, simply saying, "I'm near your house, I'd like to talk."

Kate was clearly surprised at first, but there was a hint of lightness in her voice on the other end of the phone, "Okay, come on up then. But don't expect any fancy dinner to treat you."

.，

Lynn hung up the phone and walked up to Kate's apartment building. The dust on the red brick walls was especially noticeable in the dim light. Lynn noticed that Kate's apartment door had an extra lock compared to the night before, which made him nod slightly.

When the door opened, Kate, wearing a loose dark gray sweater and holding a cup of hot tea, leaned against the doorframe and looked at him. "You're very direct, Agent Lynn. Please come in."

Lynn walked into the house and looked around. Kate's apartment wasn't big, but it was decorated warmly. Several black and white photos hung on the wall, one of which caught Lynn's attention—a family portrait, with a blonde little girl standing between two adults, smiling brightly.

Kate followed his gaze, gently set down her teacup, and said, "That's a picture of me when I was a child."

"Your family?" Lynn asked, her gaze fixed on the photograph.

"Yes, my parents," Kate replied casually, but Lynn caught a subtle emotion in her tone.

He didn't press further, but turned around and sat on the sofa. "You don't seem like the kind of person who would let just anyone into their home."

Kate smiled and handed him the teacup. "You're not a casual person, are you?"

Lynn took the teacup, took a sip, and the warmth of the tea eased his nerves, which had been tense all day.

"That photo—" Lynn began, her tone tinged with a hint of probing, "It seems you have a good relationship with your family."

Kate leaned back on the other side of the sofa, her gaze drifting out the window. "Yes, those were really good times."

Lynn was silent for a while, knowing that she had more to say, but needed time.

"Actually, that's one of the reasons I became a journalist," Kate finally spoke, her voice becoming soft and low.

Lynn looked up at her, waiting for her to continue.

“When I was little, my family wasn’t rich, but we were happy. My dad was a high school teacher, and my mom was a community volunteer. That photo was taken on my ninth birthday, when we had just moved to a new city. Everything seemed so wonderful,” Kate said softly, a nostalgic smile playing on her lips.

"But things changed." She paused, a hint of anger creeping into her voice. "One day,"

My father died in a car accident. But the newspapers reported that he was driving under the influence of alcohol, and even said he might have connections to some criminal organization. These are completely false; they're just stories made up by journalists to attract readers.

Lynn frowned. "Isn't anyone going to clarify these things for you?"

"Who cares?" Kate's smile held a hint of self-mockery. "The newspapers are sold, public opinion is set, who cares about the truth? We tried to clarify, but those media outlets simply refused to retract their reports. My mother kept seeking help from lawyers to protect me, and even went on television to defend my father, but it was all in vain. Once that label was on, it could never be removed."

She paused to speak, took a small sip of tea, as if using this brief action to calm herself down.

"From that moment on, I vowed that if I ever got into this industry, I would never be a journalist who distorts the facts. I would expose the truth and let people know that news is not just about headlines and stories; it also affects real people." Kate looked up at Lynn, her eyes filled with a firm yet complex emotion.

Lynn listened quietly, her own past unconsciously surfacing in her mind. She understood the feeling; the pain of losing a loved one, coupled with societal misunderstanding, was a double blow. She knew that such experiences would shape a person, making her stronger and more resolute.

"So," Lynn began, his tone less harsh than usual and more gentle, "that's why you're always willing to take risks, even putting yourself in danger?"

"More or less." Kate chuckled softly, but there was a hint of weariness in her smile. "It's probably a kind of compensatory psychology. I think if I can reveal some real truths, even just once, it would be a small way of making amends for the injustices I suffered as a child."

Lynn nodded, looking down at the teacup in his hand. He wanted to say something, but for a moment he didn't know how to begin. He rarely faced emotional issues like this, especially with someone as strong-willed as Kate.

"And you?" Kate asked suddenly, her tone more relaxed, but her gaze serious. "What made you choose the FBI? I guess it's not just because you're good at catching bad guys."

Lynn smiled slightly, but there was a hint of bitterness in his smile. "Perhaps it's like you, out of a sense of responsibility. I lost my parents when I was young, and George adopted me. He's a policeman, and I watched him work since I was little. I've always felt that upholding justice is something that—someone must do."

Kate nodded. "So you chose this path, even though it leaves you with almost no time for yourself."

"I'm used to it." Lynn's tone was flat, but a complex emotion flashed in her eyes.

Kate looked at him and suddenly laughed. "You know what, Lynn? You look like someone in armor, but actually, I think deep down you crave genuine emotions more than anyone else."

Lynn paused for a moment, then shook her head. "You're analyzing me again."

"Occupational hazard," Kate said softly, a hint of teasing in her eyes.

A brief silence fell over the room, but it wasn't awkward; rather, it carried a subtle tranquility. The wind outside gently tapped against the glass, and the lamplight cast warm shadows between the two.

"Thank you for telling me all this," Lynn finally spoke, his voice low and sincere.

Kate looked up at him and smiled slightly. "I think you might understand."

Lynn didn't answer, but his gaze told Kate that he truly understood. They might be two completely different people, but their heavy past had created an indescribable resonance between them.

As Lynn stood up to leave, Kate walked to the door, leaned against the doorframe, and looked at him. "Lynn...what?"

"Next time you come, I'll prepare dinner," Kate said with a smile, her tone relaxed.

Lynn raised an eyebrow. "Are you inviting me, or giving me orders?"

"Interpret it however you like," Kate waved at him, a meaningful glint in her eyes.

Lynn sat in the archives room of the FBI headquarters, surrounded by heavy filing cabinets and paper files.

A dim light shone down from above, and on the table lay an old file with the words "Miller, Carl Car Accident Case" printed on the cover.

His fingertips traced the cover of the document, paused slightly, and then opened the file. The document had a musty smell; the edges of the pages were yellowed, but the handwriting was still clear. The time and place of the accident, eyewitness accounts, and investigation report were all neatly arranged.

Lynn's eyes darted rapidly across the report. His hand frequently flipped through pages, unwilling to miss a single detail. He wasn't adept at handling personal emotional matters, but he knew that Kate's past was an indelible pain for her. And he had a nagging feeling that there might be some truth hidden behind this case that Kate was unaware of.

"Miller, Carl," Lynn murmured the name, as if trying to etch it into his mind. He then quickly skimmed through the initial description of the case.

On July 14, 2003, Carl Miller was driving an older blue Buick when he collided with a truck at an intersection in Brooklyn. He died at the scene.

.

He frowned slightly; this seemingly simple description always felt like something was missing. Turning the page again, he quickly saw photos of the accident scene: the blue Buick was almost completely crushed, while the truck only had minor damage to its front bumper. In the photos, the driver's blood blurred the windshield; the scene was horrific and chaotic.

"The truck driver's statement—" Lynn murmured, flipping through the relevant records.

The truck driver, Irwin Clark, claimed that he saw the Buick run a red light at an extremely high speed without any sign of slowing down. The truck braked, but it was too late to avoid it.

Lynn stared at the statement, his brow furrowing even more. He had a vague feeling that something was amiss, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He continued flipping through the pages until a breathalyzer report came into view.

"Karl Miller's blood alcohol content: 0.12%".

Lynn stared at the text, a sense of unease rising within him. His intuition told him that this alcohol report might be the key to the problem.

"How's it going with the files?" A deep voice came from behind, pulling Lynn back to reality.

He turned his head and saw Hans standing at the door of the archives room, holding a cup of coffee, raising an eyebrow at him.

"When did you become interested in old cases?" Hans walked in, placed his coffee on the table, and casually glanced at the documents. "A car accident? That's not like you, Lynn."

"Personal reasons." Lynn didn't explain further, but continued to flip through the files.

Hans raised an eyebrow, clearly dissatisfied with the answer, but he didn't press further. He pulled out a chair and sat down, staring at the documents in Lynn's hand. "So, what's so special about this case?"

"It looks simple, but it's actually quite strange." Lynn pointed to the alcohol test report. "Karl Miller, an ordinary high school teacher, lives a simple life with almost no criminal record. The report says he was driving under the influence of alcohol and speeding at the time of the accident."

"Perhaps he had a specific reason that night?" Hans shrugged. "We've seen too many similar situations; anyone can suddenly lose control."

"The problem is—" Lynn pointed to the truck driver's statement, "This driver's testimony is too perfect. He described the whole accident accurately, but according to the photos of the scene, the position of the Buick's impact indicates that the truck was the main force of the direct impact—it wasn't Carl Miller who ran the red light, but rather the truck that clearly accelerated and hit the Buick."

Hans's expression turned serious. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "You think the truck driver is lying?"

"I'm not sure yet," Lynn said softly, his gaze still fixed on the report. "But you know what I'm most suspicious of? This alcohol test report doesn't match any of the evidence from the scene."

"Why doesn't it match?"

"If he was really driving under the influence, why were there no signs of swerving on the vehicle? And look at the location of the accident."

"It's a narrow road with only two lanes. Logically, he has no reason to speed here." Lynn looked up, a cold glint in his eyes. "Moreover, this report comes from a private testing agency, not an official forensic department."

Hans raised an eyebrow, clearly realizing the seriousness of the matter. "You mean, someone might have fabricated the evidence?"

"This is just speculation," Lynn said in a low but firm voice, "but this report is too suspicious, I need more information."

"What are your plans next?"

"Check the truck driver's background at the time to see if he had any connections with certain forces. Also,..."

"I also want to check with the police officer who was in charge of this case at the time." Lynn closed the file, his eyes cold. "If this was truly a premeditated incident, I will dig out the truth."

The following day, Lynn retrieved the file of truck driver Irwin Clark from the FBI's internal database. Surprisingly, Clark had filed for bankruptcy a year after the accident and subsequently disappeared.

No trace was left.

"What a coincidence," Lynn muttered to himself as he sat in his office. He listed Clark's address, phone number, and all relevant records, only to find that the information was outdated.

He then retrieved the records of the officer in charge of the accident at the time. The records showed that the case was handled by an older officer named Frank Cowles, but Lynn soon discovered that Cowles had applied for early retirement within three months of the accident, citing "health reasons."

"Both key figures have disappeared so cleanly?" Lynn rubbed his temples, increasingly feeling that there was something fishy going on behind this case.

He made a phone call, and soon Hans's voice came from the other end, "What did you find out?"

"The truck driver disappeared, and the officer in charge of the case retired long ago," Lynn replied briefly. "But I have a feeling that these people might be under some kind of external interference."

"Should I send someone to investigate?" Hans asked.

"No," Lynn said in a deep voice, "I'll handle this myself for now. Too much action might alert them."

After hanging up the phone, Lynn stared at the old photo of the truck driver on the computer screen for a few seconds, then got up and left the office. He knew that to find the truth, he had to go back to the scene and re-investigate the key locations from that year.

Late that night, Lynn drove to the intersection where the accident had occurred. Although many years had passed, the layout of the area hadn't changed much. The streets were still narrow, lined with a few old grocery stores and restaurants, and occasionally a few dim streetlights could be seen.

He stood at the intersection, closed his eyes, and tried to recreate the scene in his mind: a truck was coming from the north, a Buick was coming from the east, and the two vehicles collided in the middle of the intersection. Witness testimonies mentioned that the truck braked in advance, but combined with the photos, the angle and force of the impact on the Buick seemed more like the truck suddenly accelerating.

"There's simply not enough space for a truck driver to brake," Lynn said in a low voice. He stood there, his eyes scanning every detail of the intersection, trying to find any forgotten clues.

Just then, his gaze fell on an old surveillance camera. It hung on the side of the street, and although it was clearly abandoned, Lynn knew that the data stored by this kind of camera was probably kept in an archive or somewhere else.

"Perhaps this is the breakthrough," Lynn murmured to himself, then turned and left.

He didn't know what he would find, but he knew he had embarked on the path to the truth.

I will never look back.

After leaving the scene of the car accident, Lynn immediately contacted the FBI's technical department. He needed someone to track the records of the surveillance camera installed at the accident site years ago. Although many years had passed, he knew that some data, even if buried in a corner of an archive, might not have truly disappeared completely.