CHAPTER 49: CHAPTER 49: BUYER INFORMATION

Her words were like a basin of ice water poured over his head. His outstretched hand froze in mid-air, only inches away from the cheek she had just evaded.

Just a defense attorney...

Time stood still once again.

Justin Holden’s hand remained frozen there, Jean Ellison’s back pressed tightly against the cold door frame, her chest heaving with rapid breaths, her eyes locked onto his face.

He saw the coldness and resolve in her eyes. There was not a trace of the warmth or wavering he had longed to see in his moment of loss of control, only pure detachment and anger.

A belated sense of embarrassment and a chilling self-loathing strangled him, almost to the point of suffocation.

He had developed such inappropriate thoughts about a single mother just out of prison.

The outstretched hand slowly dropped down.

His fingertips brushed through the air, stirring a barely perceptible cool breeze.

His Adam’s apple bobbed violently, as if he wanted to say something, to explain that moment of lost control, to unveil his chaotic emotions.

But Jean’s gaze was like a cold iron gate, sealing all his unsaid words in his throat.

Any explanation before her now would only seem more powerless, even... more disgraceful.

In the end, he said nothing.

He just looked at her deeply, his gaze incomprehensibly complex.

There was the awkwardness of being drenched by cold water, the embarrassment of being seen through, an abyssal remorse, and a kind of pain Jean could not understand.

He turned around, not towards the sofa, but directly towards the closed door.

"Where are you going?"

Jean’s voice sounded behind him, still cold, yet tinged with a trace of anxiety.

Tomorrow was the trial, he couldn’t have any mishaps.

Justin’s steps halted, his hand already gripping the cold metal doorknob.

He didn’t turn back, facing away from her, his voice low and hoarse, like sandpaper scraping over rough wood, each word laden with heavy suppression.

"Going out for some air."

He paused for a moment, seemingly trying hard to control something.

"Don’t worry, I will be at the court entrance at nine tomorrow morning."

After saying this, he turned the doorknob without hesitation, pulling the door open.

The chill of early autumn rushed in with the night wind, blowing at his fringe, dispersing the remaining stifling ambiguity in the living room.

The door closed heavily behind him, cutting off his tall silhouette, and with it, the sound and chill of the outside world.

Jean stood stiffly in place, leaning against the cold door frame, taking a long, deep breath only after a while.

The cold air filled her lungs but couldn’t calm the heart pounding wildly in her chest.

She looked down, her gaze once again landing on the lone hair tie on the carpet.

Had he discovered something? Why did his behavior seem so unusual today...?

No, she had to take Jesse and leave this place.

Outside, the light of dawn seeped in dimly from the window, obscuring the outlines of the room.

Jean struggled to lift her head from the flannel sheets. On the nightstand, her phone’s screen glowed with a glaring white light, vibrating incessantly with a low buzzing sound.

Frowning, Jean groped for the phone.

A string of unfamiliar, out-of-town landline numbers flashed on the screen.

She blinked hard, trying to shake off the lingering drowsiness. Her fingers slid across the screen, pressing the cold receiver to her ear.

"Hello?"

Her voice was thick with sleep and a hoarse interruption.

"Hello, is this Ms. Ellison?"

A professional-sounding male voice came from the other end, his pace moderate, with a crisp business-like tone.

"Yes, this is. Who’s speaking?"

Jean propped herself up in bed, rubbing her throbbing temples.

At this time, an unfamiliar call always gave her an ominous feeling, especially on the brink of a critical trial.

"Hello, Ms. Ellison, this is Wright from Haven Homes Realty, previously responsible for the sale of your old home on Ardmore Road."

The agent’s voice came through steadily.

Ardmore Road? The old house in her hometown?

The sleepiness dissipated considerably from Jean’s mind.

That house was the only inheritance her grandmother had left her, located on the edge of the old district, nearly thirty years old, with an outdated structure, and a mediocre neighborhood environment.

It had been on the market for so long with few viewers, and the occasional offers came in very low.

She had long been prepared for a long wait or a low-price sale, even thinking it might never sell at all.

And now the agent was calling all of a sudden?

"Yes, I remember. What’s the matter?"

Jean’s voice settled down, carrying an imperceptible hint of caution.

"I’m calling to inform you of some good news!"

The agent Wright’s tone sounded professionally enthusiastic.

"The house on Ardmore Road you entrusted to us was successfully sold yesterday. The buyer was very straightforward, paying the full amount at once, and all the transaction procedures have been completed."

"Sold... it’s sold?"

Jean was momentarily caught off guard.

It was too sudden.

And at this critical juncture?

"Yes, Ms. Ellison, congratulations, and,"

The agent paused, seemingly emphasizing the next point.

"The selling price was exactly eighty thousand."

"Eighty thousand?"

Jean almost blurted it out, her voice sharply rising with disbelief.

She sat up abruptly, her heart clenching tightly as if suddenly gripped by something.

This figure far exceeded her expectations, even her understanding of the house’s value.

That old, decrepit place, its market value might just reach sixty thousand at best, and only with a lucky, undemanding buyer.

Eighty thousand? How could that be possible?

"Yes, exactly eighty thousand."

The agent Wright clearly repeated, his tone assured, with no hint of hesitation or jest.

"Who is the buyer?"

Jean immediately pressed, her brows furrowing tightly, her sleepiness completely replaced by intense puzzlement and unease.

"Why would they offer such a high price? That house isn’t worth it at all. Is there some issue? A property dispute? Or...?"

Her mind raced, trying to find a reasonable explanation.

The sky doesn’t just drop pie, especially when her life was teetering on the brink.

The other end of the line went silent for two seconds, seemingly sensing Jean’s strong skepticism.

The agent Wright’s voice sounded again, carrying a formulaic apology and a touch of imperceptible remoteness.

"I’m very sorry, Ms. Ellison. The buyer explicitly requested during the transaction to keep their personal information strictly confidential. We cannot disclose any information about the buyer’s identity, background, or purchase motives. This was stipulated in the confidentiality clause of the contract, which we must abide by."

"Confidential?"

Jean’s heart sank.

This deliberate concealment only made her more uneasy.

"Not even why they offered such a high price? This doesn’t make sense. Did your agency verify the buyer’s qualifications? Is this transaction truly legal and compliant?"

"Ms. Ellison, please rest assured."

The agent’s voice remained steady.

"Our company follows strict procedures, conducting necessary checks on the buyer’s qualifications and source of funds, ensuring the transaction is entirely legal and compliant. All procedures followed formal processes, and the contract has been filed and validated with the housing authority. As for the price, it was an agreement reached voluntarily between the buyer and seller. We, as agents, are only responsible for facilitation and service. The buyer has their reasons for offering that price, which we are not privy to, nor can we provide answers on your behalf."

Jean’s fingers gripping the phone were turning white with pressure.

The watertight response from the other side did not dispel her doubts. Instead, it wrapped the matter in a fog, making it even more mysterious.

An unidentified person, using a price far exceeding market expectations, bought her nearly unmarketable old house just before her trial?

What is really hidden behind this?