Chapter 20

There was a large supermarket near Caleb's neighborhood where agricultural products from Southern Prison were sold.

Caleb had long known that the strawberry jam he ate was produced by the inmates. However, the glass jar he held in his hands now was different from the ones sold at the supermarket. It was unlabeled, and the fruit chunks were coarser than the store-bought version. It was clear that this wasn't a factory-produced item.

According to Bob, this strawberry jam was handmade by Marcus.

Placing the jar on the passenger seat, Caleb started his car and drove out of the prison parking lot. Recently, he had been grappling with a vague notion that Marcus might know he was his neighbor. Whether it was the smell of his cologne or the proximity of their residences, Marcus' probing had been too precise, as if he had a clear purpose from the start.

Also, Caleb's responses hadn't exactly been satisfactory.

When Marcus asked why his bedroom smelled of Caleb's cologne, he had avoided answering. Logically, Caleb should have been puzzled by Marcus' question. After all, he shouldn't have known someone had thrown a bottle of cologne into Marcus' bedroom.

As for the question of distance, Caleb's answer had directly exposed his knowledge of Marcus' address. He could have offered various excuses, such as being a correctional officer who had seen Marcus' detailed file, but Marcus didn't give him the chance to brush off the question. After extracting the information he wanted, Marcus had stopped asking further.

It felt as if Marcus already had the answers in mind and was merely confirming them.

It was giving Caleb a headache.

If Caleb's first impression of Marcus was that he was an attractive man, and his second was that Marcus was dangerous, his third impression was that Marcus was a real puzzle.

As he drove towards his own neighborhood, Caleb began to accept the possibility that he might have already exposed himself. But he still couldn't figure out when or why it happened, nor how much Marcus knew about his little quirks.

Regardless, one thing was clear: Caleb had been the first to say he believed Marcus and expressed his trust. That was likely why Marcus had revealed so much.

As Caleb parked slowly at the entrance of the large supermarket and unfastened his seatbelt, he decided not to waste any more of his mental energy on Marcus. Weekends were meant for relaxation. Thinking about matters happening at his workplace on his days off was simply not Caleb's style.

Caleb did his grocery shopping at the supermarket and picked up everything on his list, except for one thing: strawberry jam. A jar of jam could last him half a month. With the jar already in his car, buying more would just lead to it sitting around and potentially going past its shelf life.

Once home, Caleb unloaded his bags onto the coffee table and took the jar of strawberry jam—without a production date, quality certification, or manufacturer details—into the kitchen.

Retrieving a spoon from the cabinet, he scooped out a small amount of jam and tasted it. Sweetness immediately filled his mouth, and only after savoring it did he detect the faint tart taste of strawberries.

The jam was very sweet.

Caleb frowned, his shoulders instinctively shrugging up as goosebumps formed on his back. Had Marcus made it so sickeningly sweet on purpose? Everyone had different tolerances for flavors, but this jam was far too sweet for Caleb.

He hesitated momentarily, but ultimately went back to the supermarket to buy a few lemons. He then reprocessed the jar of strawberry jam, adding lemons to balance out the sweetness to a more tolerable level.

That weekend, Caleb spent most of the day maintaining his lawn. He also washed out his garage and the road in front of his house.

The small villa across the street remained as desolate as ever. Weeds had overgrown in the yard, and the once-yellow curtains in the bedroom had faded to a deep gray. The items scattered inside the house seemed to have been left untouched, likely gathering dust.

Caleb wondered how Marcus would feel if he saw his house in such a state once he was released.

But then again, the small villa had been seized by the court. It might be auctioned off before its owner even got out of prison. Even if he eventually cleared his name, the law stipulated that the new owner would not be obligated to return the property, so Marcus might no longer be his neighbor.

Maybe Caleb was thinking too far ahead.

For now, with the villa across the street remaining vacant, Caleb had gradually become accustomed to having no one to spy on. His voyeuristic tendencies didn't seem as severe as he had imagined. Just as he wasn't interested in watching inmates smoke and play cards in the recreational room, he had no inclination to spy if there was no one to pique his interest.

That night, Caleb wound up his old watch before going to bed. Lately, the watch had been running increasingly slower. Previously, it needed winding every two or three days. Now, it seemed to require winding daily. It might just be a common issue with old watches, but Caleb might have to buy a new one if it continued.

Placing the watch on the bedside table, he lay down in bed.

The benefit of living in the suburbs was the tranquil night and the absence of annoying light pollution.

As Caleb closed his eyes, his world was reduced to a peaceful darkness. But before he could slip into sleep, the darkness before him suddenly started to flicker, interwoven with ominous red glows.

Immediately sensing that something was wrong, his eyes shot open and he quickly sat up. He pulled the curtains aside, only to see the small villa across the street engulfed in roaring flames. The open bedroom window was spewing out fiery tongues.

"Fire! Quick, call the fire department!"

Neighbors were already rushing out in their pajamas to fight the flames. Caleb quickly dialed the number for emergency services as he got out of bed to join the fire-fighting efforts.

The fire trucks arrived swiftly. The firefighters took over the hoses from the residents, as well as used the high-pressure water guns on their fire trucks. Within an hour, the fire was finally brought under control.

The neighbors gathered around, discussing the situation. Caleb overheard snippets of information, such as some people speculating that such a large fire must have involved accelerants. Otherwise, it wouldn't have burned so quickly or taken so long to extinguish.

After returning home, Caleb called William to inform him of the fire at Marcus' house. William rushed over from the city and was soon standing in front of the ruins of the villa, looking extremely agitated.

"I brought up the investigation into Prospera Enterprise again with my superiors, but we can't file a case without evidence."

"What kind of evidence is needed?" Caleb asked.

He didn't know much about economic cases, but understood that regulatory bodies wouldn't investigate an organization without cause. There had to be suspicious activities to trigger an investigation.

"The last investigation into Prospera Enterprise was prompted by significant abnormal fluctuations in some of the stocks they were short-selling. Now that Marcus is in prison, it's unlikely the case will be reopened unless there are new abnormal fluctuations in the stock market or other suspicious leads. Without such developments, Prospera Enterprise won't face further investigation," William explained.

Caleb frowned in thought for a moment, then asked, "So, the key factor is still the evidence Marcus claimed to have, right?"

"Exactly. I'm inclined to believe he does have crucial evidence. Otherwise, it's quite a coincidence that just days after I raised the issue with my superiors, Marcus' house was burned down," William replied.

It was the third time someone had invaded Marcus' home. The people had clearly failed to find what they were looking for during their previous two attempts, so they decided to destroy Marcus' house with fire.

"What kind of evidence are we talking about?" Caleb asked.

"He mentioned in our last call that he has photos and recordings of Preston Walker, the head of Prospera Enterprise, dining with some important figure," William said.

"Could it be stored online somewhere?" Caleb asked.

"We checked his computer and found no evidence that those files were uploaded. Besides, online data is easily erased. He must have kept physical copies."

"I see. So, it's probably on a memory card," Caleb mused.

"What a headache," William grumbled, scratching the back of his head. "His social circle is quite simple, and we've checked everything we could. It's not like he could have brought it into prison. Could it really have been destroyed in the fire?"

Caleb looked at Marcus' house, where even the window frames had warped from the heat. If the evidence was indeed in the house, even if it had been well-hidden, it was likely worthless now.

"Don't worry. He must have backup copies."

William turned away from the burnt house and looked at Caleb, puzzled. "How do you know?"

"Just a hunch," Caleb replied.

Given Marcus' sharp mind, he would definitely have hidden the evidence in the safest place. The key was whether he trusted William enough to hand over the information.

Taking a deep breath, Caleb looked at William and suggested, "Say, isn't it time for you guys to do some internal checks?"

William couldn't help cursing under his breath before saying, "I know there's definitely a mole."

If Caleb were in Marcus' position, he wouldn't be willing to give up his leverage so easily either.

"I previously requested a meeting, but he didn't agree," William said. "I want to try again next week. Can you help convince him?"

Caleb hesitated. Honestly, he wasn't keen on helping William with this.

It wasn't that he didn't want to get involved—it was more about Marcus' mistrust of William. If Caleb were to act as a mediator and something went wrong, he would have trouble explaining himself to Marcus.

"Don't worry, I'll just have a casual chat with him. He'd probably like to know about the current situation with Prospera Enterprise," William assured.

Caleb considered it carefully. Understanding the situation outside could be beneficial for Marcus. Besides, that man was smart enough to make sound judgments on his own.

With that thought in mind, Caleb finally agreed, "Alright, I'll talk to him."

Caleb didn't like involving himself in inmates' personal matters. The chances of encountering a false conviction were very slim. He could recognize those who were genuinely remorseful, but that didn't mean they deserved his sympathy.

Caleb had been working at Southern Prison for a little more than six months, and Marcus was the only one who had been wrongfully imprisoned. It was the first time Caleb had encountered such a situation. His sense of misplaced justice was nudging him to perhaps offer Marcus some assistance.

On Monday of the new week, Marcus arrived at the library as usual.

Caleb took his seat in his office area as always and started to enter his password. Looking at the computer screen, he asked, "How did you know I liked strawberry jam?"

"I happened to see you buying it at the supermarket," Marcus replied in a flat tone, stretching his recently freed wrists.

That was no longer a test or a hint—it was a direct acknowledgment from Marcus that he lived near Caleb.

Caleb's hands halted momentarily over the keyboard before he pressed the "Enter" key. The computer chimed with a pleasant start-up sound.

Leaning back in his chair, Caleb looked at Marcus and told him, "Your house burned down yesterday."

Neither of them mentioned the address, but they had implicitly exchanged the information. They were no longer hiding anything, each actively acknowledging that they knew they were neighbors.

"What happened?"

"It was probably the same group as before."

Marcus fell into deep thought at Caleb's words.

Bored, Caleb drummed his fingers on the table as he quipped, "By the way, that strawberry jam you made was too sweet. I had to fix it myself."

"Really?" Marcus raised an eyebrow, looking at Caleb. "I thought you had a sweet tooth, so I added extra sugar just for you."

"What gave you the idea that I like sweet things?" asked Caleb, stunned.

"No idea," Marcus replied, tilting his head slightly as he looked Caleb up and down. "You just seem... sweet."