Chapter 16

The young woman was clearly annoyed by the interruption. She yanked the curtain aside and snapped, "Who is it? She's not here!"

I stood at the door, flashed a polite smile, and showed my press card. "Hi, I'm the chief reporter from the Silverlight City Legal Journal. I'm here to interview Tammy."

"The demolition happened years ago. Isn't it a bit late for that?" The young woman rolled her eyes. Not wanting to argue with Tammy in front of me, she said, "Come in."

I got it. They thought I was here to talk about the bloody mess during the Sand Village demolition years back. I decided not to correct them and stepped inside.

The place was dark and cramped, probably a big flat turned into a tiny two-bedroom apartment. One room was likely Tammy's bedroom, and the other was locked.

The living room had an old TV draped with a purple cloth. Above it hung a black-and-white photo of a young man, probably in his thirties, wearing work clothes with "Sand Town Steel Plant" barely visible.

I pieced it together. This was Tammy's husband, who had passed away over twenty years ago. She really had a tough life.

I felt a pang of sorrow, thinking of Alan and myself.

Tammy sat on a peeling sofa, looking stern, glaring at the young woman, who rolled her eyes but stayed quiet, motioning for me to sit.

Tammy glanced at me and snorted, "What's there to say? We've been through this so many times, and the government never cared."

It seemed she didn't recognize me. That day, I was in the victim's family section, wearing sunglasses and dark clothes. I remembered she glanced at me.

Feeling reassured, I gently said, "Ma'am, I'm not..."

"Not what? My son was beaten and disabled by the demolition team-no, not a team, but a bunch of thugs. They're not human. The injury report and hospital diagnosis are all there. And then? A few thousand dollars in compensation. Every reporter promised to report and advocate for us, but none of them wrote anything!" Tammy started crying as she spoke.

The young woman sneered, "Isn't it your ungrateful son who hurt his own brother? Sand Village hasn't seen such a traitor in decades. Does he dare to come back now?"

"Anna Perez!" Tammy shouted angrily, but upon seeing me, she seemed worried about losing face in front of a stranger. Her voice softened, and she began to sob quietly. "Miss, don't listen to her nonsense. It's not his fault... it's my bad luck."

I sighed. Over the years, I'd seen too much suffering.

Some said that for ordinary people, 99% of problems could be solved with money. This seemingly insightful internet saying was actually harmful.

Not everyone was obsessed with money. Money couldn't measure happiness accurately. The poor could be happy, and the rich could suffer. Often, good people faced misfortune, while evil people went unpunished.

I called this mysterious, unmeasurable thing fate.

Alan, Tammy, and I were all caught in its web.

I said, "Ma'am, hi, I'm Nancy Johnson, the chief reporter for the Silverlight City Legal Journal. You can call me Nancy. A few years ago, the Sand Village demolition conflict shook the city. I haven't seen any reports about your son's situation. If you trust me, give me your contact info. I'll have someone follow up and write a special report. I promise it'll be on the front page, and I'll personally deliver the magazine to you."

As a woman who also lost her husband, I couldn't just stand by. I placed my business card in her hand, which was cold and rough from years of hardship.

Seeing Tammy's tearful eyes, I felt deeply moved but didn't forget my purpose. I continued, "However, ma'am, my main reason for being here today isn't the demolition conflict but the recent True Love Entertainment Club arson murder case. You testified as a witness. I'd like to know the details of the case. Is that convenient for you?"

When I finished, Tammy's hand trembled, and she slowly collected herself, returning my card, saying, "There's nothing to say. I said everything in court. I don't understand the law. If I say something wrong, I'll be in trouble. Our family can't afford that."

'Indeed, there's a problem,' I thought.

Anna, who had been playing with her phone, ran over, asking anxiously, "Mom! Why didn't you tell me about such a big thing? Does the murderer have anything to do with you? Don't hide it!"

"Tell you for what? To make a story for your live stream?" Tammy snorted, "I'll say it again, I said everything in court. I have nothing more to say. As for the demolition, thank you for your kindness, but I've lost hope."

I didn't push further, stood up, and looked at the black-and-white photo on the wall. I sighed and said, "Alan was my friend, an ordinary person like the man in the photo. Dying at this young age is a great misfortune. It's unfair to them, and you understand that. But it's not just unfair to Alan. For his wife, it's a huge blow. Losing her husband in her thirties, raising a child, how can she fight in this city and face the future? Living in despair and pain for the rest of her life? You understand that even more. I'm not trying to bring up your pain, but you know the hardships. Now, the same fate has befallen another woman. Put yourself in her shoes. Her husband is gone. She just wants to know why he died. Don't you want to say something?"

Tammy stared blankly at the photo on the wall. The man in the photo had blonde hair, while hers was gray because of twenty years of longing and despair.

Tears fell. She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, and sighed, "What do you want to know?"