Larry strode toward the main hall, and he spoke with a cold and detached tone, "Mom, I can handle my own business."
Madam Lockwood followed closely behind, her voice tight with suppressed anger. "Handle them? Is locking yourself up in a rental apartment for three years how you handle them? Larry, Quincy is now among the dead, but you have to keep living!"
Larry's lips thinned into a tight line, his throat too constricted to form a word.
He knew his mother had his best interests at heart, but he couldn't help it. He just couldn't let go of Quincy.
His assistant had sent a message last night, saying they had found some information about the girl in the funeral photos, but more time was needed to verify it.
Larry was desperate for an answer to a very crucial question: Was Quincy still al
