Chapter 484 Too Clean
They reached out to several private investigators to conduct a comprehensive investigation into Michael.
"His schedule and social interactions are spotless. He either goes to the office or takes care of Emma at the hospital. It's too simple, too clean."
It was too clean, which made it even stranger.
For an ordinary person, it was perfectly normal. But Michael was the current head of the Russell Group.
Nobody who held that position had clean hands.
He might avoided socializing, but dealings with politicians and bribery were unavoidable.
Henry and Sophia, both prominent figures in their elite circle, understood this well.
So, this fact alone proved how terrifying Michael was.
"He's showing off," Henry mused, "telling us it's impossible to uncover his secrets."
Sophia clenched her fists. "This is a long-term battle. We'll get to the bottom of it eventually."
Lucas stood nearby, unable to understand their conversation but sensing the tension in the air. He unconsciously clenched his small fists, silently worrying for Emma and George.
At the hospital.
Emma arrived at the rehabilitation ward where Charles was staying.
For Emma, leaving Lakeside Haven and parting with Charles was probably the hardest.
She gently pushed open the door to his room and walked in. The room was so quiet it felt like time had frozen, with only the faint beeping of medical equipment breaking the silence.
Charles lay on the bed, his once strong and upright body now painfully thin. She gently held his hand, feeling its coldness, the skin on the back of his hand thin and veins clearly visible.
"Grandpa," she called softly, her voice tender enough to soothe Charles's frail body and soul.
Charles turned his head with difficulty, opening his mouth to speak but only managing faint, indistinct sounds.
He struggled to form complete words, but could only produce barely audible noises. Charles's body was so weak that even basic speech was a monumental effort.
Emma carefully sat by the bed, afraid that any slight pressure might hurt him. She gently stroked the back of his wrinkled hand. "Grandpa, I know what you want to say."
Charles's eyes grew brighter, as if using all his remaining strength to convey his deep emotions. His gaze held worry, reluctance, and countless unspoken words. Emma could keenly sense his complex feelings, the profound love of an elder for their grandchild.
"I'm about to leave Lakeside Haven," Emma's eyes moistened, her voice a mix of reluctance and determination. "I'll take good care of myself, so you don't have to worry."
Charles blinked weakly, letting out a faint whimper. It was a sound of concern, reluctance, and deep blessings. This sound seemed to transcend age and time, reaching the deepest part of Emma's heart.
She held Charles's hand against her face. "I love you, Grandpa. Don't worry, Michael will take care of me."
As Emma mentioned Michael, Charles's hand began to tremble uncontrollably.
That trembling hand seemed to carry all his worries and reluctance. Emma gently held his hand, tears welling up in her eyes. In that moment, she felt Charles's silent yet profound love, a love that was deeply etched in her heart.
"I'll come back to see you often," she promised softly. "No matter where I am, you'll always be my most important family."
Charles nodded weakly.
Emma gently wiped the sweat from Charles's forehead, her heart full of pain and reluctance. She knew this might be their last meeting.
Perhaps the next time they met, it would be at Charles's tombstone.
Emma had already lost her grandfather Douglas and didn't want to lose Charles too.
There wasn't much she could do for Charles, but she would take care of him as best as she could.
She first gently straightened his bedding, her slender fingers smoothing out every wrinkle to ensure it was comfortable. Then, she picked up a soft towel, dampened it, and carefully wiped the sweat from his forehead and the corners of his mouth.
After wiping his face, Emma began to give Charles some water.
Though weak, Charles could still slightly open his mouth under Emma's care. She fed him water bit by bit, afraid he might choke, each sip given with utmost caution.
At lunchtime, she gently adjusted the bed to a comfortable reclining position and fed Charles with a spoon, the simple dishes she had made using the hospital kitchen.
"Grandpa, dine slowly."
After the meal, Emma picked up the comb by the bedside, an old silver comb that had accompanied Charles for many years. She carefully sat by the bed, gently stroking his sparse, white hair.
His white hair was even thinner than Emma had imagined. Each strand seemed to carry the marks of time, so pale it was almost transparent, and she was afraid it would break with the slightest touch. Her movements were extremely gentle, afraid of hurting the fragile strands.
The comb moved slowly from the top of his head, each stroke careful and deliberate. The white hair under her hand was as soft as snow, the old hairline clearly visible, covered with deep wrinkles. Those wrinkles seemed to record the hardships and sorrows of Charles's life.
Silent tears streamed down Emma's face.
She suddenly remembered many things. She remembered how Charles had doted on her, how energetic he had once been. But now, this once strong Charles was so fragile.
"Grandpa," she sobbed softly, her voice filled with suppressed sorrow.
The comb gently passed over Charles's head, smoothing out a few stray white hairs. Emma's tears fell onto his pale hair, as if baptizing him, or perhaps saying a final goodbye.
After everything was done, Emma didn't know what else she could do for Charles.
Then she noticed the empty water jug on the table and decided to go to the water fountain to fill it up.
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