However, we did not wait until a week later to contact the detective.

Because on the third day, there was another letter in the mailbox, once again without any warning—

[If Zhang Liangcheng, this man, dies, you will receive seven million.]

The name on the letterhead turned out to be my father's.

Could it mean that the next person to die is Zhang Liangcheng?

I felt a sudden inexplicable fear.

Everyone whose name appeared on the letterhead ultimately could not escape death.

Is it now my turn to be next?

If I really die, who will end up with the seven million?

Or, like Yang Mengting's death, will I also be murdered by some unknown person?

Just as I was calling the detective, the chandelier on the living room ceiling suddenly fell.

"Bang!"

The massive impact was just half a meter away from where my father was standing, and glass shards scattered everywhere.

Some got onto my pants and shoes. Was this... an accident?

Or, murder?

I looked up and stared at the ceiling where the chandelier had fallen.

As if trying to see through to the conspiracy hidden behind the falling chandelier.