I worked in overseas archaeology, specializing in ancient traces of carbon-based lifeforms.
"Hot goods"—that was slang used only in the tomb-raiding underworld.
I replied privately, [I know. I can come help you.]
After arranging a time and location with the poster, I immediately reported the situation to my superiors.
Another tomb-raiding lead—looked like we might catch them red-handed.
I booked the earliest train back to my hometown. But strangely, the entire village was already deserted, eerily silent.
Without a key, I couldn't even enter the front gate of the Rose Cottage. But suddenly, I remembered the graves my father often visited.
Weeds had overgrown the graveyard, obscuring the paths. By chance, I stepped on a hidden compartment—inside was the key to the old house.
Just then, I heard faint footsteps behind me. Before I could turn around, a sack was suddenly pulled over my head.
I woke up inside the Rose Cottage.
"Brenda, I knew you'd come." Martha slapped me across the face. "Didn't you say you didn't know where the keys were?"
"You bitch, you tricked us!"
She threw the Rose Cottage's key at me in fury while I was bound and utterly powerless to resist.
I spat out a mouthful of blood as I confronted, "What do you think you're doing?"
Miguel glanced at Martha. Then, she pushed someone out from beside her—it was my cousin.
Lucio Howard, seeing me, cried out in distress, "Brenda, save me! I took care of your father for so long—you can't just stand by and watch me die."
Before I could react, Miguel gripped my chin tightly as he threatened, "Now that you've come to these mountains, no one can save you."
"Let me tell you the truth—there's treasure hidden beneath this house. But I never imagined your father would pour concrete over the basement door."
"You'd better remember if there's any other way down there!"
I shook my head. "You're mistaken. There can't be any treasure down there. The only thing of real value in this Rose Cottage is this black iron door."
Miguel suddenly erupted in rage, "Shut up! I know you know."
He pulled out his phone and showed me the very post I had replied to.
It suddenly clicked, so I roared, "You posted that thread? You deliberately lured me back?"
Martha clicked her tongue. "Too late to figure it out now. Time waits for no one—go find the entrance!"
She shoved me hard to the ground, my hands still bound behind my back. The rough hemp rope dug painfully into my wrists.
"Where's my dad? Where did you take him?!"
A wave of intense dread surged through me, nearly choking me.
Miguel kicked my struggling cousin aside with a cold sneer, "The old bastard? He's right here in the Rose Cottage, of course. And we owe that to your cousin—he gave us the idea."
Knowing my father was likely unharmed, I breathed a sigh of relief.
I glanced at Lucio. His eyes darted around, avoiding mine entirely.
Now wasn't the time to press the issue. I had to stall for time until reinforcements arrived from headquarters.
After all, I'd informed headquarters that tomb raiders were suspected to be active here. If I could hold out for another hour and a half, they would definitely help me.
Forcing myself to stay calm, I managed a cold smile, "Miguel, if you want the key, just say so. Why invent lies about my dad smashing cars and burning the city?"
He suddenly slammed his foot down hard on the back of my hand. That was the hand I used to hold tools, examine traces and conduct archaeological work.
I heard the bone dislocate with a distinct crack and excruciating pain shot through my entire body.
Martha sneered, "Your father was just a decoy—the goal was to get you to hand over the key. Since you refuse to give it willingly, don’t blame us for being ruthless!"
"No... please... my hand!"
Agony made me tremble uncontrollably. My tendons and bones felt crushed, cold sweat instantly soaking my back.
He lifted his foot, his voice dripping with contempt. "I never cared for you. A year ago, I found out this house had the goods on the dark web and I started looking for the right person."
"Never imagined you'd actually fall for it, you fool."
His words barely registered as the excruciating pain in my hand consumed my consciousness.
As my face drained of color, he clicked his tongue lightly, "You're an archaeologist abroad, right? If you don't cooperate, I'll make sure your hand never lifts again!"
He yanked me up abruptly, pointing at the room, "Hurry!"
I forced myself to stand and entered the inner room, only to find my father lying on the floor.
