"... Yes." Captain Smith swayed, his face turning deathly pale. He knew that this young Young Master Malfoy was serious and determined to get to the bottom of things.
As soon as he finished speaking, Smith left the office, his legs trembling, to carry out the order he dared not refuse.
The moment the door closed, Smith leaned against the cold wall, feeling all the strength drain from his body. He thought to himself:
He might not get through this hurdle. No, it's not just the details; all the people involved are doomed.
About seven or eight minutes later,
The door to the captain's office was pushed open again, and Captain Smith, his face ashen, walked in first, followed by seven or eight other people involved in the incident, heads bowed.
They were like a group of prisoners awaiting trial, barely daring to breathe, and the office was filled with a suffocatingly low atmosphere.
Draco remained seated in the captain's chair, his posture more relaxed than before, but the invisible pressure emanating from him was even heavier.
Hermione and Trillian stood slightly behind him, one on each side, like jurors or clerks. The captain stood at the front, head bowed, face ashen, lips tightly pressed together.
The people following behind wished they could bury their heads in their chests, their eyes darting around in a panic, yet they dared not look up at the judge, for fear of being the first to be called out and becoming the target of everyone's criticism.
Trillian scanned the row of people from left to right, a slight smile playing on her lips. She cleared her throat, her voice amplified countless times in the silent office, causing everyone's shoulders to twitch simultaneously, which greatly satisfied Trillian's perverse sense of humor.
Then Trillian stepped out from beside Draco, took two steps forward, and stood to the side of the desk, hands behind her back.
He paced from one end of the queue to the other, then back again, his gaze lingering on each person's face for about half a second.
"Oh dear—" After the first round of pacing, Trillian stopped in front of the lookout, her voice drawn out, "So many people, I wonder when this interrogation will end..."
"Lookout." Trillian looked at the tall, thin man, who jerked his head up briefly, then quickly looked down again. "Yes."
What were you looking at while you were on duty last night?
"I..." The lookout's lips moved, then stopped. Trillian didn't urge her; she just stood there waiting.
The lookout's lips moved a few more times, finally managing to squeeze out a barely audible sentence. "... Look... look at the sea..."
"Look at the sea?" Trillian raised her voice, her tone tinged with doubt. "Then why didn't you see the iceberg? There was a white iceberg floating on the sea, and you said you didn't see it?"
Faced with this question, the lookout lowered his head even further, his chin almost touching his collarbone. His lips twitched at least five or six times, but each time he swallowed the sound back at the last moment.
Then my shoulders started to tremble slightly.
Seeing that she couldn't get any information out of him, Trillian looked at him for two seconds and then walked up to the radio operator. The radio operator froze when she approached, his whole body tense like a taut string.
"Radio operator."
"Yes." The radio operator's voice was high-pitched and thin.
"Did any other ships send you iceberg warnings last night?" Trillian asked. Upon hearing this, the radio operator's pupils constricted sharply. He opened his mouth, then—
silence.
Silence again.
"What do you mean by not saying anything?" Trillian frowned, but the radio operator still didn't answer, only lowered his head even further. Trillian turned to look at the technical supervisor.
Sensing Trillian's gaze, the technical supervisor trembled as if electrocuted. Trillian unleashed her full force. "Technical supervisor! What's wrong with this ship? It cracked after just one collision? Is it a shoddy construction project? Did you take kickbacks and use substandard steel?"
The technical supervisor, a balding middle-aged man, looked up abruptly upon hearing this, his face flushed red, as if he wanted to refute. However, when his gaze met Draco's cold eyes, he deflated instantly, as if being choked, and lowered his head again.
"And you, the designer! You designed this ship? And the quality? Were you drunk when you were drawing those plans?"
The designer was an elderly man with gray hair, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, and looking somewhat scholarly. When asked questions, his face turned pale and then flushed, and he breathed rapidly, but he remained silent.
Fearing he might kick the bucket at any moment, Trillian didn't dare ask any more questions and moved on to the next person. She interrogated all the relevant people involved one by one and found that they either kept their heads down and remained silent or hesitated to speak. None of them dared to answer directly, let alone confess.
"Hey!" Trillian snapped, hands on her hips. "What do you mean by all staying silent? Think you can get away with this by being quiet? If we weren't lucky, we'd all be fish food!"
Still, no one answered.
The office was so quiet you could hear the waves crashing against the ship's hull outside the porthole, and the ticking of the second hand on the wall clock.
All the people on this cruise ship, each holding important responsibilities, had their heads down and did not utter a word.
It's not that I don't want to talk about it.
It's something I can't say.
Every person who speaks is essentially putting themselves on trial with their own mouth. Any explanation could become a defense, any defense could become even greater evidence, and any attempt to shirk responsibility could enrage the young man in front of them—someone they absolutely cannot afford to offend.
Therefore, they chose the safest method.
He remained silent.
Silence prevents mistakes, silence prevents the saying of what shouldn't be said, and silence at least prevents the situation from getting worse.
This is a choice people make instinctively in extreme fear: shrinking themselves into a ball and minimizing their presence.
Trillian felt there was no point in continuing the interrogation, and she'd had enough fun, so she glanced back at Draco.
During Trillian's interrogation, Draco sat there seemingly casually, but his powerful mental energy was already subtly unfolding.
Legilimency.
Without a word, the fear, the shirking of responsibility, the wishful thinking, and the deliberately forgotten or embellished details of dereliction of duty that churned in the minds of these officials were clearly presented before his eyes.
Draco withdrew Legilimency, his gaze sweeping over the trembling group of officials before him, his eyes sharpening and turning icy.
"I'm giving you one last chance. Considering that the most serious consequences haven't occurred, I'll be lenient with you."
After the words were spoken, the cabin remained deathly silent. The people in charge exchanged glances, their eyes filled with struggle.
Confess? Or receive a lighter sentence?
Who would believe it? Such a massive accident has to leave someone to take the blame. Whoever speaks up first is likely to be the one with the biggest burden.
As a result, no one was willing to take the blame for a crime that could affect their career, result in huge compensation payments, or even face imprisonment.
But Captain Smith understood that, as the captain of the ship, he could not escape the primary responsibility of leadership.
Moreover, Frank's attitude was very clear: he wanted an explanation. Rather than passively waiting to be exposed or being betrayed by his subordinates, he preferred...