Conspiracy Marriage Bureau

Working overtime late at night, a colleague died in the elevator shaft. The murder weapon at the scene was a pen with my name engraved on it, and all the evidence pointed to me. The old things left behind by my grandfather, the erased memories, and the eyes staring at me from the dark, all made it clear: this accident was never an accident. Until I heard my own voice in the morgue: "Don't believe any of them, including me." I am no longer obsessed with proving my innocence. I just want to find out why I was selected into this heinous conspiracy.