Ch: 295-300
Two hundred and ninety-five, the compensation is pounds
The Sixth Sense not giving a warning at most only indicated that their threat level to Locke was zero, meaning that no matter how much they jumped around or how powerful they were, they wouldn't be able to harm a single hair on Locke's head.
But it didn't indicate anything else.
Especially at this moment.
He had just announced yesterday that he was going to sue Great Britain, and today, Great Britain sent someone?
That's quick.
It's like Paris speed.
"Mr. Broughton!"
The black car door opened, and a man in a suit, clearly an agent, walked towards Locke with a smile: "Can we talk?"
"No."
"..."
Locke looked at George, who had also walked out of the apartment building not far away, and directly addressed the man: "Whatever you have to say, talk to my lawyer. Don't come to me."
George also walked over at this moment.
Locke shielded Gwen behind him.
George, in turn, shielded Locke behind him, looking at the man in the black suit, his right hand resting on his waist. Not far away, the wailing of police sirens approached from a distance.
The man looked at George's wary eyes, chuckled, and said, "Don't be nervous," then took out his ID from his pocket.
Military Attaché of the British Consulate General in New York.
Or rather... "MI6!"
George directly revealed the man's true identity: "What do you want?"
The man's expression was completely harmless: "Don't misunderstand, Inspector Stacy, no one wants something like this to happen, but since it has, I think what we can do is make amends, not escalate this misunderstanding. That's why I'm here this time; there's no need to take this matter to court."
Although the federal long-arm jurisdiction is nothing to some powerful countries.
But... London, the declining Great Britain, can it still be considered a powerful country?
The answer was obvious.
Most importantly, it was that same old saying: London's face had already been swollen by the Peerless Assassin. How could they eagerly offer their face to be slapped by a high school student?
"Mr. Broughton..."
"Lawyer!"
Locke looked at the man who was trying to bypass his lawyer and directly bribe him, and interrupted him again: "If apologies were enough, then what would we need lawyers for?"
With that.
Locke and George exchanged a look, and then, after Gwen got into the car, Locke also entered the car. Afterward, under the gaze of George and the man, the car sped off towards Midtown High School.
Inside the car.
Gwen was a little surprised: "They really had the nerve to come looking for you."
Attempted kidnapping, exposed, and then shamelessly running to the victim, arrogantly saying, 'You can't sue us, we can negotiate'?
Good heavens.
Gwen was a little shocked and shook her head: "If this were the CIA, I'm afraid even the CIA wouldn't have such thick skin."
Compared to MI6, Gwen now felt that the CIA, which the media often portrayed as terrible, seemed so much more refined.
After all, without contact, there's no right to speak.
Gwen had indeed had contact with MI6; they wanted to kidnap him.
And the CIA, nameless, smiling, and speaking very courteously.
Indeed... the true British orthodoxy was in the Federation.
Locke smiled at Gwen's rhetorical question, took out his phone, dialed lawyer Laun's number, and informed him of the London Consulate General's impatience.
Lawyer Laun had originally thought that London would at least maintain composure for two or three days, perhaps by first applying pressure through official channels. But he didn't expect that just as Locke made his move, London seemed ready to overturn the chessboard and cry for mercy.
But this was a good thing.
The quicker they came, the higher their anxiety, which meant the bamboo pole could be struck loudly.
Indeed.
The minister, who had flown specifically from London to try and silence this matter, was stunned when he heard lawyer Laun's asking price of 130 million in compensation.
But... ask for the sky, settle for the ground, right?
Since they expressed willingness to compensate, the amount of compensation was entirely negotiable. As long as it didn't go to court, everything was easy to discuss.
From the very beginning, Locke was after the money.
What good would it do to desperately sue MI5 and MI6 and win? At most, it would make MI5 and MI6 lose face, but Locke wouldn't gain anything.
Locke thought, he wanted both the money and the face.
Gwen frowned: "You're completely dreaming."
Locke chuckled: "Is that so? Perhaps."
Actually... it was just as Gwen said.
"No, this is impossible!"
In the third negotiation in late November, the London representative was very angry: "If we compensate without signing a non-disclosure agreement, the whole world will know that we bowed down."
What a joke.
Their private settlement was precisely for a fig leaf, wasn't it?
If they couldn't even get a non-disclosure agreement, then their settlement would be for nothing. At that point, the money would be paid, and immediately afterward, London would be shouting to the whole world that they had paid up.
How would others view London?
How would London's taxpayers view London?
Locke, sitting with lawyer Laun, listened to the angry words from the other side, nodded, and looked at the London representative: "You can choose not to accept. Then let's go to court."
The date for the first hearing had already been set.
It was in five days, on December 5th.
Locke looked expressionlessly at the London representative: "If you threaten not to go, that's fine too. I just need the hearing to proceed and my evidence to be presented one by one. You can say it's fake; I have no opinion."
The London representative opened his mouth.
Not go to court?
Is that possible?
But... the London representative shook his head: "We can pay the 130 million settlement, but without a non-disclosure agreement, it's impossible."
Locke chuckled softly.
Just then.
Lawyer Laun stopped Locke, who was about to get up and leave, just like the previous two times, ready to seek justice in court. Then, he looked at the London representatives opposite, cleared his throat, and offered a more reasonable suggestion.
130 million in compensation, but they couldn't accept it without a non-disclosure agreement.
But... what amount of compensation would be acceptable without a non-disclosure agreement?
A hundred million?
A few days later.
When the New York media eagerly watched lawyer Laun walk into court on December 5th, they initially thought this would be a lawsuit with no one in the defendant's seat.
The result?
Less than half an hour after lawyer Laun entered the courthouse, the lawsuit against MI5 and MI6 was withdrawn by lawyer Laun in court.
The reason given was an out-of-court settlement.
WTF?
Out-of-court settlement?
Settlement with whom? Why didn't anyone tell us?
Numerous media reporters erupted.
Especially after seeing lawyer Laun walk out of the courthouse, they swarmed him, surrounding him completely.
"Lawyer Laun, what exactly happened?"
"Were you threatened by someone?"
"An out-of-court settlement, is this true?"
"Lawyer Laun?"
Facing the barrage of questions from reporters, lawyer Laun tried to squeeze towards his car two or three times. He then sighed, looked at the reporters around him, and motioned for everyone to quiet down.
"One question at a time."
Lawyer Laun seemed to reluctantly choose someone in the very front row: "You."
The male reporter in the front row immediately became excited.
"Lawyer Laun, what is the reason for this withdrawal?"
"As you can see, an out-of-court settlement."
"Lawyer Laun, was it MI6 and MI5?"
"That... I can't say."
"Why?"
"Part of the out-of-court settlement."
"Can you tell us the amount?"
"No."
"..."
After answering several questions in a row, lawyer Laun smiled: "However, I can say this: the other party showed great sincerity in settling out of court with my client. That's all. Goodbye."
Having said that.
This time, lawyer Laun truly opened the car door and then, getting into the car, left the courthouse entrance.
The numerous reporters watched the car speed away, stood still for five seconds, then came to their senses and rushed back to their respective news agencies.
By noon, the electronic news reports were already out.
"Breaking News! Locke Broughton Settles Out of Court with MI6!"
"Out-of-Court Settlement Reaches 100 Million!"
"The Youngest Self-Made Billionaire in the World!"
..."
"I quite like the third headline."
Locke stroked his chin, looking at the third headline. Although he hadn't read the content yet, he undoubtedly felt that this headline was the most fitting for him.
Self-made, isn't that exactly me?
Helen, whose due date was approaching but still had no signs of labor, was also scrolling through her phone, looking at the news on the internet: "Is the settlement amount really 100 million?"
Although it's not ideal for a mother-in-law to inquire about her son-in-law's wealth.
But they were already familiar.
And... Gwen, sitting on the sofa next to her, shook her head: "It's not 100 million. Laun's law firm takes a commission, and there are taxes and so on. In the end, it's actually about 80 million US dollars."
Calculating it, Gwen felt it was somewhat miraculous.
Because after this settlement amount was received, Locke's liquid assets were already close to 100 million. Just as Locke said, who says you can't make money from a lawsuit?
Helen frowned: "Eighty million, didn't you say..."
Gwen chuckled: "Mom, we asked for pounds."
One pound could be exchanged for 1.8 US dollars.
Calculated this way, Laun's law firm also made a killing.
But then again, they relied on their professionalism for a living.
US dollars?
Pounds.
Alright.
Helen smiled and nodded.
The next second.
Helen looked down and exclaimed, "Oh no..."
Two hundred and ninety-six, Christmas of 2005
"So small!"
"Not small, it's quite big."
"Too ugly."
"That's true."
In a ward at New Amsterdam Hospital, Locke and Gwen looked at the baby in the bassinet, a tiny tot wrapped in swaddling clothes, unable to even open her eyes, her skin a bit shriveled.
George, who had just walked in, heard their not-so-quiet conspiracy, his face darkening: "Stay away from my daughter."
Gwen turned, stomping her foot: "Dad!"
George raised an eyebrow: "I wasn't telling Locke to stay away from you, but to stay away from Andy."
Yes.
Andy, Andy Stacy, born at 3 AM on December 6, 2005.
After the birth of his youngest daughter, well, George suddenly understood. A daughter grows up and leaves the nest; Gwen's last name was almost Locke-shaped already.
Why bother?
Forget it, he was tired, he wasn't playing anymore.
Gwen heard George's self-deprecating tone, which sounded a bit like someone who had found new love and forgotten the old, and finally couldn't help but say: "Dad, I'm your daughter too."
George shooed Locke and Gwen away, then sat on the visitor's bed, gazing at the still tiny Andy, and then looked at Gwen, smiling, but not speaking.
But his meaning seemed to be clearly expressed.
Gwen opened her mouth, looking at Helen, who had just come out of the bathroom after a shower, trying to complain.
Helen chuckled, shook her head, and tied up her hair, indicating that she wouldn't participate in their father-daughter game. She looked at George: "Have the discharge procedures been completed?"
George nodded: "Yes."
Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and as Helen put it, she didn't want to spend her Christmas Eve in the hospital.
Actually, she could have left on the seventh after giving birth, but because Helen had a tiny problem during labor, she needed to stay in the hospital for observation.
Fortunately, it wasn't a major issue.
At the time, when the doctor mentioned the problem, Locke even thought about rushing in to give Helen a big blood potion. After all, he was thinking of getting Gwen a stepfather, but he never said he wanted to get Gwen a stepmother.
Not only did he not act on it, he didn't even have the thought.
As for George?
Yesterday, when he went with George to cut down a Christmas tree, frankly speaking, Locke had an opportunity to let his chainsaw accidentally graze George's stomach.
However… he wasn't Thomas Hewitt, and there were many families around, picking out Christmas trees, so with so many eyes, Locke could only dismiss that thought.
Back at Gwen's apartment.
Locke was about to say goodbye and go home. He went to the hospital today mainly to drop Gwen off, and then, incidentally, help bring things back. Although he was on vacation, he had a lot to do.
At the very least, he had reconsidered and re-accepted the CIA's invitation, based on Mr. Nobody's role in his lawsuit against London.
It was still the same old saying.
Did they really think that any random person, someone with no background whatsoever, could just casually extort law enforcement agencies?
Such people simply don't exist.
If they do, it only means you haven't dug deep enough.
Although Locke's lawsuit against London had been half a month ago, the prevailing opinion on the internet was that if it had been someone without money or power, the court probably wouldn't have even accepted the case.
Because the plaintiff was Locke Broughton, the Locke Broughton who could afford to hire Wall Street's top legal team, the court accepted the case, and London quietly paid compensation and announced a settlement.
That… made a lot of sense.
Locke had money; he could persuade the Lawton legal team to push the case to court, forcing London to send someone to settle, but it definitely wouldn't have been so fast.
In short.
Since his vacation started on the fifteenth, Locke basically went to Clyde Shelton every day, to that secret base, to learn how to be a CIA agent from scratch. It worked out perfectly: he could drop Gwen off at her part-time job at Oscorp Bio in the morning, then he'd go to "work" too, and pick Gwen up after work.
Very nice.
A nine-to-five schedule.
Gwen even joked with Locke that they were getting a head start on entering society.
Locke really wanted to say that he would never work for anyone in his life. As for being a CIA agent? That was out of necessity, and besides, his kind of agent was different from the assembly-line agents.
"Bang!"
"Bang!"
"Bang!"
In a training corridor, Locke walked expressionlessly, holding a Glock, one shot, one kill, precisely taking out the targets that would pop up from unknown places in front of him.
The thugs on top, precise headshots!
The hostages held by thugs, precise headshots!
Hostages?
They didn't exist.
"Beep!"
Clyde Shelton turned on the lights, whistled, and walked over from not far away: "Stop!"
Locke unloaded the magazine, cleared it, and confirmed it was safe.
Clyde Shelton walked up to a target, his brow twitching. He tore off the target paper, walked over to Locke, and pointed at the cute hostage who had been headshotted along with the thug: "What happened here?"
Locke looked: "There were still thugs ahead, weren't there?"
"Hmm, and then?"
"No 'then'."
Locke said: "The background you gave me was to rescue the hostage held in the last room. This popping-up hostage could very likely be an enemy impersonating one, and even if she wasn't, if I didn't control her after saving her, it would expose my actions, and you said our mission was top secret."
"So, you killed the hostage?"
"You said the mission was confidential, and there could be no unnecessary complications, didn't you?"
"I…"
Clyde Shelton opened his mouth.
Fortunately, Clyde Shelton didn't know Arthur's master. Otherwise, Locke felt that Clyde would probably have a lot in common with Arthur's master, who taught him how to stealth.
Locke felt that being an agent was not difficult at all.
In fact… many of the trainings felt familiar to Locke. Later, Locke thought about it carefully, and realized, good heavens, wasn't it just Chester moving his assassin training template here to use?
Although the shell was changed and the name was changed, the core seemed to be the same.
Locke found this a bit miraculous. He had originally planned to ask Chester if this training method was copied from the CIA, but as soon as the winter break started, Chester went traveling with Agatha. To find him, he would probably have to wait until next year.
Clyde shook his head: "Alright, that's enough for today."
He felt that Locke might be a bit psychologically abnormal.
A normal person, even if the task required absolute secrecy, upon seeing a thug and a hostage, would choose to kill the thug and save the hostage.
Not like Locke.
Without hesitation, he killed every thug he saw, one by one. But similarly, before he saw the final target, he also killed every hostage he saw.
This left Clyde feeling a bit disheveled.
He'd talk to Mr. Nobody later to see if psychology lessons could be moved up.
Clyde thought to himself, as he and Locke packed up the secret training base: "What are your plans for Christmas?"
Locke glanced at Clyde: "And you?"
Clyde smiled: "Taking Miller and Angie to Paris."
Locke nodded: "Paris is a good place."
Speaking of Paris, Locke immediately thought of Kim, who had been postponing and postponing, and still hadn't gone to Paris to accept his fate.
Next summer, Kim would also go to Paris.
That's what he said.
"What about you then?"
"Me? Haven't decided yet."
Locke collected the target papers he was holding, threw his phone into the fire barrel in front of him, and said: "Maybe… I'll take a yacht out to sea."
At most, he'd just sail the Gwen, enjoying the sea breeze.
But… sea breeze in the middle of winter?
Locke always felt something was off.
"Not planning to go out?"
"No."
Locke shook his head, thought for a moment: "Probably not."
Clyde nodded, saying: "I was just asking casually, not monitoring. And you don't need to worry about London anymore, they're in a mess."
Locke's lips curled into a smile, and he chuckled.
It was still the same old saying.
Before, when the ICA was in the dark, those who were targeted couldn't find anyone to retaliate against. But now, although the ICA has been flattened by the Peerless Assassin, MI6 and MI5 are still around.
And now.
In just this one month, London has experienced far more attacks than the total for the entire year.
It could be said that the vast city of London was engulfed in chaos, too busy putting out fires everywhere to have the energy to send people to bother Locke.
"And even if they wanted to come, it would be useless!"
Clyde looked at Locke: "Thanks to your thirty million bounty, Mr. Nobody took down the director who had been secretly contacting and cooperating with the ICA. He won't be getting a trial."
Locke smiled: "Dead?"
Clyde clicked the last firearm into the glass cabinet, turned, and looked at Locke: "Once you're in, you'll understand what Lorraine Broughton means to us."
Locke didn't speak.
He didn't join the CIA for Lorraine Broughton.
It was all just to expand his missions.
However… this time, the mission was completely over, and Lorraine Broughton had once again become a figure on paper, returning to being a figure on paper.
After he exposed who Lorraine Broughton was, as of now, no enemy with a grudge against Lorraine Broughton had come knocking.
This made Locke breathe a sigh of relief.
Being tricked once, he could understand; he'd consider it repayment for the kindness of birth.
But if he was tricked too many times…
Then… Locke wondered if he should go to Lorraine Broughton's grave with a shovel to pay his respects…
297. A Belated Gift
Locke was a bit frantic when he revealed Lorraine Broughton's identity to the entire World.
After all... he didn't like trouble, and he especially didn't like trouble that was dumped on him by others.
Fortunately.
Lorraine Broughton's troubles were over; in fact, even Lorraine Broughton herself was over.
"See you next year, Clyde!"
"Happy New Year, Locke."
"By the way."
As Locke and Clyde walked out of the warehouse together to the parking lot, Locke opened his car, took a small wrapped gift from the passenger seat, and tossed it to Clyde.
Clyde caught it. "What's this?"
Locke smiled. "A Christmas gift for Angie."
"Wow, this is too..."
"It's not for you."
"Alright."
Seeing this, Clyde thanked Locke on behalf of his daughter, Angie, then opened his car door and was the first to drive out of the parking lot.
Locke stayed where he was to smoke a cigarette before leaving and driving to the Osborn Biotech Building.
Soon.
Not far away, Gwen, holding an umbrella and wearing a down jacket and a scarf, opened the passenger door, folded her umbrella, and sat inside. "Heavens, it's so cold outside."
Locke looked at the swirling snow outside the car, finding it somewhat magical. "You might not believe me, but when I came back from Brooklyn, it wasn't snowing there."
That's the trouble with big cities; the weather forecast for each district is different.
Not like some island nations.
Today... sunny nationwide. Those weather forecasters must be very happy.
"Let's go."
Locke started the car and slowly drove out. "The restaurant reservation is set."
It was very warm inside the restaurant.
The warm yellow lighting gave it a cozy atmosphere. This was a restaurant that had just opened on Fifth Avenue last month; most people who can open a restaurant on Fifth Avenue have some real skill.
"Alright, that's all for me."
"Certainly."
After Gwen handed the menu back to the waiter, she saw Locke secretly pouring vodka into his glass again. She pretended not to notice and said with a smile in a low voice, "How was training today, AgentBroughton?"
Locke looked up at Gwen. "I killed the thugs and the hostages together."
Gwen: "..."
He had promised to be completely open with Gwen.
Locke was a man of his word.
However... Locke also whispered, "Gwen, I said I could tell you, but you can't tell anyone else, not even George. Otherwise, the CIA will silence us."
Gwen snapped back to reality. "Wait, let's talk about the hostages and the thugs first."
Locke shrugged and recounted the interesting events of his afternoon training. "Deep behind enemy lines, stealth is required, and speed is essential. If I don't kill them, why keep them? To get exposed?"
Gwen opened her mouth to speak.
She felt that today, she would have to temporarily reallocate her scheduled time for studying financial investment to psychology, which she hadn't touched in a long while.
The reason she hadn't touched it was that she felt Locke's mental state was actually quite good, but now, Gwen felt that his mental state was actually poor, just very well hidden.
No, Locke really needs to see a psychiatrist.
Those were hostages, not Vampires.
Killing Vampires doesn't matter, but people... you can't, or at least you shouldn't.
Gwen smiled, her mind racing as she planned to change the subject, lest bringing up a psychiatrist trigger Locke's resistance.
The next second.
Gwen's eyes lit up as she saw a talk show playing on a nearby television. She looked at Locke. "Locke, do you remember that delivery pilot stranded on a desert island we saw a few days ago?"
Locke hummed in response. "What about him?"
"He's come to New York."
"Oh?"
Gwen pointed her pinky slightly toward the large TV, gesturing for Locke to look.
Locke looked over curiously. On the TV, the deliveryman who had survived on a desert island for twelve years was talking somewhat haltingly about the few things he had done since his return.
Delivering packages.
According to the deliveryman, he was a courier with a responsibility and obligation to deliver these packages to their Master. It was this motivation that sustained him through his arduous survival on the island.
So, after he left the island and returned to the Federation, Federal Express arranged for someone to live-stream the scenes of him delivering packages to the Master who had been waiting for twelve years.
Following that.
Several clips were shown on the TV of people who had purchased items twelve years ago, showing their surprise and shock when they received the packages twelve years late.
Only... "A package twelve years late? The contents must be ruined."
"That's not what the audience is watching. They're watching a courier who was trapped alone on an island for twelve years and still remained true to his original purpose."
"Alright."
Locke shrugged and stopped talking.
These days, traffic is king.
Look at the Peerless Assassin.
When the Peerless Assassin was causing trouble, the New York media couldn't wait to call him their darling. Then, when the Peerless Assassin retired and Locke took over, he became their darling instead.
New York media people have so many darlings, and they aren't picky at all.
"So, Alvin."
The talk show host on the TV looked at Alvin, the courier sitting on the sofa who hadn't long since recovered from his savage state, and smiled. "I think the audience is very curious—is the reason you came to New York because there are packages here that you need to deliver?"
Alvin nodded honestly, his speech halting. "Yes, you know, my delivery flight was actually bound for Texas. But twelve years have passed, and many customers who lived in Texas have moved to other states. New York just happens to have three."
"Is there a video, Alvin?"
"Sorry."
Alvin shook his head. "Two of them have already passed away. The other one wasn't home, so we could only leave the package with the concierge."
"The concierge?"
"Yes, Starlight Tower!"
"I see."
Seeing that the name Starlight Tower had come up, the talk show host commented that Starlight Tower's security was just like that, and then immediately changed the subject.
For no other reason.
If he talked too much about Starlight Tower, the hackers wouldn't be happy. If the hackers got upset, his ratings would plummet. These days, there's no need to cross money, unless you're already rich.
Hearing the words on the TV, Gwen's eyes lit up. "Starlight Tower, isn't that the building you live in?"
Locke looked at Gwen. "I'm not even familiar with my neighbors downstairs."
After all, because of his apartment being broken into every other day, frankly speaking, Locke felt that he had single-handedly lowered the prestige of Starlight Tower.
How did people used to introduce Starlight Tower?
The most prestigious building on Fifth Avenue, a luxury residence that countless hackers could only dream of but never attain—the pinnacle of life starts here!
Home buyers would have stars in their eyes, impressed even if they didn't quite understand why.
But now?
As soon as the Agent opened their mouth, the buyer would say, "Wait, isn't the security at Starlight Tower pretty bad? I heard that just about anyone can hack their way in."
The Agent would probably drop dead on the spot.
Two hours later.
Downstairs at the apartment.
Gwen smiled as she heard the familiar sound of a baby crying from inside her home. She looked at Locke as he got out of the car. "Won't you come up and sit for a while?"
The sound of the baby crying made Gwen feel a bit dazed.
Locke smiled and gave Gwen a hug. "Tomorrow."
Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and Chester wouldn't be home. He had originally thought of spending Christmas Eve with Carrie, but Carrie had told him a few days ago that Betty had invited her to spend Christmas Eve at her house. So, barring any accidents, even if he wanted to spend tomorrow alone, Helen and Gwen wouldn't allow it.
Plus, he and Gwen had an appointment tomorrow morning for coffee with Kahn and Cindy, who also started their vacation tomorrow, to see if they could find somewhere to go during the winter break.
You can't just stay home during the holidays; that would be so boring.
Kahn and Cindy suggested going skiing in Canada.
Gwen hadn't decided yet.
Locke didn't care; as long as they didn't go out to sea, anywhere was fine.
In the dead of winter, capsizing a boat at sea would be very cold.
Gwen smiled and pulled her lips away. "Alright, goodnight, Locke."
Locke smiled. "Goodnight."
Soon.
Under Locke's gaze, Gwen walked into the apartment. By the time Locke walked back to the car and opened the driver's door, Gwen was already standing in the apartment kitchen waving to him.
Locke looked up and waved back to Gwen in the kitchen, making a "see you tomorrow" gesture, then climbed into the car, sealing the cold air outside the door.
Ding-dong!
Locke took out his phone, saw a text from Nameless wishing him a Happy New Year in advance, smiled, put the phone away, and started the car.
Ignite, go home!
Back at Starlight Tower.
Locke drove straight to the underground parking lot. After parking the car, he got out and walked toward the nearby elevator lobby.
There were also two electronic Christmas trees in the elevator lobby.
The volume was just right, softly playing Christmas songs.
"Ding-a-ling!"
"Hello!"
"Hey, Locke!"
"Chester!"
"Merry Christmas Eve."
"...Christmas Eve is tomorrow."
"I know, I might not be able to call tomorrow. I left your gift in the study at home—the blue wrapped box. Carrie's is red. Remember to go find Carrie tomorrow and give it to her for me."
"Okay!"
Locke hummed with a faint expression and hung up the phone.
Across two lifetimes, basically, before coming to New York, only Chester would prepare a Christmas Eve gift for him, even if they were always some ridiculous things.
Ding!
First floor.
Locke looked at the empty first floor with no one intending to enter and prepared to close the door.
Just then.
The concierge there caught sight of Locke. "Mr. Broughton."
Locke pressed the elevator's open button and looked at the concierge.
Soon.
The concierge ran to the elevator with a package. "Mr. Broughton, someone came by this afternoon and said this is a delivery from twelve years ago for you."
Locke raised an eyebrow!
298. A USB flash drive without a USB?
A delivery from twelve years ago?
For me?
That unlucky delivery driver?
So, the unlucky client he came to Starfall Tower looking for, the one who had waited twelve years for him, was me?
WTF?
Locke raised an eyebrow, taking a not-too-large box from the security guard. It was patched up with tape in various places. He looked closely.
Galveston Silver City Children's Home, Texas, Locke Broughton.
It really is me?
Locke blinked, looking at the somewhat blurry writing on it.
"Oh, right."
The security guard seemed to remember something and pulled an envelope from his pocket, handing it to Locke. "Mr. Broughton, this is also from that person. He said it was his apology letter for making you wait twelve years."
Locke grunted, taking the envelope. "Anything else?"
"No."
"Thank you."
Locke smiled slightly, re-entered the elevator, and pressed the floor button.
Ding!
After Locke returned home, he tossed his keys into the candy bowl he'd bought this year for Halloween candy. Then, he shook the box in his hand; there was a clattering sound, nothing special.
As for the letter?
Locke tore it open with a ripping sound.
It was a sincere, neatly written apology letter from the delivery driver for the twelve-year-late delivery. The content was hollow and meaningless, covering two full pages, but it all boiled down to one sentence: I am very sorry.
You're sorry for a yo-yo.
What is this stuff?
Locke tossed the apology letter aside, then grabbed a fruit knife and cut away the tape on the old box.
The next second.
With a thud, a letter and a USB drive landed directly in Locke's hand.
But... "This USB drive?" Locke blinked, holding a USB drive that looked like a USB drive. He looked at the port on it, which didn't resemble a USB port or any other kind of port, and blinked. "What the hell is this thing?"
This should be a USB drive.
Locke squeezed the USB-shaped object in his hand, certain that no system on the market could connect to it, and thought to himself. Then, his gaze fell on the fallen letter.
Rip!
"Hello, my son, I am Lorraine..."
"Fuck!"
Locke had just opened the letter, saw the heading, and instinctively closed it. Then, he cursed irritably and threw it far away from him.
Shit, is she haunting me?
Locke wiped his face, looked at the fallen letter, and chugged the bourbon in his glass.
To be honest, he had been a little excited.
But... twelve years ago, Locke was only five years old. Who the hell would specifically send me something?
Locke stared at the ceiling, somewhat dazed. So, what was he expecting just now?
Was it the mystery of unboxing?
Locke shook his head, then looked down at the USB drive in his hand and the letter on the floor, his eyes flickering slightly.
This feels like Pandora's Box again.
Locke grumbled internally. He had spent a great deal of effort to clean up the problems Lorraine Broughton left behind. Just when he thought he had successfully turned Lorraine Broughton into a literal character again, the letter and this strange thing arrived together.
It's a bit of a coincidence, isn't it?
Locke's eyes flickered. He got up, grabbed the letter from the floor, and clutched the USB drive in his hand. He quickly went to the study, opened his phone, and began to search for information about the express airline that crashed twelve years ago.
He didn't need to spend too much effort searching, because this incident was considered hot news. The delivery driver's hometown, Los Angeles, had already compiled a special column. In fact, the delivery driver had also signed a contract with the Los Angeles Daily to specifically write about his desert island diary.
The information's authenticity was quite high.
So.
Coincidence?
This letter was supposed to be sent to him twelve years ago, but because the express plane crashed, it was delayed until now.
But... twelve years ago, there wasn't even a computer that could plug this thing in.
Locke looked at the USB-like object in his hand, narrowing his eyes. His final gaze fell on the letter.
"Hello, my son, I am Lorraine Broughton."
"I'm sorry to greet your birthday in this way."
"But Mom..."
"Thud!"
"Thump!"
Locke immediately closed the letter in his hand. With a flick of his right hand, he found a wooden box, then threw both the letter and the USB-like object into it. He locked it directly into the safe in his study.
The next day.
Gwen, who had changed into a pink down jacket and was wearing a cute rabbit-ear hat, got into the car and was immediately startled, looking at Locke in the driver's seat. "What's wrong with you?"
Locke yawned and looked at Gwen curiously.
Gwen's lips curved upwards. "Did you look in the mirror when you woke up today? It's rare to see you look like you haven't slept all night."
Locke looked at himself in the rearview mirror.
He did seem a bit listless.
It's nothing.
Locke smiled, started the car, and headed towards the location Cindy and Kahn had agreed upon.
He had indeed not slept all night yesterday.
After all, Locke didn't like secrets. He searched online for a long time but couldn't find anything that matched the port on the USB drive in that wooden box.
As for the letter?
Locke read it later. After all, if he didn't read it, it would mean he cared, so he definitely had to read it.
But like the apology letter, it was empty and meaningless, rambling on about how she had her reasons, how she promised to come back for him after this mission, take him with her, and watch him grow up.
And what happened?
She died after writing this letter.
Locke sighed. So, if you're not the protagonist, don't make rash promises. It's fine if nothing happens, but if something does, you might not even be able to save your own life.
As for what this USB drive was...
It wasn't mentioned.
Lorraine Broughton only said in the letter that she hoped Locke would keep it safe and not show it to anyone else, because it was her good luck charm for Locke.
Your son is five years old, and you send him a USB drive?
No, wait!
At that time, had USB drives even come out yet?
Locke was a bit speechless. So, to figure out what this thing was, he stayed up all night searching online. Yet, even with his connections in both the underworld and legitimate circles, he couldn't find an answer.
This was truly amazing.
By the time Locke and Gwen arrived at the restaurant, Kahn and Cindy, who were supposed to be there before them, were delayed due to their car breaking down midway and might arrive a little later.
While waiting at the restaurant.
Gwen nudged Locke and blinked. "What happened, Locke?"
She swore to God, this was the first time she had seen Locke look tired in the morning, so Gwen was a little worried.
Locke looked at Gwen and smiled. "You know that package delivered to Starfall Tower?"
Gwen nodded.
The next second.
Gwen's mouth dropped open, and she looked at Locke in surprise. "It wasn't for you, was it?"
Locke nodded. "You guessed right, but no prize money. It was sent by Lorraine Broughton."
"And then?"
"Then..."
Locke pulled the USB-like object from his pocket with his right hand. "I spent all night researching to figure out what this thing is."
Gwen took it and looked. "This isn't a U... Huh?"
Locke looked at Gwen, whose expression had also changed, and smiled. "Isn't it strange?"
Gwen nodded, examining the small but well-made metallic USB drive in her hand. "Didn't she tell you what it is?"
Locke shook his head. "She did. A good luck charm."
Could it be the good luck charm containing the ICA member list and data?
Locke suddenly remembered what Mrs. A said when he shot her.
However... the ICA had been completely eradicated by him. In fact, the entire city of London was currently facing a political and public opinion storm because of the ICA incident.
Gwen smiled and handed the USB drive back to Locke. "Since it's a good luck charm, you should keep it safe."
Locke didn't respond and put the USB drive away.
His purpose in keeping this USB drive was to find out what was inside it. Once he understood, the USB drive could be directly discarded.
And.
Locke thought of a good idea.
Spend some money, find a supplier, and have them create an alternative USB interface to connect to a computer, matching the drive's port. Wouldn't that work?
This was a good suggestion, but it wasn't realistic.
After all, it wasn't a matter of port size, but of data transmission. And twelve years had passed; who knew if the contents would turn to dust if the operation failed?
"Where are you going after dinner?"
"Chester's house."
"It's Christmas Eve, Locke!"
"I know."
Locke looked at Gwen's expression and smiled, seemingly remembering something. "Oh, right, Christmas Eve, I almost forgot."
Saying that.
Locke immediately took out his phone.
"Carrie."
"Locke."
"Are you at Chester's this afternoon?"
"Yes."
"Then wait for me, I have something to give you."
"...Okay."
Locke hung up the phone and looked at Gwen, who was staring directly at him, and smiled. "Chester left Christmas gifts for Carrie and me at home and asked me to pick them up, and also give Carrie her gift."
Gwen nodded. "I didn't say anything else."
Just then.
Kahn and Cindy also walked in, dusty from their journey.
In the afternoon.
Locke retrieved two gift boxes, one blue and one red, from the location Chester had mentioned on the phone. He then handed the red gift box to Carrie. "Chester asked me to give this to you."
Carrie took the gift box and blinked, looking at Locke. "Locke, are you free during winter break?"
Locke, who was about to unwrap his gift: "..."
299. Release the Witch
"Are you free during winter break?"
Locke paused slightly, his gift-unwrapping movements halting, as he looked up at Carrie.
"Yes, I am!"
Locke opened the box, and sure enough, it was another bottle of aged bourbon. Locke took out an old bottle of Thunder Bourbon from inside the box and looked at Carrie: "Is something wrong?"
For anyone else, Locke would definitely be unavailable.
But for Carrie, he had to be!
Carrie pursed her lips and said, "A friend of mine has gone missing."
Locke raised an eyebrow: "A friend?"
Carrie nodded: "Anila Katz."
"Who is that?"
"She works with me at a coffee shop. She's also a witch, but she seems to have just awakened."
"Hmm?"
Locke looked at Carrie.
He knew about Carrie working at the coffee shop; it was normal for high school students to work part-time to earn money for college tuition or living expenses.
Didn't Gwen also work at Oscorp Bio?
Locke?
Working was out of the question, don't even think about it. He became a killer precisely because he couldn't work. It's not like he would get rich and then go soft and start working. That would be ridiculous.
However… Locke led Carrie to Chester's study. As he turned on the computer, he curiously looked at Carrie: "A newly awakened witch? Why didn't you tell me about this?"
Carrie shrugged: "She just awakened last month, and I also found it very magical. But you were busy last month, weren't you?"
Locke grunted.
Last month, he was very busy with the IA matter, performing all sorts of operations.
The computer turned on.
"What's her name?"
"Anila Katz!"
"Okay."
Locke directly hacked into various law enforcement systems. After entering Anila Katz's name, a girl's photo popped up from the driver's license system a moment later. Immediately after, a ticket for Anila Katz to New Orleans, Louisiana, ten days ago appeared in the backend system of JFK International Airport.
And then… there was no "then."
Locke looked at Carrie: "Didn't she tell you she went to New Orleans?"
Carrie said, "She went with her mother, and her mother came back yesterday, but she didn't."
Locke raised an eyebrow and filtered through the system. Indeed, he found Mrs. Katz, who had traveled to New Orleans with Anila Katz at the same time ten days ago but returned alone yesterday.
But…
"This doesn't mean anything, does it?"
"I have a premonition that Katz is in trouble."
Carrie said with a worried expression, "I even asked Mrs. Katz yesterday why Katz hadn't returned, but Mrs. Katz's answer was very perfunctory. She said Katz had settled down with relatives in New Orleans, but Katz told me that she and her mother lived alone and had no relatives in New Orleans at all."
Locke stroked his chin: "Is that so?"
After a while.
Locke directly selected the positioning card from his inventory.
"Ding!"
"Positioning card used successfully!"
"Target: Anila Katz!"
"Locating!"
"Location successful, displaying map!"
"Anila Katz is located in the Ash City of the Hell Dimension, her body fixed at Lake Lery!"
"…"
Locke raised an eyebrow.
Dead?
But this Lake Lery?
Locke looked at the final coordinates on the positioning map. After zooming in, he raised an eyebrow. Lake Lery was located not far east of New Orleans.
Well, well, well.
Really dead?
Locke opened his mouth, then came back to his senses and looked at Carrie.
Carrie looked at Locke's expression and was slightly stunned.
"…Dead?"
"I'm afraid so, but it seems that way."
"This…"
Carrie's mouth dropped open: "When she went to New Orleans, I even told her I'd tell her a secret when she came back. How could she…?"
Locke said nothing.
However, he still had a tiny bit of curiosity about it.
And then… "Ding!"
"Task generating!"
"Task Name: 'Hands Off That Witch!'"
"Basic Task Reward: 'Achievement Points * 5000', 'Potential Points * 500'"
"Task Bonus Mode: 'Reputation Value!'"
"Task Bonus Multiplier: '100x' maximum"
"Task Description: 'Here it comes, the big one! In this world, you, who entered the extraordinary realm because of a witch, swore to protect these poor and kind witches. But now, brutal and cruel witch hunters are still alive in this world. Tell them: Witches are protected!'"
"Task Note: 'Settlement will occur when witches are determined to have a good living environment.'"
"Task Note 2: Dear, please read the question carefully."
Locke raised an eyebrow.
When did I ever say I would protect witches?
Why don't I know about this?
Locke blinked. He pondered, he had never said anything like that. Moreover, when he found out he had become a witch, he only had one thought: to change time and start over. When did he ever swear to protect this group of poor and kind witches?
Undeniably, there are many lovely and kind witches.
But more often, witches also have many villains.
Plague Witch.
Black Witch.
World-Ending Witch.
If these three witches were unleashed, each one could destroy the world a hundred times over, provided the Sorcerer Supreme Ancient One watched and didn't intervene.
Therefore, Locke didn't think he could protect the witch race.
Besides that.
What would I do with a bunch of little witches?
I'm not a lolicon, and this isn't the Middle Ages, so what oppression is there?
"No."
"Hmm?"
Locke snapped back to reality, looking at Carrie, who had suddenly yelled.
Carrie looked at Locke: "Where is Anila?"
Locke said, "Lake Lery, east of New Orleans. If nothing unexpected happened, her body should be in that lake."
Carrie's breathing clearly quickened: "Thank you."
Then.
Carrie turned and walked outside.
Locke walked straight over, watching Carrie, who had already transformed into her Dark Overlord form after a flash of purple light passed through the study, and said, "Where are you going?"
Carrie didn't look back: "Anila is my friend."
After she came to New York, she finally made a few friends, and Carrie was very dedicated to each one.
This was very similar to Locke.
Locke, on the other hand, directly grabbed Carrie.
Carrie stopped.
She turned around.
The purple light receded.
Carrie looked up at Locke: "You don't want me to go?"
Locke shook his head: "I don't want you to go like this, but I didn't say I don't support you going. Don't forget, it's Christmas Eve today, and you promised Betty you'd go to her house."
Carrie said, "Anila is more…"
"She's already dead."
"…"
Locke covered his forehead: "Her soul has already gone to hell, I've confirmed it. How about this, you go to Betty's house today, and tomorrow, I'll buy tickets and go with you."
Carrie frowned: "I'll go myself…"
Locke directly interrupted: "I'll go with you."
Carrie's safety wasn't a concern; Locke was worried about what would happen if there truly were remnants of medieval feudalism there. That would be quite the show.
Locke checked the time on his wristwatch, then thought for a moment: "How about this, we'll go on the morning of the twenty-sixth, after Christmas."
Carrie frowned: "I can go by myself first."
Locke shook his head: "No."
"You don't have to…"
"I'm worried about you."
"…"
Locke waved his hand and walked towards the door, saying without looking back, "You're my sister. If I don't worry about you, who will? The day after tomorrow. For now, go enjoy your Christmas Eve at Betty's."
After he finished speaking.
Locke got directly into his car and left Chester's house.
Halfway there.
Locke finally had time to take out the bottle of seventeen-year-old Thunder Bourbon that Chester had given him, which he had put in his inventory, and examined it carefully.
It was quite amazing.
Where did that old man Chester find these good vintage Thunder Bourbons? Why haven't I heard of them on the black market?
Or… does the old man have a wine cellar that I haven't found?
Locke thought to himself.
In the evening.
Locke placed the Christmas presents he had brought under the Christmas tree in the living room, which already had quite a few gifts piled up.
Gwen said from beside him, "Dad has been dealing with quite a few people all morning today."
Locke smiled: "That's the charm of everyone wanting a promotion, isn't it?"
Isn't getting a promotion precisely for enjoying this feeling?
Locke loosened his collar button and looked at Gwen: "Is George still in the study?"
Gwen nodded.
Locke grunted: "I'm going to find George."
Gwen was stunned.
By the time she came back to her senses, Locke had already dashed upstairs.
What's going on?
Gwen blinked and quickly followed him.
"Knock, knock!"
"Come in."
Locke heard George's voice from the study, smiled, pushed open the door from outside, and greeted George, who was sitting in the study: "Good evening, George."
George, who was writing about the unsuccessful termination of the Unrivaled Assassin's experience for the new year in his study, looked up at Locke entering and raised an eyebrow.
Just then.
Gwen also walked in from behind.
Locke looked at Gwen, who still had a surprised expression on her face, and without telling her to leave, he went straight to the point: "George, do you know anyone at the New Orleans Police Department?"
"New Orleans?"
"Yes."
George looked up, thought for a moment: "Their homicide division chief and the head of the organized crime investigation unit are my classmates. What's up?"
He graduated from a professional police academy, and most of his classmates, who are roughly his age, are still in the field. Most are division chiefs, and at the very least, they're detective sergeants or something similar.
It's just… George looked at Locke curiously: "Why are you asking this?"
Locke smiled: "I might have to go there the day after tomorrow. I'm worried there might be some trouble…"
Simply put.
Before leaving, he wanted to identify who he could call for help. When he got there, he didn't know what might happen. If something did, he could just call someone directly.
Gwen heard this sentence.
She was stunned.
"Wait."
"Locke, New Orleans?"
"When?"
300, New Orleans
"Is this supposed to be a surprise for me?" Gwen wondered curiously, "New Orleans, though, sounds pretty good."
But… unfortunately, it wasn't.
Just because Locke didn't hide things from Gwen didn't mean he would take her with him this time. At least, not this time.
This time, it was a witch story.
No matter how much the Unrivaled Assassin played, the enemies she provoked were all ordinary people, so Gwen getting involved was no big deal.
After all, if George could do it, why couldn't Gwen?
But New Orleans was different.
Locke intended to go there and shout, "Release that witch!", not explain to Gwen, "Gwen, I'm not a witch!"
"It's Carrie," Locke said to Gwen, his eyes clear. "Carrie has a friend in New Orleans. Chester isn't comfortable letting Carrie go alone, so he wants me to go and keep an eye on things."
Gwen's eyes widened. "Carrie?"
Locke nodded.
George frowned. "Then you asked the police station over there…"
Locke spread his hands, looking somewhat helpless at George. "George, how many troubles have we encountered on our recent outings? I'm just being prepared."
George opened his mouth, then shook his head. "Alright, I'll send you the number later. When are you going?"
"The day after tomorrow."
Locke looked at Gwen and smiled. "I'll go right after Christmas, and then, it'll be about a week or so."
It would be just in time to return for the skiing trip to Canada.
After Locke explained the reason, Gwen didn't ask any more questions. After all, it was Locke's business, and most importantly, Gwen trusted Locke.
This year's Christmas was uneventful.
It was spent in Gwen's apartment, without a roasted turkey. Turkeys were notoriously bad, and as Helen would say, roasting one meant eating turkey burgers for at least a month after Christmas.
On Christmas night.
Dong!
Dong!
On Manhattan Island, fireworks bloomed brightly.
On the rooftop.
Locke and Gwen sat on a swing chair on the apartment rooftop.
The swing chair swayed gently.
Gwen held one of Locke's arms, her scarf-wrapped head resting on his shoulder. She looked at Locke, who seemed to wear fewer and fewer clothing styles, seemingly only suits left, and asked, feeling a little amazed, "Aren't you cold?"
Locke shook his head. "A calm mind keeps you warm."
What a joke. He was already a man of steel, even if he was of the lowest rank. But no matter what, if he couldn't even control his own body temperature, could he still be called a man of steel?
Gwen sat up straight and playfully punched Locke. "That's 'a calm mind keeps you cool.' You're misusing Eastern culture again."
Gwen found Locke's little quirk somewhat difficult to understand.
Culture should be used for learning, not for distortion and modification. If it's arbitrarily modified and distorted, then it's not respecting culture, and disrespecting culture means disrespecting history.
Locke looked at the serious-faced Gwen and opened his mouth. "Alright, my mistake."
Even with Gwen, it was hard for him to explain the difference between misusing and teasing.
Besides, today was Christmas.
Gwen seemed to remember something. "That amulet, what is it? Did you find it?"
Locke took out the USB-shaped amulet that Lorraine Broughton should have sent twelve years ago from his left pocket. "You mean this? No."
To be precise, he hadn't had time to look for it these past two days.
He had been busy researching Anila Kacz, the person he and Carrie were going to New Orleans to find tomorrow.
Anila Kacz was dead.
But Locke wasn't a psychic. Clearly, Carrie wanted the murderer of Anila Kacz, not a corpse. Locke wasn't interested in Anila Kacz's death, but rather curious as to why it was Anila Kacz.
Carrie wanted Anila Kacz's killer.
And Locke wanted the reason that led to Anila Kacz's death.
Locke had done some research these past two days and understood why Carrie and Anila were good friends.
Nothing else.
Anila was practically a copy of Carrie White, the New York version.
Moreover, ten days ago, several of Anila's classmates' social media pages seemed to show some strange posts indicating that Anila Kacz had become somewhat odd after awakening her witch powers.
Subsequently, after a teacher's home visit, Anila Kacz's mother booked a flight to New Orleans for the first day of the holiday.
Clearly.
This was a sad story.
Gwen smiled slightly, seemingly thinking of tomorrow's events, and looked at Locke. "Are you going to New Orleans tomorrow? Do you need me to go with you?"
Locke looked at Gwen, who was leaning on his shoulder and speaking casually, and chuckled. "Of course, no problem. Carrie is just worried about what happened to her friend, but it shouldn't be a big issue. Perfect, we can go there, play in New Orleans for a few days, and I'll book the tickets now."
As he spoke.
Locke pulled out his phone, ready to place the order.
Gwen rolled her eyes and stopped Locke. "I was joking. Grandpa and Grandma are coming tomorrow, so I'll be busy. You go by yourself."
Locke shrugged.
Actually, Gwen going would also be fine. At worst, he could just have Witch Locke and Witch Xindra accompany them.
Even if the situation turned upside down, Locke felt he could suppress it.
The next day.
Locke arrived at Carrie's doorstep early in the morning.
Carrie practically opened the door the moment Locke's car arrived, carrying her backpack, opening the car door, and getting in.
She seemed very eager.
Locke shook his head at the sight but didn't say anything. He started the car, and then, with a roar, the car sped off towards JFK International Airport.
At eight in the morning.
Locke and Carrie caught the earliest flight from New York's JFK to New Orleans' Louis Armstrong International Airport.
"Good morning, Mr. Broughton."
"Good morning, Ms. Chester."
In first class, the flight attendant's service quality was still far superior to economy class. She brought slippers and even served bourbon.
Carrie watched Locke smile and accept the bourbon, feeling amazed. However, seeing the flight attendant's normal expression, she tentatively asked, "Could I have a glass of wine?"
The answer was, of course, yes.
Locke looked at Carrie beside him. "Do you see anyone else in first class?"
Carrie looked around; it seemed to be just her and Locke.
Locke shrugged. "In a sense, I've booked the entire first class, so it's my private space. And in a private space, drinking isn't a violation of the rule against public consumption of alcohol by those under twenty-one."
Carrie was stunned.
Of course.
This was a good method, but it was a bit expensive.
If Locke hadn't earned some extra money recently, he might have hesitated to do something like this.
But… the enjoyment was truly enjoyable.
When the plane landed, Locke felt no fatigue or discomfort at all. However, he encountered a small problem when picking up the car.
"Locke Broughton?"
"Yes."
Locke looked at the patrol officer who suddenly appeared from not far away after he received the keys, raising an eyebrow. "Officer, can I help you?"
The patrol officer, seeing Locke nod in confirmation, got out of his car, took out his equipment, and smiled at Locke. "Do you mind a breathalyzer test?"
Locke raised an eyebrow.
The test result, naturally, showed no alcohol.
The patrol officer's expression remained calm. He put away his equipment and returned Locke's driver's license. "Have a good day, sir."
Locke smiled. "You too, officer."
He got in the car.
Started the engine.
Carrie, in the passenger seat, finally came back to her senses and blinked. "Just now, that was…"
Locke chuckled. "It's a little game between George and me."
Carrie: "…"
The patrol officer, after seeing Locke drive away, took out his phone, called his immediate superior, and then his superior called George, who was at home holding his youngest daughter.
"What?"
George listened to the call from his good friend in New Orleans, looking shocked. "That's impossible."
Gwen, who was in the dining room, looked up, dashed into the living room, and then looked at George with a tense expression, as if asking what happened to Locke.
George glanced at his daughter's face, hummed into the phone, and after hanging up, stroked his chin. "This isn't right."
Gwen was almost in tears. "Dad."
George looked up and gasped. "Could it be that this wild boar knew I would do this, so he didn't drink a single drop of alcohol on the plane?"
"Huh?"
"Damn it, I thought I could catch that wild boar's loophole."
"…Dad!"
Gwen reacted, her face instantly turning dark. She looked at George, who was overacting, stomped her foot, and called for backup, looking at Helen. "Mom, look at Dad."
As she spoke.
Gwen looked at George very seriously, her arms crossed. "Dad, Locke trusts you, that's why he told you. But you're using Locke's trust as an opportunity to stab him in the back. That's not good."
Not angry.
The trumpet is already here.
George thought to himself, looking at the trumpet in his arms, then looked up, smiling at Gwen, who was angry, stomping her foot, and clearly completely transformed into Locke's shape.
Helen looked up and said, "Don't worry, Locke won't hold it against your dad. If Locke doesn't care, why are you complaining about your dad on Locke's behalf?"
George nodded. "Look at your mom…"
He paused.
George reacted. "Did you say that backwards? What do you mean, Locke won't hold it against me? Clearly, it's me…"
Helen walked over, snatched Andy from George's arms, gave George a glare, and said to Gwen, "When your dad and grandpa used to play like this, I never stood so blatantly on George's side like you are. Men, it's normal for them to have their little games, as long as they don't go too far."
Gwen opened her mouth, looking at Helen, whose face clearly said, "Why are you so tense? Just turn eighteen after the New Year and go to City Hall to get married," and then she looked at George.
The next second.
Gwen stomped her foot and turned around. "I'm going back to my room to read."
George: "…"
Helen: "…"
More chapters available on Wtr-Lab up to 711: A certain marvel super player