In Flynn's office, the light from the kerosene lamp cast his long shadow on the wall. He spent the entire night memorizing the five files.
The next morning, he called together his two most capable deputies.
Timmy, the intelligence rising star who had grown from a shoeshine boy, now managed all street-level and white-collar intelligence networks.
And Donovan, the head of the operations team who had just returned triumphantly from Philadelphia, controlled all forces involved in the underworld and special missions.
"Miss Catherine has conveyed the Boss's new mission, top priority." Flynn handed them summaries of the five files.
He then concisely stated, "These five people are candidates for the Boss's future personal assistant. The Boss needs to know everything about them. Remember, everything, both on paper and off paper."
He turned his gaze to Timmy.
"Timmy, Leander Scott from Argyle Bank and Edward Frost from Umbrella are two cultured individuals who work in offices. You are responsible for observing their work." Flynn's instructions were clear and specific: "Find two new faces, ordinary employees, and place them in the archives of Argyle Bank and the shipping department of Umbrella."
"I want them to see with their eyes and hear with their ears. I want to know how Scott handles accounts under pressure. How Frost speaks when dealing with difficult suppliers. I want a most authentic report on their work status."
"Oh, right, and that supervisor named Sullivan from the food company. Their private lives after work are also your responsibility. I need to know who they are with and what they are doing after work."
As he spoke, Flynn pulled out three files and pushed them over.
"Understood, Supervisor." Timmy nodded and put away the files.
"Donovan." Flynn turned to his silent subordinate.
"The two people from the Chicago Railway Company and the food company are your responsibility to investigate. The process is the same. Also, remember to go to the taverns they frequent, to their card tables. Talk to their neighbors, and even the grocery store owner at their doorstep. I want a detailed report. Do they have any unknown debts? Do they have a drinking problem? How are their wives and children doing?"
"Remember," he looked at the two of them, "the Boss needs someone clean, without any blemish. Our job is to ensure that the last person remaining on the list cannot find a single shadow under any light."
...Just as Flynn began his secret investigation, Jones also started the task Felix had given him.
He first arranged for the small-scale production of compressed biscuits and water purification tablets, and then prepared to buy the plot of land Felix had mentioned.
But he did not rashly look for a land agent, nor did he ostentatiously investigate Five Points.
He first spent two days cooped up in his office at the food company, studying the New York City municipal map marked with various colored notations.
Then he took off the respectable suit symbolizing his position as company president and put on a faded, coarse cloth jacket, the kind he had worn many years ago when he first came to New York.
He returned to Five Points alone.
At a street food stall, Jones bought a corned beef sandwich for a few cents, and while eating, he walked aimlessly through the muddy alleys.
He observed the structure of each building, assessed their state of disrepair, and listened to the curses and laughter, full of Irish accents, coming from the surrounding taverns.
In one afternoon, he had already mentally drawn the most detailed, live map of the block Felix had chosen, including ownership, lease status, and resident composition.
In the evening, he walked into an Irish tavern called "The Shamrock" on Horse Street.
The tavern was old but very clean. The owner was an Irish old man named Paddy O'Malley. When Jones was young and first came to New York, he had worked as a handyman in this tavern for half a year.
"A rye beer, Uncle Paddy." Jones sat at the bar.
Old O'Malley squinted his cloudy eyes and looked at him for a long time before recognizing him. "Is... is it Jones?" A surprised expression appeared on his face. "My God, you look... completely different."
"Yes, many years have passed." Jones smiled.
The two exchanged a few pleasantries, and Jones explained his purpose.
"Uncle Paddy," he lowered his voice, "I've come back this time because I want to ask for your help."
"Speak, child. As long as these old bones of mine can still move."
"I represent a philanthropist who wishes to remain anonymous." Jones began to execute the script Felix had taught him. "He is a devout believer and our Irish compatriot. He wants to do something for the children of this community. He plans to buy a piece of land to build an orphanage and a school."
He spread a sketch on the bar counter, which was precisely the block Felix had chosen.
Jones looked at him, his tone very sincere, "I want to ask you, in your own name, or through a few people you trust, to quietly buy all the houses and land in this block."
He pushed a heavy envelope across.
"Inside is a thousand dollars in cash. It's your commission and initial operating expenses. As for the acquisition price, it can be twenty percent above the market price. My Boss has only one request: be fast and absolutely quiet."
Paddy O'Malley looked at the sketch, then at the thick envelope, his hands trembling slightly. As an old Irish immigrant who had lived there for forty years, he knew too well that this was not just a business. If this matter succeeded, it would completely change this forgotten corner of God's world.
"Child..." He looked at Jones, "May I ask why this philanthropist wants to do this?"
Jones was silent for a moment. He remembered the look in his Boss's eyes when he saw the street orphans in Five Points.
"Because," he said slowly, "he was once one of them."
A week later, in Flynn's office.
The first batch of observation reports arrived in his hands one after another.
Timmy placed a preliminary report about Edward Frost, the head of the Umbrella Corporation's supply department, on top.
"Supervisor," Timmy's tone carried a hint of curiosity, "the report on Frost is quite interesting."
Flynn picked up the report and quickly scanned it. The observer's records confirmed everything Supervisor Jenkins had said in his letter of recommendation.
Frost was very efficient and professional in his work, and also relatively reserved.
But at the end of the report, a seemingly irrelevant detail was recorded.
"...During the target's daily lunch break, he never dines with colleagues. He goes alone to an old bookstall under the Brooklyn Bridge. There, he shares his self-prepared sandwich with an old German scholar, discussing something in German in low voices. At least three times a week, rain or shine."
Flynn put down the report, his fingers lightly tapping on that passage.
A Yale graduate, a business elite proficient in multiple languages, maintaining such regular and secret contact with a German old man of unknown identity.
What was hidden behind this?
"Continue to observe and, by the way, investigate that German old man." Flynn gave Timmy the instruction.
"I want to know everything about him."