However...
No matter how the two of them guessed, they couldn't possibly come up with the correct answer on their own.
Therefore, they had to call for outside assistance.
At eight in the evening.
George, who had labored for an entire day without finding a single trace of the Peerless assassin—though he did manage to uncover an undercover agent from a smuggling ring—opened the door to his home, feeling a mixture of satisfaction and disappointment.
The very next second.
"Dad!"
"..."
George was startled, and then he saw his little cotton jacket... his former little cotton jacket, who now looked entirely like a leaky, black-hearted cotton jacket. Gwen greeted him with a beaming smile and wrapped her arms around his arm.
Hmm.
A different scent of body wash.
Not the one from home.
Smelling the scent from Gwen's hair, George didn't even need to look into the bathroom to know, because their family couldn't afford such high-end body wash.
"Alright, spit it out, what do you want?"
"Dad, I missed you."
"Heh."
"..."
Looking at George's expression, Gwen blinked her eyes. Something wasn't right; in the past, whenever she hugged George, he would smile exactly like a joyful little camper.
"Dad, what's wrong with you?"
Looking at his black-hearted cotton jacket's expression, George placed his hat aside and gave a superficial smile.
"Think carefully about it—ever since you got a boyfriend, when have you ever acted like this? The last time I offered you hot cocoa, you even claimed you needed to maintain your figure."
Gwen's face flushed red.
"Dad, I really wanted to..."
Locke walked out from the kitchen at this moment, carrying a cup of hot cocoa.
"Gwen, the hot cocoa Helen just brewed..."
As he spoke.
Locke spotted George, who had just entered.
Gwen's face flushed even redder.
The expression on George's face, however, was a brilliant, highly unusual smile.
Excellent.
The black-hearted cotton jacket had finally evolved into a drafty, no longer considerate black-hearted cotton jacket.
He hoped their fourth child would be a little daughter.
George offered a silent prayer in his heart.
Yes.
Helen was pregnant again.
Or rather, it matched exactly what Gwen had predicted back then.
It was quite magical.
Looking at his daughter, who sheepishly let go of his arm, lowered her head, and seemed to be humbly admitting her mistake, George let out another chuckle, removed his coat, cast a glance at Locke as a greeting, and then rolled up his sleeves to walk into the kitchen.
Locke handed the hot cocoa to Gwen, blinking his eyes.
"What happened?"
Although his six senses were highly acute, he didn't keep them active at all times. He only activated this acute sensory function when necessary; otherwise, if left on continuously, Locke felt his head would explode.
Watching George enter the kitchen and seemingly say something to Helen, causing both parents to brush their eyes toward them simultaneously, Gwen stuck out her cute tongue and looked toward Locke.
"It's all your fault."
Locke arched an eyebrow.
A perfectly innocent face!
However, this was merely a minor interlude.
Soon.
In the study, after George listened to Locke and Gwen recount their encounter with the DA lawyer this afternoon, he was also struck with curiosity. Pulling out his laptop, he made an on-the-spot inquiry to find out what exactly was going on.
Locke and Gwen exchanged a glance, watching George as he made the phone call, choosing not to disturb him.
However...
Locke's eyes lit up. He walked over to the liquor cabinet in George's study, fixed his gaze on a bottle of bourbon inside, and asked curiously,
"This bottle..."
Gwen said from the side,
"Is there something special about it? A friend gifted it to Dad on the day he was promoted to Senior Inspector."
Locke rubbed his chin.
"This happens to be a 1992 Thunder Bourbon."
Gwen shrugged.
Locke said,
"For Thunder Bourbon, aside from the first year of production which is an absolute masterpiece, the most universally acclaimed and delicious vintage is the '92."
Gwen let out an "oh." "Is it that good?"
Locke nodded and then shook his head. "I only heard Tony Stark mention it when we were on the Argo last time."
While on the Argo, during the wait for the rescue helicopter, everyone's mood had relaxed considerably, and they shared a lot of casual conversation.
However, Tony Stark's social status was simply too elevated. While stranded together on the Argo, he might engage in conversation and drop his typical arrogant attitude, but once they stepped off the vessel, Tony Stark remained Tony Stark.
Since they didn't belong to the same world, they were ultimately not the same kind of people.
Locke licked his lips, turned his head toward George who was on the phone, and pointed at the bottle of '92 Thunder Bourbon inside the cabinet.
George, mid-call, looked up to cast a glance, and then nodded his head.
Locke opened the liquor cabinet.
*Pop!*
George froze slightly, looking up as his eyes narrowed sharply.
Good heavens.
He really doesn't treat himself as an outsider, does he?
Locke retrieved two glasses from the cabinet, poured two servings, and then handed one over to George.
George remained silent for a brief moment. Listening to the voice on the line, he accepted the glass, took a sip, and resumed his posture for the phone call.
Locke also took a light sip.
Gwen asked curiously from the side,
"How is it?"
Locke said,
"An eighty out of a hundred, I'd say."
After all, his personal preference was for the inaugural vintage. He had a black-market broker who specifically helped him collect it, and the majority of his personal funds were spent on acquiring the first-year Thunder Bourbon.
A short while later.
After George wished the other side a good night, he hung up the phone.
Seeing this, Locke and Gwen sat back down properly.
Gwen said, "Dad, how did it go?"
George looked at the phone in his hand, frowning.
"Nick Rice isn't a lawyer for the DA's office."
"What?"
"He was appointed as an Assistant District Attorney half a month ago."
"..."
Hearing this response, Locke arched an eyebrow and looked at George. "Impressive."
How could it not be impressive?
When helping the Bell family fight their lawsuit, he was merely an invisible little lawyer at the DA's office. Once the lawsuit ended in their condemnation, good heavens, he bypassed the ladder entirely and instantly became an Assistant District Attorney.
This speed of advancement could practically rival George's own promotion rate.
Huh?
SHIELD?
No.
Nick Fury was already cold—thoroughly cold, with his soul permanently taking up residence in the underworld dimension.
Furthermore.
Locke looked at George with a slight frown. "Since he is already an Assistant District Attorney, why is he still so invested in this case? He looked as if he was ready to cry right in front of me if I refused to go."
Not to mention attempting to morally kidnap him.
Wait.
Locke's eyes gleamed slightly.
Could it be that the Bell family lent a helping hand?
The thought crossed Locke's mind, and then he shook his head, feeling as though he was indulging in an absolute pipedream.
However...
His six senses experienced a sudden twitch.
Locke arched an eyebrow, following his sixth sense to drag that exact conclusion back out.
Good heavens.
Could there really be a possibility like that?
But...
If the Bell family truly commanded that level of influence, how could they possibly sit back and wait for their demise so submissively?
That completely defied common sense.
Even if the Bell family were genuine Voodoo sorcerers, what of it? The execution of Voodoo magic required a soul as the ultimate price.
The next second.
Locke looked up at George.
"George, when did you say he received his promotion?"
George looked toward Locke. "Half a month ago."
Locke said thoughtfully, "Half a month ago, Nina Bell committed suicide in prison."
Half a month ago, Nina Bell committed suicide.
Half a month ago, this Nick Rice transformed from an invisible little lawyer into an Assistant District Attorney.
Hearing Locke bring this up, Gwen looked toward George.
"That's true, Dad. Why would Nina Bell suddenly commit suicide?"
George said, "Half a month ago, when the New York Women's Correctional Facility opened the cell doors in the morning, they discovered that Nina Bell had strangled herself on her bed using a towel. A suicide note was discovered on her bed, detailing her reasons for ending her life. The prison authorities were concerned that a leak would trigger a public relations crisis, so they didn't issue extensive notifications."
Furthermore, with the members of that flash-mob looting ring led by the Bell family either already in prison or preparing to enter, there was absolutely no need to notify anyone. If they could give it a cold treatment, they would.
Locke felt curious, preparing to ask what the state of the corpse looked like.
He needed to confirm it.
But...
Locke's thoughts spun rapidly, and after weighing the options, he ultimately didn't voice the question. No other reason than that such a question didn't sound like something he would normally ask.
After George finished speaking, he noticed Locke's expression. Assuming Locke was concerned about potential pressure from the DA's office, he spoke up directly,
"Rest assured, you won't be forced into anything regarding this matter."
Locke snapped out of it, offering a slight smile. "I know."
Setting aside the fact that he was always a person who responded to gentle treatment rather than force, But even if their entire family knelt before Locke, they shouldn't dream of him making an appearance.
It was the same principle as always.
Knowing full well it was a trap yet insisting on going made one either an idiot or a fool.
Fortunately, Locke was a smart man.
Half an hour later.
Locke chose to bid them farewell and head home. However, because he had consumed alcohol, Locke handed his car keys over to Gwen.
Looking at George—who had followed them out without uttering a single warning and clearly displayed a flash of disappointment upon seeing Locke hand the keys to his daughter—the space between Locke's brows couldn't help but twitch before he stepped into a taxi.
Watching the taxi speed away, George let out a heavy sigh.
Driving your own vehicle after consuming alcohol was definitely out of the question.
But taking a taxi after drinking was completely reasonable and lawful.
This fellow was indeed staying on guard against him.
George thought along these lines, the disappointment on his face entirely unhidden. Seeing this from the side, Gwen wanted to say something, but ultimately kept quiet.
Upon arriving home, Locke directly retrieved his Continental Hotel laptop, logged into the network, and sent a brief message to Raymond "Red" Reddington.
By the time Locke finished his shower, Red's phone call came through precisely on time.
"Hahaha!"
The moment the call connected, Red's signature laugh echoed out.
"My dear friend, long time no see. What is it that I can do for you?"
Locke cut straight to the point, "Half a month ago, in a New York women's prison, a female inmate committed suicide. I want the surveillance footage, the photographs, and if there's a corpse available, that would be even better."
Red: "..."