Locke got out of the car.
He looked completely pleasantly surprised!
Over there, Miriam Shelton, suddenly hearing her name called, looked in the direction of the voice. Seeing Locke walking over from across the street, she looked a bit dazed.
Who is this?
However, just as Miriam was about to ask, Locke had already approached.
"Mrs. Shelton, your lecture on the history of the Arawak tribe yesterday was incredibly fascinating."
Miriam occasionally moonlit as an presentation guide for Native American history at the museum. It wasn't a regular thing, but yesterday she had filled in because the wife of the professional guide went into labor.
Locke had hacked the museum's security cameras to review yesterday's footage. Miriam had been highly interactive and loved answering questions.
Perfect.
Locke had just unlocked the advanced lip-reading skill, after all.
"I was the one who asked you that question yesterday about how the Arawak people handled their meals."
"..."
Miriam remembered. She immediately extended her hand to shake Locke's.
"Ah, I remember that question! There were too many people around at the time so I didn't catch a look. Your name is..."
"Broughton. Locke Broughton!"
"Hello, Mr. Broughton."
"Hello."
Locke shook hands with Miriam, and then pointed toward his Audi R8.
"Mrs. Shelton, do you need a ride back?"
Miriam shook her head and turned around.
Nick Rice was already gone.
Huh?
Where did he go?
Miriam looked slightly startled.
Locke smiled warmly. "Mrs. Shelton?"
Coming back to her senses, Miriam smiled. "Is it convenient for you?"
"Of course!"
Locke said with a smile. He had come here specifically for Miriam Shelton.
What a joke.
Someone was already eyeing the Voodoo Compendium he was about to put up for auction. If this guy who just hooked up with a demon found out where the book was, who was going to compensate him for his twenty million dollars?
Besides...
Locke wasn't a saint. The survival of random strangers had absolutely zero to do with him.
But Miriam Shelton?
If Miriam met some tragic end because of his Voodoo Compendium, Locke wouldn't exactly be paralyzed with guilt, but it would still make him feel a bit uncomfortable.
How should he put it?
'I didn't kill the scholar, yet the scholar died because of me?'
Furthermore, Miriam wasn't the main point; her husband, Clyde Shelton, was the real focus here.
This Clyde Shelton was a CIA operative.
Just look at Kim's dad.
Even though CIA operatives usually looked rather unhinged, their combat effectiveness always exploded to absurd levels whenever their family was threatened.
As for that Nick guy?
The moment he saw Locke get out of the car, he had already stood up. Then, seeing Miriam stand up as well, he turned and left, seemingly unwilling to have any contact with Locke.
After all...
Standing right behind Locke was Wall Street's top legal team.
What a coward.
Locke thought to himself. He very gentlemanly opened the car door for Miriam, and then they got into the vehicle.
Miriam's home was also on Manhattan Island.
In fact, it wasn't far from Fifth Avenue, though unlike Locke's apartment, it was a house located within a residential neighborhood.
Very quickly...
Seeing her home just up ahead, along with her husband who was watering the lawn at the entrance with their daughter, Miriam let out a sigh of relief. Unbuckling her seatbelt, she thanked Locke in the driver's seat.
Over there, Clyde Shelton—who bore a striking resemblance to a certain movie star famous for "falling" movies—had been on high alert almost the exact second Locke's Audi R8 entered the street. By the time Miriam opened the door and stepped out, Clyde was already walking toward the front of the car.
His posture was highly professional.
"Clyde."
"Mimi."
Mimi was Clyde's affectionate nickname for his wife, Miriam.
Watching the two of them instantly embrace and kiss in front of his car, Locke raised an eyebrow, unbuckled his seatbelt, and stepped out as well.
Out of the corner of his eye, Clyde watched Locke step out, and the vigilance in his gaze lessened slightly.
Not very old.
Not much of a threat either.
Beside him, Miriam introduced Locke: "Broughton is the student council president at Midtown High. He visited our museum yesterday. As luck would have it, I was over in Queens today, and Broughton happened to be passing by, so he gave me a ride back."
Locke extended his hand with a polite smile. "Good afternoon, Mr. Shelton."
"Broughton."
Clyde's expression turned a bit nuanced as he shook Locke's hand.
"Locke Broughton. That's a very nice name."
Speaking of which...
Wasn't there a female operative in the Agency also named Broughton?
What was her name again?
Lor...
Lorraine Broughton?
The most legendary operative in the Agency, the legendary female spy who went undercover in both the KGB and MI6.
Locke noticed the expression on Clyde's face, but it was perfectly normal for most men to have that kind of look when seeing their wife come home with such a handsome young guy.
He could understand it.
Locke smiled slightly and let go of his hand, then politely declined Clyde and Miriam's invitation to come inside for a bit, stating that he needed to head out.
However...
As Locke was getting back into his car, he seemed to think of something. Looking back at the family of three who were preparing to head inside together, he called out,
"Mr. Shelton?"
Clyde Shelton turned around and looked at Locke.
Locke glanced at Miriam and their daughter out of the corner of his eye.
Miriam caught the hint and said to her daughter,
"Angie, let's go inside. Daddy and the older brother need to talk."
Five-year-old Angie, who was dressed up beautifully, waved at Locke.
Locke smiled and waved back.
After a moment...
Locke looked at Clyde who had walked over, and rubbed his nose, seemingly organizing his words:
"Mr. Shelton, this morning, I saw Mrs. Shelton talking with someone from the DA's office..."
Clyde said, "Just call me Clyde. I know, the Assistant District Attorney from the DA's office said there was some final visit—"
Locke looked slightly stunned. "Assistant District Attorney? No way."
Clyde looked up.
Locke had a surprised expression on his face.
"He approached me before too, and even tried to emotionally manipulate me into going. But I know him. After all, Nina Bell used to go to Midtown High. Back then, he was just a trainee lawyer assigned to Nina Bell by the DA's office."
Clyde's eyes flashed with a sharp light.
Hook, line, and sinker.
Locke thought to himself, then hesitated as if choosing his next words carefully: "Still, I feel like that guy is a bit strange, though I can't quite put my finger on it. That's why I felt it was necessary to give you a heads-up, Clyde."
Coming back to his senses, Clyde looked at the sincere, clear-eyed Locke and offered a slight smile.
"Thank you, Locke. I really appreciate it."
Locke shook Clyde's hand once more. "Don't mention it, Clyde. Mrs. Shelton is my favorite guide at the history museum. She's very vivid and loves to interact with enthusiasts like us, though she rarely seems to do the presentations."
Clyde laughed heartily.
"I can give you her number. Next time you go, I'm sure my wife would love to fill in as a guide for you."
Locke looked completely thrilled.
"Really? That would be amazing. Thank you, Mr. Shelton. If my girlfriend finds out, she'll definitely be ecstatic."
Gwen had indeed been to the history museum before.
Locke had gone too.
Sometimes, a lie shouldn't be entirely made up; a blend of truth and fiction made for a truly qualified deception. However, Locke and Gwen had never actually caught Miriam doing a presentation, though Gwen had mentioned that there was an excellent substitute guide like her.
Very quickly...
After Locke and Clyde exchanged phone numbers, Locke drove out of the neighborhood under Clyde's watchful gaze.
Once Locke's car vanished from sight, the smile on Clyde's face gradually turned icy cold.
Don't misunderstand.
It wasn't directed at Locke.
It was directed at the man Locke had just mentioned—the guy who was still just a public defender assigned by the court during the trial, yet claimed to be the Assistant District Attorney when meeting his wife.
An ordinary person might not notice anything amiss, perhaps just assuming the guy had gotten lucky and promoted fast.
But Clyde?
He was a master tactician from Langley. What he excelled at most was figuring out how to eliminate a target with the absolute minimum cost—the kind of guy who would absolutely refuse to spend two hundred thousand dollars if he could get the job done for five cents.
Even though he had already retired from Langley, he had spent his life there, and all his skills had been drilled into him by the Agency.
Nick Rice?
Clyde waited until Locke's taillights completely disappeared from the street, then turned around, tilted his head slightly, flashed a gentle smile to his wife and daughter standing at the door, and walked toward the tool shed in the backyard.
...
After leaving Clyde's neighborhood, Locke drove straight home.
He believed that with this warning, even if Clyde didn't immediately pack up his family and run, the absolute minimum he would do was take his wife and daughter out of New York for a few days to unwind and relax.
If a stranger he didn't know kicked the bucket, it didn't matter.
But for someone he knew, someone who simply made a living off her professional skills, to suddenly suffer an unpredictable disaster because of his own business—it was better to avoid it if it could be avoided.
Locke thought to himself.
Just then...
His phone rang.
It was Gwen.
Locke answered it directly, routing the call through the car's audio system.
After all, George was completely obsessed right now. That night, just to catch a single piece of evidence on Locke, the man hadn't even reminded him about drinking and driving.
Who knew if George had told the numerous traffic cops along the road to keep an eye on him? If he picked up the phone manually and got spotted by a traffic cop, getting pulled over would mean falling straight into George's trap.
Locke had only said he would find a way to end things in a draw with George.
He had never said he was going to lose.
His undefeated streak could not be broken.
No matter who asked, the answer remained the same; if it broke, the future troubles would be endless.
"Hey."
Over at the Oscorp Bio-Tech Building, inside Connors' experimental laboratory group, Gwen—who was wearing a white lab coat—looked at a small spider inside a breeding chamber as she spoke into the connected call.
"Did you go to Queens?"
Locke smiled. "Are you monitoring me via satellite?"
Gwen laughed out loud.
"No, it was Kim. Kim filed a complaint with me, saying she took a picture of you driving off into the sunset with a beautiful woman in your car."
Locke: "..."