Los Angeles.
Over a hundred kilometers from the city center, in a remote little farm.
Following Stella's directions, Hunter drove the motorcycle all the way here.
"Stop!"
Seeing Hunter stop the bike, Stella jumped off the back seat.
Before them stood a dilapidated farm.
The sign hung crookedly, looking like it would fall at any moment. The wooden fences and wire mesh were rotting and rusted.
Hunter knew California agriculture was big business, and farms like this dotted the landscape.
In fact, right after stealing the safes from Steve, Hunter's first thought had been to sell the gold and buy a farm.
He couldn't help it. The farming gene was practically stamped into his DNA as a Chinese soul. Even after transmigrating into a Chinese-American body, the urge remained.
Of course, he had dismissed the idea quickly.
In the US, the IRS was a unique and terrifying entity.
America was a nation where money ruled. Generally, the government didn't care where you got the cash to buy luxury goods or property.
But the IRS kept tax records on almost every adult citizen.
It was said they maintained separate files for anyone who suddenly came into wealth, marking them for special observation.
As long as you had the ability to pay their high consumption taxes and property taxes, the IRS might turn a blind eye to some minor tax evasion.
But the moment you couldn't sustain that spending, or when the government needed revenue?
They would pounce like starving wolves, confiscating every asset in your name and tearing you apart until not even bones remained.
Among all US government agencies, the IRS was undoubtedly the most dangerous.
Like the FBI or CIA, it had its own agents, its own courts, and even armed enforcement units.
So, even as a transmigrator, Hunter didn't want to provoke that behemoth before he had a solid foundation.
He definitely didn't want to end up on their radar now and invite trouble for his future.
Stella walked silently to the crooked sign of the dilapidated farm, touching the weathered wood with a look of deep sorrow.
Hunter noticed it but said nothing.
The gate was padlocked. Stella walked up to it and looked back at Hunter.
He understood immediately. Nodding, he produced a metal pick from his Inventory like a magic trick.
He fiddled with the lock for about ten seconds.
Click.
The lock opened. They entered the rundown property.
The farm wasn't big—maybe 15 to 20 acres (100-200 mu).
In the US, this was considered a small, hobbyist farm. When Hunter had researched buying one, he found that the average US farm was hundreds of acres.
So this place was tiny.
In one corner stood a few structures: a wooden house, a garage, and two decent-sized barns.
Stella seemed to know this place by heart. She walked ahead of Hunter, her long legs carrying her straight toward one of the barns.
Hunter followed, his gaze occasionally sweeping the surroundings but mostly lingering on Stella.
They reached the larger barn. Stella turned to look at him again.
Hunter nodded, stepped forward, and worked on the barn's padlock. Moments later, it was open.
Stella slid the door open and walked into the darkness.
The barn was huge—hundreds of square meters.
Walking in while covering his nose against the dust, Hunter noticed it was mostly empty, save for some old farming equipment.
Except for one corner.
"Follow me."
Stella didn't mind the dust at all. Entering the space seemed to awaken childhood memories.
She looked around the barn affectionately for a moment before signaling Hunter to follow her to the corner.
Hunter nodded and trailed behind her.
They reached the corner, where four wooden tables had been pushed together.
The tables were covered in dust-laden tools. Shelves against the wall were packed with various locks and small safes.
Nearby, a pile of objects was covered by a tarp. through the holes in the fabric, Hunter could see the outlines of larger safes.
"This was my father's farm," Stella said, picking up a tool from the dusty table. Her face was full of nostalgia.
After a moment of silence, she spoke as if talking to herself.
"He used to bring me here to teach me lockpicking."
"He said once he retired, he wanted to live out his days here."
"Grow some corn, raise some cows, keep a few horses... and never leave me again."
Hunter could hear the sadness in her voice.
It made sense. Her father, the only family she had, was suddenly gone.
It was impossible for Stella not to hate Steve—and Charlie too.
It was amazing she could hold it together at all.
Hunter thought for a moment, then spoke up. "I've heard about the feud between your father and Steve."
"Stella, in return for you teaching me your skills..."
"I will find an opportunity to kill Steve and avenge your father."
His words successfully pulled Stella out of her grief.
She looked up at him in surprise. Hunter met her gaze with a serious expression.
"A life for a life. A debt for a debt."
"There's a saying from an Eastern country that's been passed down for thousands of years."
"You're teaching me your craft. That makes you half a teacher to me."
"I am willing to take revenge for you."
This time, there was no calculation or manipulation.
Hunter was genuinely moved by Stella's grief for her father. He made the decision impulsively.
"Thank you. But no."
Stella looked at his serious face and felt touched.
But she shook her head, clearly not wanting to discuss it further.
"Hunter, I called my office on the way here. told them I wouldn't be coming in for a while."
"Consider it a vacation. For the next few days, we'll stay here at the farm."
"I'll use this time to teach you everything I know about locks."
"Deal!"
Hunter nodded earnestly. He knew his [Lockpicking] skill was finally about to skyrocket.
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