The moment Locke pushed open the door and stepped into the foyer, the apartment's lights flickered on one by one.
The unit came pre-installed with a Stark Smart Home Integrated System. As the living room lights warmed up, the lights in the second-floor study, the bedroom, and the entertainment room followed suit.
The place was lit up like a Christmas tree.
Locke tossed his keys into the candy bowl in the foyer, stood still, and scanned the living room.
Everything looked untouched.
No mess.
It seemed this time the burglars didn't want him to know they had been there. So, was it wiretaps, or pinhole cameras?
As a qualified assassin, one didn't just deal with targets; one dealt with the authorities. Locke was a professional, and he had thoroughly studied the methods likely utilized by the United States government.
A moment later.
Locke emerged from the second-floor study holding a small gadget. He examined it briefly, placed it on the living room coffee table, and flicked the switch.
The light turned green, indicating it was operational.
Locke didn't need to hunt down every single bug. He didn't even bother removing the most obvious one placed inside a decoration on the bar's wine cabinet.
A signal jammer was enough.
He didn't care if they had planted one or a hundred; a high-end jammer would handle them all.
Once that was settled, Locke pulled out a pair of specially tinted glasses and put them on. These were custom-made specifically to detect pinhole cameras, particularly those equipped with infrared night vision.
However...
After five minutes of searching—even checking the bathroom—he didn't find a single one.
"Tsk, tsk."
Locke took off the glasses with a hint of disappointment. "Listening without watching is just wasted effort. Haven't they ever heard that saying?"
In this day and age, who installs wiretaps without cameras? This wasn't the eighties anymore; back then they lacked the technology, but now, it was usually a package deal.
'Did I come back too early?'
Locke raised an eyebrow, pulled his laptop from his inventory, and began a series of rapid keystrokes, successfully hacking into the Star Tower's surveillance system.
He didn't hold out much hope for the security footage, though. The intruders this time might not have the same raw physical rank as the Fraternity, but their software power was far superior.
The bug in the wine cabinet was a piece of high-end tech. If Locke's jammer hadn't also been top-of-the-line, a standard jammer wouldn't have done a thing. Despite being the size of a peanut, that model was typically only supplied to the CIA or military intelligence, with an effective range of up to three kilometers.
Which meant.
Any car within a three-kilometer radius of the Star Tower could be housing a surveillance team.
As expected.
The surveillance footage yielded nothing. Or rather, it had been manually edited. This confirmed one thing: the intruders weren't the Fraternity, who could practically vanish under cameras.
However, Locke did manage to get some information from the building's security staff.
Around 7:30 PM, a group from the FBI had arrived to "investigate" the ground-floor security. The investigation lasted less than half an hour, and they cleared out by 8:00 PM—just before Locke arrived home.
Interesting.
Locke rubbed his chin.
That was definitely S.H.I.E.L.D. It was common knowledge that while S.H.I.E.L.D. was a secret organization formed by the World Security Council with global jurisdiction, on United States soil, they had to operate under the guise of other law enforcement agencies.
Megan's look at lunch really did have a deeper meaning.
They've set their sights on me.
Heh.
The bigger the scene, the richer the reward?
Locke's eyes darted around as he picked up his phone. There was no doubt this "public" line was being monitored.
But... it didn't matter.
The call connected.
"Hello!"
"Mr. Broughton?"
"Mr. Laun, could you come to the Star Tower tomorrow at noon? There are some matters I'd like to consult with you about."
"Certainly. See you tomorrow."
"Much appreciated!"
Locke had called his lawyer. Mr. Bryson Laun was a partner at TNT&G, the most famous law firm on Wall Street, and one of the best defense attorneys in New York—and the entire United States.
Of course, being the best meant he wasn't cheap. Being the *very* best meant his retainer fee was beyond the reach of ordinary people.
Fortunately...
Over the past month, Locke had rebuilt his slush fund. After a month of diligent labor, the cash in his account had once again surpassed ten million dollars.
In the United States, you can have nothing else, but you must have a lawyer—and the higher the tier, the better.
This was a lesson his mentor, Chester, had taught him. Even TNT&G was a recommendation from Chester; usually, if an average client walked into their office, they wouldn't even be given the time of day.
They preferred quality over quantity. Because of this, TNT&G maintained a success rate as high as 90%, making them one of the firms the New York District Attorney's office hated to see most.
...
In an apartment a kilometer away from the Star Tower.
"We traced it."
"And?"
A man in a black suit nodded. "It came from the Star Tower."
Another man in a suit muttered darkly, "That's impossible. We didn't hear a thing through the wiretap."
"The call was short, but the signal originated within the Star Tower."
"What's the situation? Was the bug discovered?"
"Impossible. Even if we were pressed for time, the placement and technique I used are literally in the S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy's surveillance handbook. How could a sixteen-year-old kid figure it out?"
"...Then why did he call a lawyer?"
"..."
...
The next morning.
Locke received a call from Gwen early on.
"Gwen?"
Locke thought something had happened. "I'll be there in about half an hour."
On the other end, Gwen glanced at her father, George, who had brought her car back late last night. She felt a bit speechless but told Locke, "Locke, Dad brought the car back yesterday. You don't need to pick me up today. See you at school?"
Locke had wondered what the emergency was; it turned out to be this. He laughed and nodded. "Alright, see you at school."
Gwen hung up and rolled her eyes at George. "There, are you satisfied now, Dad?"
George nodded like a chicken pecking grain.
Gwen sighed. "Dad, I'm sixteen years old."
George said with a smile, "In my eyes, you'll always be that little girl who said she never wanted to grow up and never wanted to leave me."
Was he jealous? Maybe.
Gwen: "..."
***
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