It couldn't be helped.
Locke didn't want to say too much, fearing George might actually suffer a stroke from the psychological shock. Besides, 1.2 million dollars in dividends was a conservative estimate, sufficient to maintain Locke's minimum standard of living—provided he didn't buy any more big-ticket items like houses.
In the US, even after you buy a home, it isn't truly "yours." You still have to pay property taxes every year. If you can't pay up, well, no one—not even the most hardened criminal organization—dares to cross the IRS. After all, the tax bureau has its own tanks.
Thus, a minimum of 1.2 million a year was just enough to cover Locke's overhead.
But in George's ears, that sentence tasted distinctly different.
'Where's my gun? Where is my service pistol?' A thought flashed through George's mind as he instinctively began looking for the sidearm he'd brought along.
Just then, Locke's rod twitched.
A second later, a sea fish was yanked right out of the water by Locke. George froze.
WTF?
Locke blinked at the fish in his hand and then looked at George. "It seems this rod works pretty well after all."
A smile appeared on George's face—the stiff, forced kind. He looked down at his own rod, which hadn't moved an inch. His hook was as bare as a bone. Without a word, George swapped his bait and cast his line exactly where Locke's lure had been ten meters away. He offered a strained grin. "Nice. A good start."
'Don't think your fancy talk will make me ignore you stealing my spot.'
Locke was speechless but decided to ignore George's somewhat rogue behavior, considering the sensitive information he was about to drop. He unhooked the fish and recast.
After settling his rod, Locke organized his thoughts and said, "Mr. Stacy, Christmas is coming up soon."
'Does this wild boar want me to invite him to my house for the holidays?' George thought. 'Wait, why hasn't Gwen invited him? If Gwen mentioned it to Helen, Helen would definitely invite him. In our house, my opinion on major issues is rare, and on minor issues, it's nonexistent.'
'I get it. This wild boar is trying to suck up to me.'
George glanced at Locke out of the corner of his eye, his heart lightening even as he suppressed a smug laugh. 'Now you know to butter me up? When you were busy charming Helen, you seemed to have forgotten all about me. Coming to my house for Christmas? In your dreams.'
"Mm-hmm," George grunted non-committally. 'I'm not taking the bait. I want to see how you try to win me over. You want to walk through my front door as a son-in-law? Heh, not that easy.'
Locke looked at the lukewarm George, his mind racing. He stuck to the script. "Gwen mentioned to me that Helen invited me to spend Christmas with you all."
'Good kid,' George thought, his blood pressure rising again. 'I just gave you a cold shoulder, and you immediately use Helen to pressure me? What's the implication? That my opinion doesn't matter? That you're just notifying me of a decision the three of you already made?'
'Where is my gun?' George's gaze began to drift toward his bag again.
But Locke continued, "However, I declined."
George paused. 'Declined? This wild boar isn't coming for Christmas? Where is he going?'
'Motherfucker! You trample the flower I spent years growing, and then you just plan to pat your butt and walk away?'
'WHERE IS MY DAMN GUN?' George was actually looking down to grope for it now.
Locke said, "I have other plans for Christmas. As it happens, I have two tickets for the cruise ship Poseidon. I plan to head out to sea for Christmas and spend New Year's on the water. You know, since I'm alone, it seemed like a good way to spend the time."
"Hmm?" George looked up. "The Poseidon? The one they call the modern Titanic? The one with three hundred model-tier servers, where countless celebrities and beauties board to cross the Pacific for New Year's?"
Locke was slightly taken aback. "Mr. Stacy, you know about this ship?"
'Of course I do,' George thought. Just as men who can't afford supercars know every spec of every Ferrari, George was an expert on luxuries he couldn't afford. Plus, as a Captain now, he spent less time on the streets and more time reading magazines in his office.
"Where did you get the tickets?" George asked, looking at Locke. "I heard a VIP pass is going for as much as 250,000 dollars."
Locke tilted his head. "250,000 dollars? Is that expensive?"
George's cheek twitched. 'I forgot again. He's an 'alternative' orphan.'
George opened his mouth to retort, but remembering the "1.2 million a year in dividends," he felt the wind go out of his sails.
But a second later, his eyes sharpened to a razor point. "You said you have two tickets? You bought two?"
'Gwen was right. Helen was right. Men with money turn bad.'
'No wonder Helen only gives me two hundred dollars a week. Such wisdom.'
George had an epiphany. He looked at Locke with a completely different light in his eyes. On Christmas, when his official girlfriend is at home, he doesn't come to see her—he goes alone on a cruise ship known for its debauchery?
'This kid plays wild. I only dare to go to Vegas to see a strip show, and you?'
'Where is my gun?' George checked his surroundings. The nearest boat was over five hundred meters away. If he moved fast, "slipping and falling overboard" was a viable theory. A seventeen-year-old boy from Texas who couldn't swim—drowning is very common.
Besides, even if a case was opened, it was under his jurisdiction. Investigating himself? He'd find nothing. George was a man of principle, but for his precious daughter, principles could be temporarily shelved. He'd rather see Gwen cry for a little while now than see her suffer for a lifetime later.
If this wild boar who raided his flowerpot couldn't be tamed, it was better to slaughter it early.
Locke sensed the sudden shift in atmosphere. He caught the flash of murderous intent in George's eyes and the way George was scanning the horizon. His heart skipped a beat.
Locke also glanced around. Locke Broughton never broke a promise. The nearest boat was indeed far away. According to his backup plan, if George didn't agree, he would have to apologize and help Gwen find a more agreeable step-father.
'No. He's Gwen's biological father, and I haven't even gotten to the main point yet. If he really refuses after the full request, it won't be too late to act.'
Locke cleared his throat and looked at George. "Because there will be two people boarding, I bought two tickets. I intended to give the other one to—"
Before he could finish, George's voice dropped to a low, lethal bass. "Who were you planning to give it to?"
Locke raised an eyebrow. 'It's over. George, I didn't want to kill you, but you're not giving yourself a way out.'
Locke was already calculating the fastest, most painless way to send George to the afterlife. It was the only respectful thing left to do. 'Sorry, George. I'll make it quick, I swear.'
Just then, George muttered, "You and Gwen have a confirmed relationship, right?"
"Wait." Locke snapped back to reality. He looked at George, whose expression was oddly skewed. After a pause, he nodded. "Yes."
High school romance didn't need grand confessions. It was all about mutual understanding. "Confessions" were for adults who lacked confidence. Locke's definition of whether he was a "minor" or an "adult" was very flexible.
George narrowed his eyes. "So, on Christmas, while Gwen is at home, you plan to take someone else to the Poseidon for a vacation. Is that it?"
Locke's eyes darted back and forth. 'Wait. What kind of weird fanfiction is George writing in his head?'
Locke's mind did a quick 180-degree turn. He forced a sheepish smile. "I originally planned to give this surprise to Gwen, but when she found out, she said you'd never agree. She told me to just go and have a good time by myself."
*Of course I wouldn't agree!* George thought. His anger flared at the idea of his daughter running off to sea with this kid.
But then, the fire was suddenly doused by a cold realization.
Wait. If Gwen didn't go... this wild boar would be on that cruise ship, in international waters where there are no laws, surrounded by "model-tier servers" and "socialites"?
'No way.'
George snapped back. "You didn't ask me. How do you know I won't agree?"
Locke's face lit up with surprise. "Really? You agree?"
'I agree to your funeral,' George thought. He saw it clearly now. If Gwen didn't go, this kid was definitely going anyway. He had no self-awareness. His official girlfriend would be on shore, and he wouldn't even think about skipping the cruise to stay with her.
George knew plenty about the Poseidon. It was basically a floating palace of temptation. If a teenage cowboy suddenly found himself on that ship... who knows what he'd be like when he came back?
'What? Locke is a man of integrity?' George scoffed. 'Teenagers don't know shit about integrity. I remember myself at that age—pure, unbridled youth.'
Nowadays, George knew how to maintain his health. he had learned the value of... restraint.
"Fine!" George grunted.
"..."
Locke blinked. "Really, Mr. Stacy?"
As he spoke, Locke subtly moved the Silver Dancer from behind his back and returned it to his inventory.
George, under the guise of baiting his hook, kicked his bag—and the pistol inside—a little further away. "I had a teenage romance once too. I'll agree under three conditions."
Locke nodded. "Name them."
***
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