By the way, that boy's current girlfriend was the flashy female host from the school's Media Department—the one Betty had recently kicked out.
The boy listened to Nina Bell's pitch, his expression confused. "What do you mean?"
Nina Bell didn't mince words. "You know exactly why you weren't allowed on the football team."
The boy's face darkened at those words.
Nina continued, "Sam Malik dropped out of the race, but he's chosen to put all his weight behind Locke Broughton. If you help me, I promise that once I'm elected, I will push through a total reform of the football team. Not only will you get in, but I'll make sure Sam Malik is benched during the High School League Super Bowl, and you'll be the captain. Think about it. How will colleges across the country look at you then?"
'They'll probably look at both of you like you're idiots,' Locke thought from afar.
College scouts weren't blind. They started tracking star players from the beginning of the season. Replacing a veteran captain with a random student mid-season? Did they really think scouts wouldn't notice something fishy?
...
In the cafeteria.
Locke let out a cold snort of amusement.
Gwen, sitting opposite him, blinked. "What's wrong?"
Locke snapped back to the present and shook his head. "Nothing."
Gwen studied him curiously. Locke gave her a small smile and continued chewing his burger while listening to the recording through the transmitter he'd planted on Nina Bell.
No one understood eavesdropping better than an assassin!
Attempting to play the "recorded evidence" game with him was laughable. While Locke rarely used such petty tricks himself, his training in counter-surveillance and tracking from Chester was top-tier.
"Well?" Nina Bell said to the boy, unaware of the rice-grain-sized black dot stuck to her clothing. "Think about it. You won't just graduate; you'll be an 'Honor Student' and likely get a special admission to a university. All you have to do is help me with this one little favor."
The boy's eyes flickered. He was clearly tempted.
In the cafeteria, Locke heard the boy's heavy breathing through his earpiece and sighed inwardly. 'There are always people who love seeking out their own deaths.'
No one appreciated a peaceful life more than Locke, but no one understood the fragility of life better than him. People die when they are killed—such a simple truth, yet they seemed completely oblivious to it.
As a decisive, hurried confirmation came through the earpiece, Locke hit the stop button on his recorder.
...
That afternoon.
After school, Locke drove to 37 Wall Street.
Gwen hopped out of the car and looked around the towering building. "Is Lawyer Laun's TNT firm in this building?"
"Twenty-ninth floor," Locke replied.
*Ding!*
The elevator doors opened. Lawyer Laun, who had collaborated with Locke once before, immediately stepped forward with a wide, professional smile. "Mr. Broughton! You could have just called me; I would have come to you."
Locke pulled Gwen forward. "It's fine. There's a nice bistro near the New York Film Academy. Gwen and I planned to grab dinner there after we finished here."
Laun gestured toward his office. "Please, come in."
They entered the TNT Law Firm, which had seen its reputation skyrocket after successfully handling Locke's previous case.
Inside the office, Locke unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat down. He accepted the bourbon Laun offered but chuckled. "I'm still four years away from being twenty-one."
Laun sat down as well. "Mr. Broughton, please trust our expertise. We have a hundred ways to ensure the police and the courts never give you a moment of trouble over a glass of whiskey."
Locke smiled. "I've never doubted your capabilities, Mr. Laun."
Gwen sat silently, curious as to why they were here. As for the drinking? She'd seen Locke finish two bottles of Thunder Bourbon on the Poseidon without so much as a stumble—if anything, it just made him a bit more... flirtatious. None of the ugly drunken behavior George had warned her about ever materialized. If he didn't act out, she certainly wasn't going to report the liquor stores to her father.
Locke took a sip and pulled out the recorder. "Mr. Laun, you know I'm currently running for Student Council President."
"Of course," Laun replied. "In fact, I watched the final of the Knowledge Competition. I was hoping to catch you afterward."
"Is that so?" Locke looked surprised, then got down to business. "My opponent in the race seems to be planning to use 'racial discrimination' to smear me. I have a recording, but I'm not sure if this evidence would hold up in court."
Laun's eyes lit up. Court? That meant billable hours. He gestured toward the recorder. "May I?"
Locke nodded and leaned back. The recording played. The audio was crystal clear.
The content was disgraceful. Shameless.
Gwen's eyes widened in shock, which quickly turned into pure rage as she heard Nina Bell and the boy plotting. She looked at Locke, wondering how on earth he had obtained this.
When the audio ended, Locke looked at Laun. "Well?"
Laun frowned slightly, then looked at Locke. "Mr. Broughton, were you present during this conversation?"
Locke shook his head.
Laun smiled. "No, Mr. Broughton. You were present. They simply didn't notice you."
Locke blinked.
Laun perfectly demonstrated why he was a top-tier lawyer. "Mr. Broughton, this recording was 'surreptitiously recorded' by you while you were within earshot. It was not 'wiretapped.' Audio obtained through wiretapping without a warrant is inadmissible. However, audio recorded by someone present is a different story."
Indeed. The difference between "wiretapping" and "overhearing" was the difference between an illegal act and a legal one. Unless, of course, you were the FBI—their wiretaps were admissible, but Locke's relationship with them made that an unlikely avenue.
Gwen watched Laun with fascination. She was already mentally calculating if she should suggest her mother, Helen, switch their family lawyer to this firm. Their current guy was basically a glorified consultant; compared to Laun, who turned illegal evidence into legal proof in three sentences, their old lawyer was practically committing robbery at a hundred dollars an hour.
Laun looked at Locke. "If I'm not mistaken, you intend to file a defamation lawsuit against these two?"
Locke gave a thin smile. "I don't need the money."
Given his current "appetite," those two students couldn't satisfy him even if they sold their body parts. If he didn't want the money, he wanted something else.
He wanted to crush them.
Laun understood the subtext. He nodded. "Very well. I'll have my assistant file and archive this immediately."
Locke finished his drink, stood up, and buttoned his jacket. He shook Laun's hand. "I appreciate the help."
...
After dinner, Gwen returned home, greeted her parents, and went straight to her room.
Helen noticed Gwen's preoccupied look and glanced at George. George put down his newspaper and headed upstairs.
*Knock, knock, knock.*
"Come in."
Gwen was at her desk. She looked up as George entered. "Dad? Is something wrong?"
"Can I come in?"
"...Of course." Gwen looked at him suspiciously. "Did I do something wrong?"
George rarely came to her room these days. She was a grown girl. The only man allowed to stay in here was Locke.
George smiled. "Of course not. How could my daughter do anything wrong? Even if something is wrong, it's certainly not your fault."
Gwen remained skeptical.
George looked at his daughter—his pride and joy—and softened his tone. "Locke has done something else you find hard to understand, hasn't he? Tell me about it. Maybe I can offer some perspective."
Gwen: "..."
***
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