"What on earth is that?"
"Mr. Broughton, this is a final—"
"I know what it is."
Locke cut the lawyer off mid-sentence, unable to suppress an amused chuckle. "What I mean is, why me?"
If he had been by himself, he would have simply told this lawyer to beat it as far away as possible.
But they were out in public, and his friends were right here.
Most importantly, Locke was now the student council president of Midtown High.
A man of culture!
A highly educated elite!
Furthermore, Locke had always maintained the public persona of a refined gentleman with impeccable manners—at most, Gwen would occasionally see him step out of that shell.
He naturally knew what the lawyer was getting at.
A final farewell.
Simply put, it was a ritual where death row inmates, on the day before their execution, would call upon family or friends to gather together and enjoy one final day in the mortal world.
There was also the practice where people could observe on the day the inmates took the electric chair, watching with a look of quiet gratification from outside as they ascended to heaven under the prayers of a priest while being roasted on the chair.
Inviting me to watch them get cooked to a crisp by an electric chair?
Fascinating!
But... what does that have to do with me?
Feeling rather speechless, Locke handed the business card back to the African-American lawyer.
"I'm afraid there might be a misunderstanding here. I don't know them."
Aside from having a screw loose, the only explanation was that they harbored malicious intentions.
Locke couldn't come up with any other answer.
Fortunately, Locke was never the type to be bursting with curiosity.
It was just like back in Texas, when rumors spread that an old mansion in town was haunted. While many of his classmates made bets and went over to investigate, Locke gave it a wide berth, even if he happened to pass by the area while on an assignment.
When he executed an assignment and went loud, he never stepped over a corpse without confirming the kill first. He only moved past once death was absolutely certain.
There were many instances like this.
In short, putting assignments aside, he would distance himself as far as possible from potential danger—just like when he moved from the Poseidon to the Argo.
Tony Stark and the others wanted to head inside to search for a telephone, but Locke completely ignored the percussion show that the blue-ringed octopus was putting on down below and chose to remain safely on the deck.
Therefore, seeing that the lawyer had no intention of taking the business card back, Locke smiled faintly and relaxed his right hand.
The card dropped straight to the ground!
"Let's go."
"Okay."
Locke spoke softly to Gwen beside him, preparing to head over to Central Park with the rest of the group. At the same time, checking the clock, he figured they could perhaps stop by the Star Tower for a couple of hours so he could take a shower before he escorted Gwen back home.
But...
Seeing the card hit the ground and Locke turning around to leave without a second thought, the lawyer hurriedly called out,
"Mr. Broughton, Ms. Nina Bell committed suicide in prison half a month ago!"
"What?"
"No way."
"..."
Locke's footsteps ground to a halt. Don't misunderstand; he only stopped because Gwen beside him had paused. Furthermore, the ones letting out gasps of surprise alongside Gwen were Cindy and the others.
Girls were naturally quite sentimental, which was perfectly understandable. Although they weren't close with Nina Bell, they did know her, so hearing such sudden news would normally elicit a brief shock.
However, Locke preferred to analyze matters through pure rationality.
He disliked being led by the nose by sentimentality. He maintained a comprehensive plan for his own future.
He focused his efforts on earning system points. Aside from assignments, he would participate in things if he found them interesting, but if he lacked interest, then sorry, Locke didn't have the spare time to waste.
Furthermore, Locke let out a low chuckle, turned back around to face the New lawyer, and adopted an incredibly amused expression.
"Mr. Lawyer, what exactly are you trying to imply?"
The lawyer looked at Locke and shrugged.
"I'm just saying, she was your classmate, wasn't she? Mr. Broughton, Ms. Nina Bell left behind some belongings—"
Locke cut him off once again.
"Mr. Lawyer, I am asking you what you mean by making that statement. I didn't ask you about anything else. Moreover, only people I actually acknowledge count as my classmates. Those I don't acknowledge are merely strangers—completely unrelated strangers."
What was the meaning behind this play?
Whether Nina Bell lived or died had absolutely nothing to do with him. Or rather, how she died didn't bear a shred of relevance to his life.
Locke never regretted any decision he made.
The ones who ought to feel regret were the people who chose to cross him.
Locke had extended a chance at survival to almost every single opponent, but not a single one of them had proven useful enough to seize the opportunity he gave.
If Nina Bell hadn't tried to slander him with accusations of racial discrimination, would she have ended up in this state?
It was quite obvious.
Locke was merely giving her a taste of her own medicine.
This lawyer was something else, though.
Moral kidnapping?
Locke narrowed his eyes slightly.
"I will say this one more time, Mr. Lawyer. I do not have a single dime's worth of a relationship with your clients."
The lawyer opened his mouth. "..."
Locke reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone.
Instantly, the lawyer's expression shifted drastically. With a swift movement, he blurted out an apology, turned around, and departed without the slightest hesitation.
After all, Locke Broughton was a public figure.
He was only seventeen, but he already commanded an absolute powerhouse of a legal team.
"Heh."
Locke looked down, casting a glance at the business card sitting on the ground not far away, and then narrowed his eyes as he watched the lawyer open the door to his beat-up compact car.
"Nick Rice!"
"I've remembered your name."
Locke stared at the Volkswagen sedan as it sped away, pairing the name with the man's facial features before logging it straight into his database.
This fellow seemed extraordinarily desperate for him to show up.
Why?
A rookie lawyer from the DA's office shouldn't care this much; a lost case was just a lost case, so why was he putting in this much effort? What was his angle?
Planning to overturn the verdict?
You must be dreaming.
Do you honestly think you're Daredevil?
Even if Daredevil himself turned up, there was no way he could overturn the verdict on this case.
Setting aside the fact that the FBI would never want this case dragged back into the light, the DA's office itself would completely oppose it. After all, this was the first time in fifty years that the DA's office had finally secured an absolute execution via the electric chair.
Why did anyone think the execution was scheduled so quickly?
It was precisely because they wanted the dust to settle as fast as possible.
Otherwise, although New York State hadn't explicitly abolished the death penalty and still retained it on the books, the vast majority of individuals sentenced to death in New York actually ended up dying of natural causes while waiting in line on death row.
So the question naturally arose.
Why was this guy working so tirelessly? What benefit did he stand to gain from putting in this much effort?
Was he a kind empathetic person?
Don't be ridiculous.
Was it for a promotion, then?
If this fellow actually managed to unearth a loophole to overturn the verdict, it was guaranteed he wouldn't survive to see tomorrow's sun. The DA's office would clean their own house before the FBI even needed to lift a finger.
They sent you out there to go through the motions and showcase procedural justice, and you actually took it seriously?
His superiors would undoubtedly give him a firsthand taste of what a penalty for insubordination looked like.
Therefore... why?
Locke's eyes flickered with calculation.
Later that afternoon.
Gwen dried her freshly washed long hair, bringing a delightful scent into the study. She walked up to Locke, who was sitting in his computer chair propping up his chin while surfing the web.
"What are you looking up?"
Locke glanced at Gwen as she stepped up beside him.
Gwen looked at the computer screen, which displayed the retrieved file on none other than Nick Rice.
After all, the Nina Bell trial had been quite a sensation for a time. The media would never pass up an opportunity to report on Nick Rice, so the documentation was incredibly detailed.
You wouldn't know without looking.
But looking at it...
This fellow was actually quite an inspiring figure.
This Nick Rice had stumbled his way through, taking the bar exam for five consecutive years before finally securing his legal credentials in New York State.
Tsk, tsk. Taking it for five consecutive years crossed the line into serious dedication.
Gwen shared the same thought, though she harbored another perspective as well.
"Is the bar exam really that difficult? Can't people just pass it with a bit of casual studying? I looked through last year's questions, and they didn't seem all that tough."
Locke laughed. "You're an academic god; he's an academic flop."
Gwen smiled. "Putting that aside, his story is quite inspiring."
Locke nodded. "I agree with that statement. But do you know what I see in this?"
"What?"
"Ambition!"
"Hmm?"
Locke pulled up a photograph published by the New York Daily showing Nick Rice posing in front of the Statue of Liberty after receiving his professional credentials. Pointing at the image, he said,
"Everyone possesses ambition, but we are capable of keeping our ambition in check because we are confident we can obtain what we desire through proper means."
Gwen pursed her lips. "Is he not the same?"
Locke smiled. "Think about it. Why did he persist in taking the exam for five consecutive years? A person like that won't be able to regulate his ambition the way we do. Once he obtains the passport that allows him to exercise that ambition, he will resort to any and all means to climb upward for his own advancement."
Gwen's eyes lit up as she looked at Locke. "Have you been reading psychology books too?"
Locke let out a hearty laugh.
"Do you see any books on that subject in my study?"
He had clearly invested his points into anti-psychology.
Specifically tailored to counter Gwen's major.
Just to be absolutely safe.
Gwen nodded; she indeed hadn't spotted any literature of that nature around Locke's house.
"Then how did you figure it out?"
Locke chuckled.
"You're the foremost expert on psychological research between the two of us. You tell me—what kind of motive would drive him to persist as the Bell family's defense counsel at the risk of offending the entire FBI and the DA's office? He practically looked ready to drop to his knees just to get me to go over there. Why?"
Gwen froze slightly.
"Now that you put it that way, it's true. It seems there's absolutely no reason for him to display such intense enthusiasm. It doesn't add up."
Even Gwen wouldn't buy into an explanation as flimsy as him being a kind person. It simply sounded far too unreliable.
***
Read 40 Chapters early on P-atreon.com/Redestro666