Russell stared at Charlotte, who had just slammed the phone down, then at her gloomy face, and found himself momentarily speechless. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
"I mean," he leaned against the wall, smiling at her, "even if you really don't want me working for your brother, you don't have to say it so bluntly, do you?"
"Why are you still so obsessed with food?"
"Whether you work for Mycroft or not makes no difference to me whatsoever."
Charlotte turned her back and walked toward the sofa.
"I simply think Mycroft already has far too many problems every day. He deserves a little rest. That's all."
Her tone was calm, yet her retreating figure looked unmistakably agitated—an unbelievable sight.
"Huh?"
Russell couldn't help chuckling at her transparent lie.
"If Mycroft ever learned that the little sister he's been on bad terms with since childhood actually cares about him this much, he'd probably burst into tears."
"Good…"
Charlotte's expression turned stern, as though she had just pictured something extremely strange.
"Never bring that up again."
She sat down on the sofa.
"So? What did Mycroft say?"
"Well… he didn't object."
Russell thought for a moment. "He believes I handled it well."
Charlotte glanced at him, then quickly looked away.
"Oh, right," Russell suddenly remembered. "Since the interview is this weekend, should I buy some new clothes on the way home?"
He picked up the desk calendar and flipped through the pages.
"Judging from the weather these past few days, it's about time. The temperature might drop soon."
"Casual is fine."
Charlotte said lightly.
"It's convenient to take care of everything at once. Saves another trip later."
"Then it's settled."
Russell circled Saturday's date on the calendar.
The matter was decided.
"Interview Saturday morning, shopping in the afternoon. Perfect timing."
"No objections."
Charlotte sank deeper into the armchair and picked up a fresh file.
"But first you must finish organizing this troublesome file."
"Still working on it?"
Russell pulled up a chair, took the documents, and flipped through them.
"Three hundred thousand possibilities—it doesn't seem like something solvable in a short time."
Rather than worrying about that, we should focus on Billson and Emily Collins.
"For example, figuring out where those two are hiding right now would be far more useful than guessing three hundred thousand passwords here."
Charlotte clicked her tongue in displeasure at his relaxed attitude.
She slammed the Lloyds Bank customer file shut with a loud bang and tossed it onto the pile.
Then she grabbed the file on Billson and waved it right in front of Russell's face.
"If you're that interested in that man, we'll do it your way, Catboy."
"Wait… where did that nickname come from?"
Charlotte ignored him. She stood, walked to the massive information wall, removed a well-worn London map, and spread it flat on the soft carpet.
Firelight flickered, casting a warm orange glow across the yellowed paper and illuminating the girl's focused, charming profile.
"Come here."
She patted the spot beside her without looking up.
Russell shrugged, set his things aside, and knelt on the carpet next to her.
They were very close. He could see her profile clearly and even catch the faint scent of shampoo and chemicals in her hair.
"Red pushpin, please."
Charlotte reached out and traced the jagged, irregular sections of the map with her fingertips.
"The Southwark district is vast and chaotic. Lestrade's men are limited—they can't conduct a full-scale search."
Therefore we must narrow the area first.
Russell fetched a small wooden box of pushpins from the side table and selected one.
"How do we shrink it?"
"Information filtering."
Charlotte accepted the pin and drove it precisely into the word "Bermondsey."
"Billson is now penniless. Even if Emily Collins had some savings, it wouldn't last the two of them long."
"Therefore the first possibility we can eliminate is that they would rent an expensive apartment."
As she spoke, Charlotte took several more pins from Russell's hand and marked various cheap, rundown areas on the map one by one.
"Second, he has a serious smoking addiction—both his weakness and his tell."
"Places where people gather naturally have many cigarette vendors. The chance of spotting Emily Collins rises accordingly."
After marking the locations, Charlotte picked up black rubber bands, connected the pinned points, and formed an irregular polygon.
"In other words, we only need to focus on cheap inns, underground bars, and street vendors selling Woodbine cigarettes within these limited zones."
"The workload still looks heavy."
Russell sighed sincerely as he studied the circled area.
"At least it's easier than deciphering three hundred thousand password combinations."
Charlotte shot him a glance, then opened the Billson file and began reading carefully.
Russell picked up another document and scanned the text with a bored expression.
Billson's background was complicated. He had served in the army, fought in the war, then worked in the underworld after retirement—experiencing every kind of shady business. Scotland Yard frequently summoned him for "questioning." Yet his offenses were never extreme enough to warrant long imprisonment; he was usually released after one or two months. Even during the harshest winters he used this method to avoid freezing to death.
Thus Billson had slowly but steadily expanded his influence until he became a respected figure in Southwark—a true legendary survivor king.
Russell yawned and returned the file to its place.
"I'm tired. I'm going to rest."
He stood and headed for the door.
"Mm."
Charlotte nodded and watched him leave.
Only then did she re-hang the map on the information wall.
When she finished, she stretched, walked to the reception table, and picked up a bag of coffee beans.
While casually grinding them, the question Russell had asked during the mock interview suddenly flashed through her mind.
Criteria for choosing a partner…
…
…
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