Fulfilling the Promise, Lake

One week later.

Lake, who had been on sick leave claiming a work-related injury, concluded his leave.

Early morning.

Lake yawned, "I suddenly feel like not working might be pretty good."

I really lost my mind back then.

Lake thought this as he drank his coffee. He had a very flexible job but decided to take on a part-time position, one that required him to wake up early in the morning.

Isn't making money by killing people more satisfying? Or am I just destined to be an office worker?

Lake shook his head.

His girlfriend, Maureen, came down the spiral staircase and happened to overhear him. She rolled her eyes, "Where on earth did you get that doctor's note?"

Lake chuckled, "That's a secret."

He had bought the doctor's note.

It cost three hundred dollars and was a genuine document issued by an authoritative surgeon at New Amsterdam Hospital, a designated hospital for the NYPD. As soon as he submitted it to the precinct, he was granted a week of sick leave for work-related injuries.

He remembered the little nurse who had helped him after the apartment explosion.

Right.

It was that same nurse who sold it to him. It must have been about a week ago, the day after his girlfriend had exposed his fake illness, he received a call from the nurse.

The nurse's voice was thick with the tone of underground dealings.

"Hey there, looking to buy a leave slip? The real deal, guaranteed. We offer a hundred times compensation for fakes. We can even customize the recommended recovery period. Need one, honey?"

"..."

Lake had done the math at the time. Buying a week-long leave slip would cost about three hundred dollars, and his daily wage was around a hundred and fifty dollars.

It was a good deal.

He could lie at home and earn almost four days' worth of salary.

So, Lake bought one and also saved the nurse's number, just in case he needed it in the future. According to the nurse, she could handle any business within the hospital's scope, including custom CT scans and health check-ups for retirement. She could help increase your retirement pension by nearly a thousand dollars a month in disability benefits.

Lake was astonished.

He went out.

As Lake drove his car out of the underground garage and onto the surface, his girlfriend, who was waiting at the entrance of the building, tightened her scarf and got into the passenger seat.

November had started to bring a chill.

However...

Two months had passed since September, and the citizens of New York City were gradually recovering from the September incident. The cleanup work at the World Trade Center was still ongoing, but compared to their feelings in the previous two months, it was as if a dark cloud was slowly dissipating.

Of course.

November also brought the downfall of the former Mayor of New York City.

His resignation was inevitable.

During his tenure, the World Trade Center incident alone made it impossible for him to be re-elected. And then there was the Textile Factory incident last month. Good grief, for a mayor to be involved with a killer organization, he had to step down, no discussion.

Although the former mayor claimed to reporters that he too had been deceived, it was useless. The public only saw him taking money from the killer organization to become mayor.

So...

About four days ago, this mayor resigned in disgrace. The newly elected mayor was someone familiar.

No, that's not right.

He was a friend of Cassell, his downstairs neighbor. The mayor was a fan of Cassell's books, so when they were eating yesterday, Cassell smugly asked if Lake wanted him to make an introduction.

Lake directly sprayed Cassell with his drink.

Did he need a connection?

I myself am the strongest connection.

NYPD Building.

Maureen, in the passenger seat, looked at Lake, "Aren't you going up?"

Lake shrugged, "I'm heading to the 33rd Precinct."

"Why?"

"Something came up."

"Okay."

After his girlfriend got out of the car, Lake immediately started the engine and drove towards the 33rd Precinct.

Wesley was still at the precinct.

Lake always kept his promises. He had said he would give Wesley a normal life, and he would ensure that basic condition was met.

Of course.

If Wesley screwed up on his own, it wouldn't be his problem.

Lake had only promised Carlos that he wouldn't let Wesley be taken by the textile factory, nor would he let Wesley face imprisonment or death. Beyond that, there was nothing else.

Half an hour later.

Lake parked his car at the 33rd Precinct, walked straight through, greeted a detective he was friendly with, and then saw Wesley in the holding cell. Wesley looked quite rough, having spent a week there already.

Wesley had been having a terrible time these past few days.

He had thought his life's trajectory would change drastically from this point on. He hadn't even become a killer yet, but he had already become a criminal suspect and had been locked up here for many days.

Wesley hadn't considered finding a lawyer. He had money; there was $100,000 from The Assistance in his bank account.

But...

The detectives here had directly told him something when he inquired about getting a lawyer: "Think carefully. Once you get a lawyer, you'll truly be entering the legal process."

Wesley hesitated.

And then...

He remained there until now.

"Ahem."

"...Is that you?"

Lake stood outside the holding cell, watching Wesley look up at him from inside. Noticing the expression in Wesley's eyes, he smiled and said, "You seem to hate me."

Wesley didn't speak, but his body language undoubtedly conveyed that.

Lake chuckled.

What a naive kid.

Let alone the fact that The Assistance intended to cultivate Wesley to kill his father, Carlos, just consider this: did he really think being a killer was so glamorous?

This guy thought reality was like a game. No one with an average IQ would even consider becoming a killer.

Of course.

Except for Lake.

"You can go."

"..."

Lake looked at Wesley, who was pretending to be confused, and said calmly, "I promised your father I wouldn't let you get into any messy professions, the kind where you might go in today and die tomorrow. So, once you're out, take care of yourself. I'm only helping you this once. Next time, you're on your own."

Saying this, Lake looked at his friend, the detective from the 33rd Precinct, and shook his head. "What are these young people thinking these days? They have good jobs but want to be killers?"

His friend looked at Lake speechlessly. "You're not that old either."

Lake shrugged. "Thirty."

My heart is bleeding. I'm almost at the age where I'll start losing my hair, and I still haven't drawn an SSR-level ageless body. What's the point of just having an immortal body?

Ageless and immortal combined – that's the true golden legend.

Wesley, listening to the two outside banter, said uncertainly, "I can really leave? Then... what about the case?"

Lake and his friend exchanged a look.

The next second.

They burst into laughter.