Obadiah's Luxurious Life

Sherlock stared blankly at the file in his hands. Judging from the report, Obadiah was undoubtedly innocent.

Sherlock even began to wonder whether he had been investigating in the wrong direction, whether the killer of his parents was actually someone else.

But Sherlock quickly dismissed the thought. Setting the plot aside, there was an unchanging rule in murder cases like this: the person who benefited the most was often the mastermind behind it all.

Without a doubt, whether it was his parents' deaths or Tony's kidnapping this time, Obadiah was the only one who stood to gain the most.

Following that logic, no matter what, Obadiah remained the prime suspect.

Still, Sherlock had received some good news. From the information in his hands, it was clear that Tony's trust in Obadiah rested solely on the lack of evidence proving Obadiah had done anything wrong. It was a purely rational judgment.

Otherwise, there would not have been an investigative report on Obadiah attached after the plane crash report.

Where there was good news, there was naturally bad news. And the worst news was that Sherlock's investigation had hit zero once again. Forget finding evidence that Obadiah had killed his parents—Sherlock had not even found a single clue.

Left with no other choice, Sherlock decided to take another path. He would play the part of a cat burglar and head to that old bastard Obadiah's house to see whether he could find any leads.

As for why Sherlock did not simply steal information from Obadiah's office computer like they did in the movies?

Simple. He had no opportunity!

That old bastard Obadiah was cautious to the extreme. Not to mention whether Sherlock had ever had a chance to approach Obadiah's office while undercover, the alarm device installed on the office door alone would have been enough to give Sherlock hell. And there was also a secretary stationed outside to keep watch.

Sherlock simply could not find an opportunity to get close to Obadiah's office. Besides, he did not believe Obadiah would keep evidence of his parents' murder in his office.

After all, Sherlock had been investigating Obadiah's murder of his parents from the very beginning, not Obadiah's arms smuggling!

After contacting Pepper and obtaining Obadiah's schedule from her, Sherlock drove toward Obadiah's home. On the way, he casually bought a full set of skintight clothes and a hood. After parking, Sherlock casually crafted an "invisibility cloak" that would only last an hour.

After changing into the skintight outfit in the car, Sherlock arrived at the entrance to Obadiah's "home."

If someone asked where the most expensive homes in all of Los Angeles were, most people would probably say the legendary Beverly Hills.

But the truth was that the truly wealthy disdained places like Beverly Hills, where every inch of land was worth a fortune. Los Angeles's real rich people always lived in the suburbs.

Like Obadiah's "home" now standing before Sherlock.

Or, to put it more plainly, this place should not even have been called a "home." It should have been called an estate!

The enormous lawn alone was large enough for golf, and the towering trees planted inside the walls for privacy all told everyone that the owner was either rich or powerful.

Even more outrageous, despite it being daytime and Obadiah not even being at the estate, there were still countless security guards and servants inside, all diligently carrying out their duties.

That sight alone was far more extravagant than Tony's mere "humble dwelling," a mansion on a seaside cliff.

"Damn old bastard! Damn rich people!"

After cursing from his hiding spot, Sherlock activated the invisibility cloak on his body. Once he set a reminder on his watch, Sherlock officially "infiltrated" Obadiah's "estate."

Only after truly stepping inside did Sherlock realize that his understanding of the rich had been far too shallow.

Who could have imagined that even the golf-course-sized lawn beneath his feet was different from an ordinary park lawn?

The grass beneath Sherlock's feet was soft and springy, like stepping on an incredibly plush, thick carpet. Every step felt like a pleasure.

Not only that, as he walked across the lawn, the distinctive fragrance of fresh grass flooded into Sherlock's nose in an instant.

Sherlock would swear that, across both his lifetimes, this was the first time he had ever "smelled" grass this pleasant!

If all that merely surprised Sherlock, then when he stepped onto the path running through the lawn, the sight before him left him utterly dumbfounded.

There was only one reason: the path was paved with Yuhua stones.

Not Yuhua stones in the broad sense, but the narrow sense. If that still did not explain why the path shocked Sherlock so much, then giving those pebbles beneath his feet another name probably would.

Agate!

That was right. The entire path across the lawn had been paved with agate stones! Though each individual piece might not have been particularly expensive, there were simply too many of them, enough to make Sherlock's teeth ache.

Honestly, the things displayed in this courtyard alone made Sherlock, a genuine alchemist capable of mass-producing gold, feel utterly crushed on a conceptual level.

That was not even mentioning the roads, fountains, artificial scenery, and other such things in the courtyard.

Fortunately, Sherlock had not come to investigate whether Obadiah had embezzled Stark Industries' money through his position. He had come to investigate whether Obadiah was the killer who murdered his parents.

Therefore, no matter how astonished he was by the obscenely expensive courtyard, Sherlock ultimately chose to infiltrate the house.

Following the rotating security guards into the grandest building on the estate, Sherlock found Obadiah's primary living quarters with almost no effort. The process went so smoothly that he did not even need to use alchemy.

As for why it was so easy, the reason was equally simple.

After entering the house, he saw two groups of servants. One group wore ordinary clothes and bent over their work, their hands rough and thick. The other wore ultrashort maid dresses, each one curvy and beautiful, with soft, delicate hands covered in pure white silk gloves.

Considering what Sherlock had learned while undercover—that old bastard Obadiah's tastes were even wilder than Tony's—where do you think Obadiah's living quarters in this house were?

There was no need to think. Just head toward wherever the maids in ultrashort skirts gathered!

The more of those maids there were, the closer he was to Obadiah's lair!

Following the maids' footsteps, Sherlock found Obadiah's luxurious bedroom with hardly any effort, while also catching a glimpse of that old bastard's shameful fetishes.

After casually using alchemy to modify a few things, ensuring that none of those bizarre "toys" could be opened without calling the fire department, Sherlock lost interest in the so-called bedroom and turned to leave.

After all, no matter how stupid Obadiah was, he would not hide evidence of his crimes in a bedroom meant for pleasure.