~
the 8th of February, 2026
It was nearly 9 in the morning already, and they were on the ring-road again, driving back, only now it was a lot slower, the traffic into town was a lot heavier.
Brent somehow sensed that his boss was not in a hurry to get back home. Lan Xichen looked as if he was waiting for something, but it was not a thing he could reach, or touch, or comprehend. And, quite the contrary, his family was in his house right now, very tangible, very reachable, touchable, but he didn't seem eager to be with them, and this puzzled Brent. He had been left with the impression that his boss truly liked Mister Wei, and was really close to his brother.
He was driving slowly, despite the heavy traffic. They reached the turn they had to take, to get to the hilly area where Lan Huan's estate was, in silence. The ex-soldier truly wondered whether – had it been a different person, riding in the back – he would have demanded some distraction from the radio, maybe? Would Mister Lan want some music, had the circumstances been different?
Maybe.
Right now, he was thinking about all things that had happened in the last 24 hours, the special briefcase resting by his side, lying neatly on the passenger's seat. Brent had a lot of questions that he knew he could not ask.
What had happened with Mister Lan's brother last night? He had heard him, loud and clear, both on his way up, and on his way down. He had heard the typical noises from the almost-newly-weds' bedroom that night, and they had reminded him of Mister Jiang.
The house was so very different without Mister Jiang now.
And what about that meet-up with the mob? He wasn't really surprised to see his boss negotiate so freely, in such a laid-back manner, with criminals, but... still. One had to say that, in case all they claimed was true: he had been impressed.
And what about the police? Such a major crime, in the very heart of New York nonetheless – in broad daylight! Someone must have seen, or heard at least something! Moreover, Lan Xichen was more than a public figure, he was something of a celebrity!
Unaware of it, he was frowning. He liked it when things were clear and clean. And this here was a mess. It was an equation with too many variables, and too many unknown points of impact. Those were all weaknesses. To his shame, it had all happened on his watch.
Naturally, Mister Lan had tried to calm his mind, and told him that self-accusations were meaningless at this point, and that he had been expecting it to happen, for weeks now. The young man had nodded, it only made sense to hire some muscle to help if you considered your life in danger, and your loved ones endangered too. And the fact that his boss never scolded him, and was generally so calm and collected himself about it – it only made him more nervous, more ashamed.
It should have been the opposite, roles reversed. It should have been his boss apprehensive, and himself composed, unwavering and sure of his skills and qualifications, in his ability to fix the mess.
Brent stifled a sigh. He really wished he could afford one.
He checked the time; it was nearing 10 in the morning; the traffic jam had been too bad for a Sunday. Was it some holiday today? It was too early for Valentine's. Or maybe it had been just another car accident along the highway?
He didn't dare turn on the radio, to hear the 10 o'clock news, even though he was too sure they were not going to announce the major crime of a kidnapping in the Lan household.
