Chapter 4, Episode 04: This is just a passerby...
Episode 04 Isn't this just a passerby?
The first two days of the journey felt like the first two days of a long trip; time seemed to flow at a different pace than usual.
Or rather, I feel like I have unlimited energy and can do a lot of things.
But after the third day, when I started to feel the reality of living in a new place, I actually relaxed a bit.
They weren't in a hurry for the bank to get the photos of the royal scandal.
In my memory, this kind of case would take several months to dig a tunnel to the bank's underground vault before it could be considered complete.
The worst-case scenario is that they might break through tonight.
Then I can just call the bank in the morning to remind them that I want to deposit my gold coins, worth millions of pounds, that evening, and have the bank's security team assist me in safely depositing them into the bank's vault.
If the perpetrators launch a frontal assault, we'll take them down directly. I can even manage to steal the photos amidst the chaos.
If they hear rumors and try to avoid a confrontation, I'll use the excuse of "thoroughly investigating potential hazards" to remind them to check the underground tunnels. I believe that after this is done, I'll have at least two more months to keep putting this matter off.
As for instruments to inspect underground tunnels, an entry-level ground-penetrating radar would only cost a few dollars. Would it really cost £10,000?
If they don't have one, I'll just get one for them.
I've discovered that I don't need to rush into anything.
So, I simply slept in.
You should know that in my previous life, I had a severe sleep disorder due to illness or medication. In the later stages, I didn't even have the strength to wake up.
You could say that illness robbed me of control over my sleep.
But now I can sleep in whenever I want.
Because I am so healthy.
Butler Herbos naturally had no objection to my late rising.
However, fearing that I might die at home for no apparent reason, he made a special trip to check on me since I didn't ask him to prepare breakfast on time as I had the previous two days.
Hearing the door open and the call, I grunted under the covers and lay back down on the pillow.
Actually, I'm not sleepy at all, but I just want to stay in bed a little longer.
However, my perfect plan to stay in bed didn't even last three minutes before London poured cold water on my idea.
"According to research by the European Society of Cardiology (ESC), excessive sleep carries nearly three times the risk of death for adults compared to insufficient sleep. This risk only increases with the duration of sleep."
Finally, it would politely add the finishing touch: "Excuse me, do you really want to die?"
It begins with the phrase "May I ask," which is pretentious and extremely ironic, a classic example of British yin-yang magic!
He perfectly embodies the image of those pretentious, affected, and scheming British men that people usually associate with such things.
I am deeply dissatisfied.
One reason is its attitude.
Secondly, it precisely exploited my weaknesses.
I quickly threw off the covers.
While washing up, I sternly warned London, "Anything that talks about toxicity without discussing dosage is pseudoscience! I only slept in for one day, what's the big deal?"
London didn't say anything, but I knew it was very pleased with itself.
If it had a human form, it would probably raise its eyebrows slightly, without making any other expression, which would say it all.
In the morning, I asked Herbs to prepare a Chinese breakfast for me—shepherd's purse pan-fried buns, chicken soup dumplings, and duck blood vermicelli soup.
Although London was almost on the verge of breaking down over my "worship of China and foreign things" behavior, repeatedly reminding me that it was completely out of line with Milwaukee's approach, I still ate heartily.
Let's not even talk about chicken soup dumplings or duck blood vermicelli soup. Let's just talk about these pan-fried buns. The outer skin is fried until crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, with a tender texture and a natural aroma of flour. When you bite into the shepherd's purse and meat filling, the soup instantly soaks into the dough.
The taste was simply indescribable.
After all, I've been a white person's fan for two days straight.
Yesterday's overcooked baked beans in tomato sauce made me question my existence every time I saw them.
I like a quote from the great detective Hercule Poirot: "In England, there is no fine food, only food."
Herbers was completely unfazed by my change in taste and even inquired in detail about my future dining plans.
London immediately reminded him: "Milwaldton, you are now a white British citizen."
So I wiped my mouth and said slowly, "I've recently become a bit obsessed with Chinese cuisine, so give me a surprise in that regard."
Herbers bowed slightly and responded with a steady and swift "Yes."
In the instant he lowered his head, a faint light seemed to appear at the edge of my vision, and a few lines of concise text quietly floated above his shoulders, like a holographic interface suspended in the air.
"Sydney Hebers"
"Identity: Milford's Butler (Single)"
Relatives: None
Background: Former special forces administrator, declared dead 15 years ago (see file)
Financial Status: 10% in debt
Status: Not important
"Pressure point: Milwaukee"
I was taken aback: "What is this?"
London doesn't want to talk to me.
I quickly reflected on the problem I hadn't explained clearly and said, "I saw some information emerging from Herbers."
But London remained unmoved.
I said, "If you don't want to talk to me, I'll wear this bespoke suit, squat on the curb, and eat pickled cabbage and beef flavored instant noodles amidst the car exhaust."
"You dare?" London's electronic voice almost distorted with shock. "Don't you know anything about manners and etiquette? What did you do before?"
I dusted off the spotless cuffs of my suit and replied without a hint of arrogance, "I'm a scoundrel."
Before it spoke, I added, "But I'm of high status. At least I won't openly face the fireplace in front of the guests; that's my dignity."
Milvolton in the Sherlock series is just that kind of carefree person.
You can unzip your pants and let water into the fireplace while negotiating and engaging in psychological warfare with Sherlock and Watson.
This kind of absurd behavior is utterly ridiculous.
However, Milverton in Sherlock was right: even if the British look down on others at heart, they are still cultured.
"That's one of the British's strengths."
I'm not very familiar with London.
It thinks that my comment about relieving myself indoors was actually a very clumsy sarcasm.
London strongly warned: "I advise you never to attempt this."
I didn't dwell on such trivial matters, but instead repeated my initial question: "What information is associated with Hebers?"
The air froze for a moment before London's response finally rang out, its cold, mechanical voice devoid of emotion: "Fragments from Milvolton's memory palace. As long as you are recognized as Milvolton himself, you can access the known information he possesses."
This is a secret London doesn't tell anyone.
At first, I thought that I would have to gain everyone's complete trust in one go in order to obtain all the information in the memory palace.
It turns out that all you need to do is target certain things.
A sense of exhilaration, as if in complete control, instantly washed over me.
I couldn't help but laugh. "It means that if I act well enough, I can get all of Milverton."
London replied coldly, "I believe I have already said that to you."
"But you only gave the conclusion, not the methodology and specific returns." I pointed out its perfunctory attitude, "The triggering conditions and the depth of information are the key points."
Being able to see through other people's weaknesses at a glance is the key to being invincible in interpersonal relationships.
London is used to ignoring what I say.
I don't mind too much, but I'll try to maintain a relatively stable and friendly relationship with London until I find a point of pressure there.
"London, should I go to the office now, or stay home?"
London: "..."
Seeing that it remained silent, I said, "Personally, I prefer to stay at home, lie around and gain some weight, because I feel I'm too thin."
I casually touched my flat stomach.
Even though I finished my entire breakfast, I only felt about 70% full.
I opened Herbers's contact page again, intending to ask him to make me a soy milk pudding with osmanthus syrup.
"Coffee," London interrupted me. "Go to the office for coffee."
"no problem."
I immediately agreed to cooperate.
As I stood up, I couldn't resist praising myself: "Don't you think I'm too obedient to you, lacking enough individual independence and freedom, thus losing my personal charm?"
London: "Shut up."
I immediately fell silent.
After a couple of seconds, I praised myself again, saying, "I'm so obedient."
London: "…………"
*
10 a.m.
I walked into the company gate.
Just as Moses parted the sea, I crossed the sea that was divided by my subordinates.
On each blurry, fearful face, the same label flashed almost imperceptibly: "Status: Unimportant".
The only one who didn't show any fear, or rather, the only one in the entire space without any floating data, was the brown-haired girl in front of them.
"Is this new guy?" I asked casually.
The brown-haired woman then gently placed a cup of hot coffee on my table, her smile showing no sign of timidity: "Hello, Mr. Milverton, I am your new personal assistant, Jenny Agnesh."
Compared to the employees who subconsciously kept their distance from me, this secretary clearly demonstrated a powerful sense of "ignorance is bliss" and goodwill.
I immediately remembered her identity.
In the Sherlock series, she is Jenny, the secretary who almost got "engaged" with Sherlock.
Her surname "Agnes" is clearly a variant of Agnes, the maid in the original 19th-century Sherlock Holmes stories whom Holmes contacted and used to solve cases.
Seeing that I didn't speak, Jenny smiled and said, "Mr. Milwalton, you really surprise me. You are much younger than I imagined. In your twenties? Or thirties? The news has never mentioned that you are so young."
London: "24".
I chuckled. "Are you jealous of the rich?"
Jenny: "What?"
I said, "If you don't hate the rich, I can boldly tell you that I am a rich kid."
Jenny didn't expect me to joke with her, and couldn't help but smile. "You're so kind."
"Consciously creating a comfortable working environment for employees is a basic common sense for successful entrepreneurs in the 21st century."
London let out a contemptuous thought in his mind.
I remained unmoved.
Jenny wasn't here just for casual conversation, of course. "Mr. Milverton, at 9:30 this morning, a Mr. James wanted to meet with you alone. He mentioned that you had accidentally left something with him, so he came specifically to return it to you. I told him that your schedule for today is undecided."
She turned the tablet toward me and brought up the live monitoring, "but he still insisted on waiting."
The image on the screen clearly showed Albert, whom I had met briefly at the bank the day before.
Is his last name James?
That really was just a passerby.
Could it be that after checking my name, they were worried about offending the wealthy and powerful and had to apologize?
It's really boring.
Staring at Albert on the screen, dressed in a sharp suit, refined and proper, sitting upright in his chair, I really looked down on this kind of sycophantic person.
However, I could spend some time testing the new secretary's abilities, so with my left leg crossed over my right, I couldn't help but make a joke, "Jenny, I'll give you three minutes. I need all the information on this person."
As soon as she finished speaking, Jenny flatly refused, saying, "I'm sorry, I can't do it."
"Three minutes is too short?"
I knew it; TV dramas and novels are all lies.
Just taking the elevator up and down the stairs takes at least five minutes.
Jenny's gaze was extremely calm as she explained, "The employment contract did not require me to do this job."
I was pleasantly surprised by her clear distinction between public and private work attitudes.
“How about I add some money? Go and find out his basic information, and I'll give you £1,000 in cash.”
Jenny answered without hesitation, “This man is named Albert James, 27 years old, a Taurus, born on May 9th. He has two younger brothers and currently runs an import and export company.”
Their efficiency impressed me.
I placed the banknotes on the table, and she accepted them deftly.
Before she left, I asked again, "How do you know so much?"
Jenny smiled at me without a trace of gloom: "Mr. Milverton, you should know that Mr. James is a wealthy gentleman with elegant manners and great charm, so I will naturally pay some attention to him."
This answer made me raise an eyebrow.
I said, "Miss Agnesh, I must remind you, I don't work with people who are love-struck."
"rest assured."
Jenny gently kissed the banknote I gave her. "I know what I have to do."
Watching her departing figure, I couldn't help but find her interesting, and even began to look forward to working with her.
A girl who could make Sherlock willing to play along must indeed possess a unique charm.
London, still looking on with lingering reluctance, rang out again in a cold voice: "Have you seen enough?"
"..."
It's fierce.
I put away the surveillance video that Jenny had shown me. "I'm so busy, I'll come and sign the company documents right away."
I opened a document and looked at it carefully for less than three seconds.
London bluntly pointed out, "That's an obsolete document. Didn't you see it says '[Suspended]' on it?"
Wow! London, you're amazing! I can't live without you.
London completely disregarded my exaggerated praise, even showing disdain, but still taught me to distinguish all the file types.
A note from the author:
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