Chapter Eleven: Dead

Zhou Yi let out a sigh. He had always been a frugal man, spending little beyond daily necessities, and often hoped his girlfriend would suddenly reappear—hoping for miracles was humanity’s greatest comfort. Yet now, these assets no longer held much meaning for him.

“All right, I’ll give you two hundred thousand first. If everything goes well for me, the rest won’t do me any good anyway.”

Sophia was delighted—after all, it was easy money. She quickly handed Zhou Yi an old-fashioned cellphone.

“Keep this with you. If anything happens, call me, and I can drive Grandpa Worth’s car to pick you up.”

Zhou Yi smiled, unlocked the phone, and saw that there was indeed a single number saved in the contacts. He put it away and looked at Sophia.

“I’m your Grandpa Worth now. Let me drive his car; otherwise, I’d stand out too much.”

Sophia raised an eyebrow, her face displaying a playful smile.

“Are you sure?”

Zhou Yi was taken aback—what did she mean? Before he could respond, Sophia grabbed two sets of car keys and led him out the back door. The garage door slowly rose, revealing an old, dark green pickup truck resting quietly inside.

“This is my car. Grandpa Worth drives a rose-pink convertible. Are you sure you want to take that one?”

Zhou Yi glanced at Sophia, surprised by her answer, but he knew many American elders were independent, pursuing freedom, letting themselves go—a rose-pink convertible was not so strange.

“All right, give me the keys. I’m leaving.”

Sophia tossed him the keys, and he climbed into the pickup. As he did, Sophia called out from behind,

“Take it slow—good luck!”

Zhou Yi didn’t look back, just waved his hand and started the engine. He understood Sophia’s meaning: he moved too quickly, not at all like an old man. As for Sophia, he did not want her involved, as he was now a fugitive.

The truck rolled slowly toward the city. Barely a few hundred meters along, a roadblock appeared; several police officers waved their guiding batons, and Zhou Yi brought the vehicle to a halt.

A policeman approached, resting his hand on the window and peering inside.

“May I see your driver’s license?”

Zhou Yi was prepared. He opened the glove box, grabbed his wallet, and handed over his license.

The officer examined it briefly, then returned it.

“Where are you headed?”

Zhou Yi, feigning frailty, moved slowly, put away his license, then looked at the officer with annoyance.

“I’m going to the bank to withdraw money. Are the police overseeing that now too?”

The policeman chuckled, patted the roof, and waved him onward.

“Don’t mind us, sir. It’s just a routine check. Go ahead and get your money!”

Zhou Yi started the truck, its old engine sputtering even more violently than his own feigned tremors, but it didn’t stall, and he continued on his way.

Once clear of the checkpoint, Zhou Yi breathed a sigh of relief. The inspection had been casual—his apparent age and harmless appearance had worked in his favor.

He had little time. Jennifer was dead, so he couldn’t seek her father. As for Judge Roger’s son, Gore Roger, he knew little about him.

So he could only start with the African-American defense lawyer, Zeiss.

Zhou Yi turned the vehicle toward Pagli Street—he remembered Zeiss’s address from his business card.

The drive was unhurried.

Half an hour later, he arrived. It was nine o’clock, and after parking, Zhou Yi walked straight to the law office. As he entered, a beautiful receptionist stopped him.

“Hello, sir. Which attorney are you looking for?”

“Zeiss. Is he here?”

He did not pause, the persistence of age evident in his stride. The receptionist quickly stepped in front of him.

“Sir, you can’t enter without an appointment!”

Just then,

A figure emerged from an inner office—it was Zeiss. Zhou Yi recognized him at once, suppressing his anger and maintaining the demeanor he’d adopted, as if he’d never met Zeiss before.

“My heart isn’t good. Don’t block me, and don’t touch me!”

The words had the desired effect; the receptionist stepped back, and Zeiss smiled at Zhou Yi.

“Don’t be upset, sir. If you tell me which lawyer you’re looking for, I can help you find him.”

Zhou Yi glanced toward the office.

“I’m looking for Attorney Zeiss.”

Zeiss smiled, reading Zhou Yi’s face. This old man didn’t know him but was eager to find him—clearly someone else had recommended him. Zeiss gestured to the receptionist.

“Have those with later appointments wait a moment. Sir, I am Zeiss. Shall we talk in my office?”

Zhou Yi nodded, and followed Zeiss inside. The office was spacious, with a view of the beach—such a location was obviously expensive, proof that Zeiss was a formidable figure. He had defended Zhou Yi before; surely there was something suspicious in that.

They sat on the sofa. The receptionist brought in two cups of coffee and closed the door.

“I don’t believe we’ve met. What brings you to me?”

Zhou Yi didn’t touch the coffee, tempting as it was, taking every precaution not to leave fingerprints. He raised his eyes to Zeiss, meeting his gaze without flinching.

“I don’t know you, but I’ve heard your name. I want to ask about two people, and I’m willing to pay.”

“Tell me, who are they?”

Zeiss leaned back, utterly calm, looking at Zhou Yi with a serene face.

“One is Jennifer Miller, son of Congressman Miller; the other is Gore Roger, Judge Roger’s son. I just want their information, so I can find them myself. Don’t worry, I won’t say you told me.”

Zeiss smiled.

Zhou Yi expected him to be nervous or instantly wary, but Zeiss showed no such emotion.

“May I ask your name? And what business do you have with them?”

Zhou Yi kept the same angry tone, exhaling heavily.

“I’m Charles Worth. Those two punks bullied my granddaughter—I just learned about it. A friend said you’d represented them before, so I came to find you. Give me their information, and I’ll handle the rest myself.”

He added a slight tremor to his fingers, remembering Sophia’s advice, which he’d forgotten upon entering.

Zeiss adjusted his posture, resting his elbows on his knees, leaning in.

“I do know their addresses, and I can give them to you. But I don’t advise you to go—given your agitated state, confronting them won’t solve anything.”

Zhou Yi waved his hand, took out a stack of hundred-dollar bills, and placed them on the table.

“I know their fathers are prominent figures. I’m not looking for a lawsuit—I just want to teach them a lesson!”

Zeiss shrugged, took out a business card, wrote something on the back, and slid it with the stack of money toward Zhou Yi.

“Mr. Worth, this is my card. On the back is Gore Roger’s address and contact information. Keep the money—if you need my help later, you can come to me. If I’m not mistaken, your granddaughter was humiliated by them?”

Zhou Yi nodded in response.

He’d come to the right place—Zeiss seemed practiced at such matters, perhaps playing both sides. Zhou Yi paused, picked up the card and money, and frowned at the single name.

“Why is there only Gore Roger’s information? What about the other one?”

Zeiss shrugged, his face showing regret.

“It’s not that I won’t give you Jennifer’s information, but Jennifer died in a car accident over a month ago.”

Zhou Yi squinted, puzzled.

“Dead?”