New Gods of North America

"My name is Wayne Constantine. Who are you?"

Wayne asked, looking the other person over for a moment.

The elderly gentleman's white hair was neatly arranged and he stood straight.

His clothes and accessories were quite exquisite. The black tuxedo was not ostentatious, but it was obviously tailor-made with fine workmanship. The starched shirt inside was made to look snow-white by the black jacket.

You can see exquisite silver cufflinks on the cuffs.

A gold pocket watch chain, which looks expensive and has a sense of history, extends from the pocket of the jacket to the buttonhole.

He seems to be a rich man, and it seems that he has "old money" that has been around for quite some time.

"My name is Henry Henderson, and I am a butler."

The elderly gentleman nodded:

"My employer has a commission and wants to find a capable professional to take over. He recently read about your detective agency, Mr. Wayne, in the newspaper. We also happened to learn that you were staying at this hotel, so he asked me to come and ask you if you would like to accept the invitation."

This is actually a housekeeper? !

"What kind of commission is it?"

Wayne felt that there seemed to be a big business coming, and he was a little tempted.

At the same time, he stretched out his hand and made a "please" gesture towards the seat at the table, indicating that the other party should sit down and talk in detail.

"Thanks."

The old butler bowed slightly and thanked Wayne, but did not sit down. "My employer may need to discuss the specific situation with you. He is upstairs now."

Wayne looked at the other party again, a little worried that the reward he offered would be something he couldn't refuse, so he blocked his retreat in advance:

"I'd like to learn about the commission first, but our detective agency doesn't accept all kinds of commissions."

"certainly."

The old butler nodded in approval. "You don't break the law, you don't get involved in party or family disputes, and you don't compromise with local dignitaries or criminals. These are qualities that my employer greatly appreciates."

Now that things have come to this, and there is another business that looks like it will be profitable,

So Wayne didn't hesitate, he tidied up the newspapers on the table, and then stood up:

"In that case, let's go."

…

Wayne was not sure whether there was a concept of "presidential suite" in hotels of this era.

But if there is, then the suite located on the top floor of the hotel, which is estimated to occupy almost half of the floor, might be called this name.

But what surprised Wayne was that this world already had elevators.

While chatting with the old butler to pass the time, Wayne learned that the power used by this thing was actually the steam in the boiler room.

However, it is not yet possible to operate the entire building. Currently, it is only available for small-scale use on certain floors. It is a bit like a special decoration used to enhance the "high-tech" trend attributes of the hotel.

After exiting the elevator,

There is additional carpeting in the corridor.

There were well-dressed bodyguards outside the corridor and at the door of the suite, and after entering the door there were well-trained servants who were obviously brought by the guests themselves.

Wayne was already trying to guess who this customer was.

I feel like it might be some great noble or capitalist from the Kingdom of Windsor, or a member of the royal family from some old and powerful country in the Old World.

The kind that acts in an airy, serious manner, and speaks with an accent.

After waiting for a while at the door, Wayne was invited into the living room of the suite.

What he saw was a rich young man who seemed quite casual and a little sloppy.

His appearance and temperament are pretty good, and if he gets serious, he should be the type who can thrive in social situations.

"Please take a seat. By the way, would you like some ice wine? Although it was brought back from Windsor, it is produced in Hans, so it is suitable for drinking in this season."

The other person was pouring himself a drink next to an ice bucket in a cabinet, and he turned his head slightly and asked.

It was a bit like meeting the bartender Tony in the tavern in Blackrock Town.

Wayne remembered the bottle of wine in his hand. It was a treasure that the mayor had shared with his "own people" in the town when he privately celebrated the finalization of the railway plan.

It should be good stuff.

Even if it doesn't taste good, it won't be cheap.

Wayne himself had never tasted this stuff, so he nodded happily, "Thank you."

Then the other person came over with two wine glasses and placed one of the glasses on the coffee table in front of Wayne.

Good fellow,

Let’s not talk about whether this stuff is good wine or not. Nowadays, the wine drunk during meetings with guests is usually only about a finger’s thickness in the glass, which can be considered a small drink to enjoy.

But he poured it only eight-tenths full.

Drink it as water?

The other person threw himself into the sofa and said, "My name is Ian Fisk. My family should be quite famous. You may have heard of it..."

Fuck, the Fisk family.

A well-known and established slave-owning family in the South.

Since the founding of the United States, all the presidents elected so far have been "Southerners".

Even Wayne, who didn't like reading newspapers in a small western town, could hear people talking about "Who does Fisk support this year" when analyzing the election situation in the pub every election year.

In terms of status, they are almost the "Five Surnames and Seven Families" in the American Federation in the world today.

"Of course." Wayne said solemnly, "I heard that there is a commission here, so I accepted the invitation and came here. But I have already told Mr. Butler that our detective agency may not accept all commissions."

"Don't worry, this isn't a commission that involves party struggles or family disputes. But I hope you can keep it confidential."

Then Ian Fisk hesitated, "This involves a kidnapping, or at least an abduction."

The other party was a big slave owner, and Chicago was located in the "free state" of Illinois.

Plus, it involves "kidnapping" or "abduction"...

Wayne tried to guess, "Is it related to the Underground Railroad?"

If I were to catch a runaway slave,

I won’t do that.

"Your intuition is very sharp." Ian Fisk's eyes widened slightly. "No wonder I saw the name of your detective agency in several newspapers. You are indeed professional."

Then he seemed to hesitate:

"You are also a young man, so it should be easier for us to communicate. I personally don't want to have too much conflict with them here. If you can assist in the secret investigation and successfully find the target or provide effective clues, we are willing to pay you. But the premise is that it must be kept confidential."

Wayne was already thinking about how to reject the other party.

If it was something like assisting in catching fugitive slaves, once it was exposed, the detective agency might lose half of the potential market in America - even though this matter is actually legal now.

Then Wayne thought about it and felt that something was not right.

It would be fine if it was just an ordinary small slave owner, but for an old family like this, would it be necessary for their young master to be personally responsible for such matters?

Wayne quickly imagined a bloody plot in his mind, such as the black uncle taking advantage of the situation and the black sister running away with the ball.

So Wayne asked with some curiosity, "Who is the kidnapped person...?"

Ian Fisk's expression turned serious. "Can you promise that you will keep this confidential whether you accept the commission or not?"

"Of course, I guarantee it on my personal reputation and the reputation of my detective agency," Wayne replied.

Ian Fisk paused and looked at Wayne for a moment:

"The person who was kidnapped is my sister, Olivia Fisk."

A rich girl eloped for love?