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The ugly look on Henry's face was signal enough.
Even though the famous lawyer privately despised this suddenly risen, rough-edged upstart, he would never show it outright. Whatever his personal opinion, he still possessed the professional polish expected of a top-tier attorney.
Recalling the figures he had just seen, the lawyer said evenly,
"Director Davis, you are aware that losing seized property is a very serious dereliction of duty, aren't you?"
"Mr. Brown was not a suspect, so those items were merely property held in custody," Owen Davis replied calmly. "Even so, the loss of custodial property is indeed our responsibility. That is why we're offering compensation. I believe this is a reasonable and lawful resolution."
That soft-but-firm counter was never going to impress a seasoned lawyer.
Henry, however, was thinking further ahead.
Appraisals were always subjective, except for items with clear price tags and depreciation standards. When something was needed, its value could be inflated at will. When it wasn't, people wouldn't take it even if you paid them.
The equipment he'd built by hand had no market price, no patents, no sales history.
Were they really going to listen to him explain how much technical expertise was packed into it? Or should he submit technical documentation and invite industry experts to testify?
Once the items were in their hands, and the official verdict was "scrap," then scrap was exactly what they would be—no matter the truth.
As for where the equipment had gone?
Henry didn't need to think hard. There was no way that so many large, valuable devices had simply vanished.
The FBI's actions had no solid legal basis to begin with. Without someone pushing from behind the scenes, they never would have acted at all. And once they did, was there any chance the spoils would stay untouched?
So this was something he had to swallow.
Lost was lost. He wasn't even particularly heartbroken.
What mattered more right now was something else.
"Then what about my pet?" Henry asked. "And my car? When can I get them back? Don't tell me those were lost too."
"Mr. Brown, your car is currently in an LAPD impound lot and can be retrieved at any time," Owen Davis replied. "As for your pet—"
Thinking of the tiger gave him another headache.
"—it should be at a temporary animal holding facility. You can pick it up whenever you like."
"I see."
Losing objects was one thing. But if Katie were mistreated or picked up bad habits, that would be a real loss.
Henry picked up the document and raised his pen.
He didn't sign immediately, though. Instead, he turned to his lawyer.
"There's nothing legally problematic about this document, correct?"
"No," the lawyer replied. "If you accept the compensation amount and sign, then the items listed become officially classified as lost property and are no longer tied to you. The FBI still bears responsibility for recovering them—but when that might happen is anyone's guess."
"Alright."
Just as he was about to sign, Henry paused again.
"Director Davis," he said, "there's a mobile phone registered under my name that was also inside my house. It's not listed among the lost items. Was it taken as well? Could it have been mixed in with the rest?"
"Did anyone try calling it? Maybe it was simply stored somewhere and forgotten. If it rings, wouldn't that answer the question?"
Owen Davis replied, "I understand your concern, Mr. Brown. I'll have my people conduct another review."
"Much appreciated."
Henry signed cleanly and decisively.
An FBI agent immediately handed him the prepared check and the receipt for the signed documents.
Henry pocketed them without even looking at the pitiful number on the check. He stood up, ready to leave.
Turning to the lawyer beside him, he said,
"Would you mind giving me a ride, sir? I need to go to the impound lot to retrieve my car."
The lawyer didn't hesitate. Though this was well outside his professional obligations, he nodded.
"Certainly. I'm heading in that direction anyway. But shouldn't you retrieve your pet first?"
"Would you dare?" Henry shot back.
The lawyer instantly remembered what that "pet" was.
A fully grown tiger.
Concerns about leather seats instantly became irrelevant. The real question was whether he dared share a vehicle with such a creature.
He laughed awkwardly.
"Mr. Brown, please come with me. My car is parked in the lot. Yours was towed to the LAPD impound yard—I'm familiar with the place. I'll take you there."
"Oh?" Henry asked in mild surprise. "Even someone as accomplished as you deals with impound lots?"
"Not exactly by choice," the lawyer replied dryly. "Some clients lack the patience to wait while I look for parking. I've gotten to know the people there quite well."
"Ha. Small people with a bit of power always love making life difficult, just to prove they exist."
Though he agreed wholeheartedly, a lawyer still had to sound objective.
"That's simply their job," he said with a smile. "And frankly, it's all they're allowed to do."
"True enough."
Henry wasn't oblivious to the faint contempt in the lawyer's tone. He simply pretended not to notice and continued chatting politely as they left together.
Once the two headaches were gone, Owen Davis finally let out a long breath.
This was almost the best possible outcome. No prolonged negotiation. No additional complications. The matter was resolved cleanly.
Before leaving the interrogation room, Owen Davis patted the agent who had accompanied him on the shoulder and said earnestly,
"Be more careful next time. We got lucky today. Don't assume tomorrow's luck will be the same."
He knew perfectly well how those items had been "lost." That was why his warning carried just the right amount of weight.
"Yes, sir."
The agent didn't return to his desk after leaving with his superior. Instead, he found a quiet corner and made a phone call.
The person on the other end picked up immediately.
"Everything accounted for, right? Why are you calling again?"
"Damn it, watch what you say on the phone," the agent snapped. "Don't mention anything you shouldn't. I'm calling to tell you the guy checked out clean. He's been released."
"His belongings are now officially lost property. There was a phone among them. Find a way to deal with it."
"You can track people through a phone?"
"I won't acknowledge that," the agent said coldly. "Don't ask what you shouldn't."
He hung up immediately—the call was far too risky to prolong. He'd already noticed footsteps approaching.
Quickly, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, as if that had been his purpose all along.
A colleague passed by, thought nothing of it, and lit one too. The two chatted casually about recent cases, trading experiences and insights.
Elsewhere, in a certain research facility, the person who had taken the call pondered its implications.
If it hadn't mattered, that call would never have been made.
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