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If that man had been locked up—or at least entangled in lawsuits—he wouldn't have had the spare capacity to worry about the missing items.
But if he walked away unscathed, how could he possibly not come looking for them?
Which meant that those who had taken the items had to prepare a safeguard.
The "phone" mentioned in the warning almost certainly referred to a wireless mobile phone. No one would deliberately bring up a landline in this context. Yet after several inspections, they hadn't found any mobile phone—or anything resembling a homemade device.
That left the simplest method of locating it: call the number and listen for the ringtone.
Using the list on hand and the target's investigation report, the researcher found a private number—one not issued by a company—and dialed it. But no ringing could be heard among the confiscated research items.
After letting the call ring for a short while with no response, the researcher hung up. Perhaps the information had been incorrect, or merely a bluff.
What no one realized was that a timer inside the main unit had already been activated.
It was an insidious timer—no beeping alerts, no countdown display—just electronic components quietly coming online.
There was an ultra–high-frequency sound, inaudible to humans, signaling that a Kryptonian device had activated: If you don't want to clean up the environment, come shut me down.
Clearly, this wasn't a Kryptonian's home—and the one who could hear it wasn't present.
Strictly speaking, this setup didn't align with the classic "leave a way out of the maze, spare a path in the trap" principle. But the purpose of a self-destruction mechanism was simply to inform its creator when to stop—not to warn others. Wasn't that the whole point?
In any case, ten minutes later, the mastermind behind it all—Mickey Schulhof—had just exited Sony America's Los Angeles headquarters.
The message from his researchers had made him take the matter very seriously. Many of the personnel had been transferred from the Japanese headquarters and had arrived just that day to begin dismantling and analyzing the equipment.
To ensure their peace of mind, Mickey Schulhof needed to meet with the head of the FBI's Los Angeles office—to add another layer of insurance to the situation.
The company-provided executive car, a Lexus LS, was parked at the front entrance.
Though Sony was a Japanese company operating in the U.S. and had adapted many practices to local norms, Schulhof still enjoyed having two lines of employees standing in formation to welcome him whenever he entered or exited the building.
Call it cultural baggage if you want—but anything that put him in a good mood was worth keeping. Whether others enjoyed it was their problem.
Just as he strode past the lineup like a general and was about to get into the car, a massive explosion rang out, terrifying everyone—including Mickey Schulhof himself.
Shards of glass rained down from above, injuring many on the spot.
Before the shock had even faded, a huge object slammed directly onto the roof of the Lexus LS.
Dragged under bodyguard protection, Mickey Schulhof—who had been about to take cover inside the car—ended up staring straight into the eyes of the thing that had landed there.
The horrific corpse, its clothes still burning, sent the usually composed president of Sony America into hysterical screams.
Heavy impacts followed in rapid succession—some bodies hit the ground, others crashed into people. The scene was beyond gruesome.
Seated in the lawyer's car, Henry naturally heard the explosion from several kilometers away—his hearing made that unavoidable. Even the lawyer driving noticed something, though the sound was faint.
He asked,
"Where did that come from?"
"I'm not sure," Henry replied casually.
What he was actually thinking was this: while he hadn't designed lethal traps specifically for intruders, he'd never said he didn't build devices meant to erase evidence.
But with such a spectacular blast, had he used too much explosive?
Earlier, he'd reasoned that since there was only one trigger, and whoever stole his equipment might not store everything together, the blast radius needed to be larger to ensure total destruction of the missing items.
In hindsight, that logic had flaws.
Henry reflected seriously. It would've been better to install individual self-destruct mechanisms on each device—then the charge could be smaller.
Yes. Improvements for next time.
As for the human casualties… Henry consciously ignored that.
He had never considered himself kind—only lazy. People had laid out their own escape routes, washed their own necks clean. If he didn't swing the blade, it would've been an insult to himself.
Besides, self-destruct mechanisms were basic, weren't they?
Don't underestimate a nerd who grew up in the Gundam Wing era.
The fact that self-destruct systems always got finished before other functions was a terminal condition. The only thing missing was a big red skull-shaped button to make it obvious.
Still, appearances had to be maintained.
In front of others, Henry showed no cracks at all. He continued chatting idly with the lawyer—purely meaningless small talk, just to keep the atmosphere from getting awkward.
With the lawyer's help, retrieving his Cadillac from the impound lot was relatively painless.
Since it hadn't been towed for a violation, he only had to pay the storage fee. Once your car enters an impound lot, you pay—no exceptions.
For an old car like his, scratches didn't matter. As long as all four wheels were still there, it was fine.
The car was easy.
His pet was not.
Heading alone to the animal shelter, Henry learned that Katie wasn't there.
Standard shelters mostly handled small animals like cats and dogs. Even snakes, turtles, or lizards were manageable.
But Katie was a fully grown tiger, weighing over five hundred pounds. Even the largest cages at the shelter would barely allow her to turn around.
If it were merely a matter of discomfort, maybe they could've forced it. But the real reason the shelter refused was simpler: the bars weren't thick enough. An adult tiger's bite strength would tear them apart.
Los Angeles didn't exactly have apex predators strolling down the streets every day. Shelters weren't equipped to capture and house tigers.
So Katie had been transferred to the Los Angeles Zoo, temporarily housed at the large carnivore facility.
Overworked as ever, Henry had no choice but to drive to the zoo.
Fortunately, unlike an impound lot, the zoo didn't require a ticket just to talk. After explaining himself at the service booth, someone came out to escort him inside.
His guide was a young female keeper from the carnivore section.
The troublesome kind.
People who chose this line of work almost always loved animals. And being young meant their passion hadn't yet been worn down—leading to overly idealistic views and opinions.
Sure enough, Henry was "welcomed" with an interrogation the moment they met.
"Mr. Brown," the keeper said sternly, "after reviewing the records, we found that your tiger did not undergo proper quarantine procedures or clear customs legally. How do you explain that?"
She was serious—and objectively attractive. Judging from her non-uniform clothing, she also came from a reasonably well-off background.
She wasn't the type to wear excessive, unprofessional jewelry, nor did she carry impractical gear that only looked professional. Everything she used was functional—and either branded or visibly expensive.
Likely someone who'd been pampered at home, popular at school—perhaps even a cheerleader type—with no shortage of admirers.
All those factors added up to her current demeanor: proud, convinced that what she believed was absolute truth.
Simply put, in Henry's estimation, she was very likely one of those extreme animal-rights activists with a screw loose.
Yes, stereotypes and first impressions were unfair—but looking at her, Henry couldn't shake that conclusion.
Even without the lawyer present, Henry hadn't read all those law books for nothing—especially not after thoroughly studying regulations related to keeping a tiger.
"May I ask," he said calmly,
"through which legal channel did you determine that I failed to complete quarantine and customs procedures?"
"Aren't those documents something I would be required to present?"
"Or is it simply that if you can't find them, you assume they don't exist?"
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