American comics: I am full of martial virtues and I love to be kind to others.

“Perhaps it’s a trade secret, or perhaps something else,” Lynn said, putting away his binoculars. “Let’s go, let’s check somewhere else.”

They drove off Market Street and headed south along the coastline. Their next destination was Palo Alto, the heart of Silicon Valley and the home of another suspect—Alan West.

The drive from San Francisco to Palo Alto is about forty minutes. The scenery along the way changes from urban to suburban, with high-rise buildings replaced by low-rise office parks and neat residential areas. This is the headquarters of tech companies, and billboards along the road are filled with various tech terms and company names—"The Future of Artificial Intelligence," "Disruptive Innovation," "Technology That Will Change the World."

“There are tech companies everywhere here,” Kevin said, looking out the window. “It feels like another world.”

“This is Silicon Valley,” Lynn said. “The world’s brightest minds gather here to create technologies that change human lives. But it’s also a breeding ground for greed and ambition. Some people get rich here, and some lose everything.”

Have you been here before?

“I’ve been here a few times,” Lynn said, “to investigate some cybercrime cases. But I’ve never been involved with someone of this caliber.”

They arrived in Palo Alto a little after 3 p.m. It was a quiet yet affluent town, with meticulously manicured lawns and beautiful detached houses lining the streets, each with a large yard and luxury cars. The air was filled with the fragrance of flowers and freshly cut lawn; everything seemed so perfect and clean.

Alan West's residence is located in an upscale community on the west side of town, where each house is worth millions of dollars. The community entrance has a guardhouse equipped with 24/7 security and surveillance systems.

“We can’t get in,” Kevin said, looking at the heavily guarded entrance. “Unless we have an invitation from the owner, or a search warrant.”

“I know,” Lynn said, parking the car on a side street outside the community, “but we can observe from the outside.”

They found a spot overlooking the neighborhood—a park on a small hill overlooking the entire community. Lynn took out his binoculars and began observing Alan West's house.

It was a Spanish-style mansion, with red roofs and white walls, occupying at least two acres. The house was surrounded by high walls and dense trees, and the yard had a swimming pool and a tennis court. Several luxury cars were parked in the garage—a black Bentley, a red Ferrari, and a silver Tesla.

“This guy is really rich,” Kevin exclaimed.

“The former CEO of NovaTech,” Lynn said, “reportedly took $500 million in stock options with him when he left the company.”

“Five hundred million dollars.” Kevin clicked his tongue. “I could never earn that much money in my entire life.”

“Don’t let money blind you,” Lynn said. “Having a lot of money doesn’t mean you’re a good person.”

They observed for about an hour but didn't see Alan West himself. There seemed to be someone in the house, as they could occasionally see shadowy figures moving behind the curtains, but no one came out.

“Maybe he’s not home,” Kevin said.

“Perhaps,” Lynn put away his binoculars, “let’s go find a place to stay. We’ll continue the investigation tomorrow.”

They found a basic hotel in downtown Palo Alto, two adjacent single rooms. The hotel wasn't luxurious, but it was clean and tidy, and the price was within their budget.

Lynn put her luggage in the room, then walked to the window and looked at the street scene outside.

The sun had begun to set, painting the sky with a layer of orange-red hues. The number of pedestrians on the streets gradually dwindled, shops began to close, and the entire town slowly quieted down. In the distance, the hills appeared as deep purple silhouettes in the sunset, and a flock of birds swept across the sky, flying westward.

His phone rang; it was Sarah.

"Lynn, have you arrived yet?"

“We’ve arrived,” Lynn said. “We did a quick reconnaissance this afternoon, but nothing particularly noteworthy has been found yet.”

“I have some new information,” Sarah’s voice sounded tense. “We interrogated the Brotherhood member who was arrested at the shipyard, and he finally spoke.”

What did he say?

"He said that senior members of the fraternity frequently mentioned an organization called the 'Council.' This Council seemed to be the behind-the-scenes manipulator of the fraternity, providing funding and strategic guidance. But he didn't know who the members of the Council were, or where they were located."

“A council,” Lynn repeated, “sounds like some kind of board of directors or committee.”

“I think so too,” Sarah said. “If those Bay Area capitalists really are the masterminds, maybe the ‘council’ is their organizational form.”

Are there any other clues?

“There’s one more,” Sarah hesitated, “He mentioned that Erin Shaw once said she had a ‘protector,’ a very powerful man who could guarantee she would never be caught.”

“The Protector?” Lynn frowned. “Did he say who it was?”

“No. All he knew was that this ‘protector’ was a man, very wealthy, and seemingly had considerable influence in politics.”

Lynn was silent for a moment. A very wealthy and influential man in politics. This description could apply to anyone on their list.

“Continue the investigation,” he said, “and see if you can find more information about this ‘Council’ and ‘Protectors.’”

"Okay. Be careful over there."

"knew."

He hung up the phone and stood by the window, lost in thought for a long time.

The next morning, Lynn and Kevin had breakfast at the hotel restaurant.

The restaurant was not crowded, with only a few business travelers and an elderly couple. Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting bright dappled patterns on the white tablecloths. The air was filled with the aroma of coffee and toast, and occasionally a waiter would pass by to ask if anyone needed water.

"What's the plan for today?" Kevin asked while eating a fried egg.

“I’d like to go check out NovaTech’s headquarters,” Lynn said, his coffee already cold, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Although Alan West has left the company, he might still be in contact with people there. Maybe we can find some clues.”

"Isn't NovaTech a company that makes artificial intelligence and robotics?"

“Yes, and biotechnology and genetic engineering,” Lynn said, “are among the largest tech companies in Silicon Valley, with a market capitalization exceeding two hundred billion dollars.”

Do you think this company has ties to the fraternity?

“I’m not sure,” Lynn admitted, “but Alan West was one of the company’s founders, and the reason for his departure has always been a mystery. Some say it was due to disagreements with other board members, others say it was for personal reasons. If we can find out the real reason, we might understand this man better.” After breakfast, they drove to NovaTech’s headquarters. The company is located in a technology park between Palo Alto and Menlo Park, covering more than fifty acres, including a dozen office buildings, research and development labs, and a large data center.

At the entrance to the park, there is a huge sign with silver metal letters spelling out "NOVATECH," below which is the company's slogan: "Creating Tomorrow."

“Creating tomorrow,” Kevin read aloud, “sounds very ambitious.”

“Ambition is a double-edged sword,” Lynn said. “It can be used to create great things, or it can be used to destroy everything.”

They didn't enter the park—as FBI agents, they could enter most places with their credentials, but Lynn didn't want to reveal his identity too early. Instead, they sat down in a café near the park and observed the people coming and going.

The café is called "Code Cafe," and its decor is modern, with tech-themed artwork on the walls. The menu items are all related to programming terms—"Java Bomb," "Python Smoothie," and "C++ Latte." Most of the customers are young people dressed casually, each carrying a laptop and wearing wireless headphones.

“The people here all seem very intelligent,” Kevin said, looking around.

“Intelligence doesn’t equate to kindness,” Lynn said, his gaze fixed on the window. “Some of the smartest people have done the most evil things.”

They spent about two hours in the café, during which Lynn noticed several interesting details. First, NovaTech's security was extremely tight; everyone entering the park had to pass through multiple checkpoints, including facial recognition, fingerprint scanning, and ID checks. Second, there were many people patrolling the park in special uniforms; they didn't seem like ordinary security guards, but rather more like professionally trained private military personnel.

“Those security guards don’t look like ordinary people,” Kevin noticed as well. “Their movements, their posture… they’re like veterans.”

“Very likely,” Lynn said. “Many tech companies hire former special forces members to protect their facilities and executives. In Silicon Valley, data is more valuable than gold.”

Just then, a black, extended Lincoln limousine drove out of the park and headed towards the café. The windows were tinted, so he couldn't see inside, but Lynn noticed that the license plate was a unique combination—"NV-001".

“That car,” he said in a low voice, “write down the license plate number.”

Kevin quickly took a note on his phone. The Lincoln drove along the road past the coffee shop, heading north.

"Keep up with it?" Kevin asked.

Lynn hesitated for a moment. "No, that's too risky. We don't know who's in the car, and following them rashly might expose us."

He took out his phone and dialed Sarah's number. "Sarah, can you check a license plate number for me—California, NV-001? I want to know the vehicle's registration information and recent driving history."

"Okay, give me a few minutes."

A few minutes later, Sarah called back. “Found it. The car is registered to NovaTech and is the company's executive vehicle. According to the traffic records, it has been frequently seen at several locations in San Francisco in recent days—the Chen Capital Building on Market Street, the Pacific Club in the Financial District, and a private dock near Fisherman's Wharf.”

“Pacific Club?” Lynn frowned. “What kind of place is that?”

"I looked it up; it's a very high-end private club, with members who are all business elites and political figures in the Bay Area. The membership fee is said to exceed $100,000, and you also need a referral from an existing member."

“It seems the passenger in this car is someone important,” Lynn said. “Is it possible to find out exactly who is using this car?”

“Not at the moment, that requires a more in-depth investigation,” Sarah said. “But I can try to get information from other sources.”

“Okay, keep investigating,” Lynn hung up the phone and looked at Kevin. “The Pacific Club. Maybe we should go check that out.”

“A place that charges a $100,000 membership fee,” Kevin said with a wry smile. “How are we supposed to get in?”

“We don’t need to go in, we just need to observe from the outside,” Lynn stood up. “Let’s go.”

The Pacific Club is located in a historic building in San Francisco's Financial District. Built in the late 19th century, the brick and stone structure boasts a classic and elegant exterior, contrasting sharply with the surrounding modern high-rises. The main entrance features two massive Corinthian columns, and two doormen in dark suits stand guard with stern expressions, clearly not to be trifled with.

“This place looks very historic,” Kevin said, observing from the car window.

“Building in 1890,” Lynn said, having already researched the club online, “it was initially a social venue for railroad tycoons, but gradually evolved into a gathering place for the Bay Area elite. Many important business deals and political decisions were made at dinners here.”

“A secret club for the rich,” Kevin said. “It sounds like something out of a movie.”

“Reality is often stranger than movies,” Lynn said.

They parked their car in a small alley across from the club and began observing the people coming and going.

In the afternoon, the club wasn't particularly busy, with only a few people coming and going. But everyone who entered was impeccably dressed and elegantly behaved, clearly indicating wealth and status. The doormen treated them with utmost respect, sometimes even opening the door for them personally.

Around two o'clock, the black Lincoln sedan appeared.

It drove slowly down the street and stopped in front of the club. The doorman immediately jogged over and opened the door for the passengers in the back seat.

A man stepped out of the car. He was about sixty years old, with graying but neatly combed hair, wearing a tailored dark blue suit and polished leather shoes. He was well-maintained, with a straight back and a steady gait, exuding the air of someone who had long held a high position.

Lynn picked up the binoculars and carefully observed the man's face.

“It’s him,” he said in a low voice.

"who?"

“Victor Chen,” Lynn’s voice tightened, “is our number one suspect.”

Kevin leaned closer to look. "What's he doing here?"

"I don't know, but I bet they're not here for afternoon tea."

Victor Chen exchanged a few words with the doorman before entering the club. The Lincoln drove away and disappeared at the end of the street.

"Are we just going to sit here and wait?" Kevin asked.

“For now,” Lynn said. “I want to know how long he’ll stay inside, and who else will come to see him.”

They waited for about an hour. (End of Chapter)