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

During this time, several more people entered the club. Lynn took photos of each person with his phone, intending to verify their identities later. He recognized several of them—one was a California state senator, another was the former mayor of San Francisco, and the third was the CEO of a major bank.

“These are all big shots,” Kevin said. “What are they doing all together?”

"That's what I want to know."

At 3:45, another car stopped in front of the club—this time a white Bentley. A woman, about fifty years old, stepped out of the car. She was wearing an elegant beige suit, gold-rimmed glasses, and her short hair was neatly combed.

Lynn's eyes narrowed.

“Margaret Love,” he said, “the third person on our list.”

“The Semiconductor Queen?” Kevin recognized her too. “She’s here too?”

“Looks like there’s an important gathering at the club today,” Lynn said, his heart starting to race. “Two of the three on our list are here. It can’t be a coincidence.”

They continued to observe. About twenty minutes later, the club's doors opened again, but this time, instead of someone going in, someone came out.

It's Victor Chen.

But he wasn't alone. With him emerged a woman Lynn had never seen before.

The woman was around forty years old, tall, wearing a black trench coat, with long hair draped over her shoulders, and large sunglasses that almost covered half her face. She walked quickly, as if in a hurry to leave.

Victor Chen exchanged a few words with her at the door, then they parted ways. Victor Chen got into the Lincoln waiting by the roadside, while the woman walked in the other direction of the street.

“Who is that woman?” Kevin asked.

“I don’t know,” Lynn said, staring at the woman’s retreating figure as she turned into an alley. “But I have a feeling… to follow her.”

"What?"

“You stay here and keep an eye on the club. I'm going to follow that woman,” Lynn said, already opening the car door. “Keep in touch.”

He got out of the car and walked quickly in the direction where the woman had disappeared.

The alley was narrow, with old brick walls and rusty fire escape stairs on both sides, and some garbage and dead leaves scattered on the ground. Sunlight rarely penetrated, and the entire alley was shrouded in shadow.

The woman walked quickly, the sound of her high heels echoing in the narrow space. Lynn kept a distance of about fifty meters, trying not to make too much noise.

She turned a corner at the end of the alley and disappeared from sight.

Lynn quickened his pace and followed.

But when he turned the corner, he didn't see the woman's back, but a gun pointed at him.

“Don’t move,” the woman said, her voice calm and firm. Her sunglasses were off, revealing sharp eyes. “FBI Agent Lynn Ashford, I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”

Lynn froze.

"Who are you?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

The woman's lips curled up slightly, revealing a meaningful smile.

“My name is Eileen Shaw,” she said. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

Lynn's heart skipped a beat.

Erin Shaw. The leader of the Brotherhood. The person he had been tracking for so long was now standing in front of him, a gun pointed at his head.

“How did you know I would come here?” he asked.

“You think I don’t know what you’re investigating?” Eileen’s smile deepened. “I’ve been watching you ever since you caught that sniper in New Jersey. You’re a very capable agent, Lynn Ashford. Too bad you chose the wrong enemy.”

“You’ve killed many people,” Lynn said. “You orchestrated the attack on Times Square. Do you think you can escape the law forever?”

“Law?” Eileen sneered. “What you call law is nothing more than a tool used by the powerful to control ordinary people. Real power isn’t in the courtrooms, but here—in the skyscrapers of this city, in the hands of those men in suits.”

"So you collaborated with those people? What did you want to achieve through terrorist attacks?"

Eileen didn't answer. She just stared at Lynn with her sharp eyes, as if assessing him.

“You know what, Lynn,” she finally spoke, “in another situation, we might be able to be friends. You and I have a lot in common—we both believe we're doing the right thing, and we're both willing to fight for our beliefs. It's just that we're on opposite sides.”

“We have nothing in common,” Lynn said. “I protect innocent people, and you kill them.”

“Innocent?” Eileen’s eyes flickered. “There are no truly innocent people in this world. Everyone has their secrets, and everyone has done things that can’t be brought to light. Those you consider ‘innocent’ may be far more corrupt than you imagine.”

"So you have the right to decide who should die and who should live?"

“No, I’m just accelerating an inevitable process,” Eileen said. “The old order is collapsing, and a new order is being born. Those who cling to the old world will ultimately be eliminated.”

Lynn stared at her, trying to glean clues from her words. "Those capitalists—Victor Chen, Alan West, Margaret Love—are they your allies or your masters?"

Eileen's expression shifted slightly, but she quickly regained her composure. "You know more than I thought. That makes you more dangerous, and more valuable."

"Valuable? What do you mean?"

Eileen didn't answer. Her gaze shifted to the entrance of the alley, as if listening for some sound.

“Time is running out,” she said, her voice becoming urgent. “I’m not here to kill you. I’m here to give you a warning.”

"warn?"

“Stop your investigation,” Eileen said. “Go back to New York and forget everything you’ve seen here. The enemy you’re facing is far more powerful than you think; they can easily destroy your career, your reputation, and even your life.”

What if I don't stop?

Eileen's lips curled into a smile again. "Then we'll meet again. But next time, I might not be in such a good mood." She began to back away, her gun still pointed at Lynn.

“There’s one more thing,” she said before disappearing into the shadows of the alley, “Don’t trust anyone. The people around you might be far more complicated than you think.”

Then, she turned and disappeared into the darkness.

Lynn stood there, his mind racing. He wanted to give chase, but he knew it was too dangerous—Eileen Shaw was a trained and dangerous individual, and pursuing her in this confined space could put him in even greater danger.

He took out his phone and dialed Kevin's number.

“Kevin, Eileen Shaw was just here,” his voice was tense. “She ran away. Notify the local police immediately to cordon off the surrounding area. It may be too late, but we have to try.”

“What? Eileen Shaw?” Kevin’s voice was filled with shock. “Are you alright?”

"I'm fine. Let's get moving."

He hung up the phone and stared in the direction Eileen had disappeared. Her words echoed in his mind.

"Don't trust anyone. The people around you may be far more complicated than you imagine."

What does this mean? What is she implying?
When Lynn returned to the hotel, it was already completely dark.

Kevin was sitting on the sofa in the hotel lobby waiting for him. When he saw him come in, he immediately stood up and went to greet him.

“Detective Lynn, are you alright?” His face was full of worry. “I contacted the local police, and they cordoned off several blocks around here, but they haven’t found Eileen Shaw. It’s like she’s vanished into thin air.”

“She was prepared,” Lynn said, his voice tinged with weariness. “She knew we were coming and made arrangements for an escape route.”

“How did she know we were coming?” Kevin followed him toward the elevator. “Did someone leak our plans?”

Lynn didn't answer. Eileen's last words kept echoing in his mind—"Don't trust anyone. The people around you might be far more complicated than you imagine."

Was she deliberately creating suspicion, or was she actually hinting at something?
They took the elevator to the third floor and went into Lynn's room. Lynn threw his coat on the chair, walked to the window, and looked at the night view outside.

The night in Palo Alto was quiet, with only a few car headlights moving along the streets, and the distant hills appearing as blurry outlines in the moonlight. A few streetlights cast a dim, yellowish glow, casting lonely halos on the sidewalks.

"What did she say to you?" Kevin asked.

Lynn recounted her conversation with Erin Shaw, including her warning and her final meaningful remark.

“She’s trying to sow discord,” Kevin said. “She wants us to distrust each other; it’s basic psychological warfare.”

“Perhaps,” Lynn said, “but she’s right about one thing—the enemy we’re facing is far more powerful than we imagine. Those capitalists, politicians, and the networks behind them. This isn’t something a few of us can handle.”

"Then what do we do? Give up?"

“No,” Lynn turned around, a determined glint in his eyes, “we need a different approach. If a frontal assault won’t work, then we’ll break through from the flank.”

"What's the meaning?"

Lynn was silent for a moment, seemingly deep in thought. "Eileen Shaw said the Brotherhood is an organized, well-funded organization. Such an organization can't remain completely secret; it needs manpower, it needs to operate, and it needs connections with the outside world. If we can find those connections..."

"You want to infiltrate?" Kevin's eyes widened.

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Lynn said. “I need more information. This is the Bay Area, where the Brotherhood’s funding comes from. If they’re active here, some locals should know something.”

"What kind of person?"

“The people on the street,” Lynn said, “those living on the fringes of society. They may not know anything important, but their ears are sharper than anyone else's. If the Brotherhood is recruiting or conducting activities here, they'll hear about it.”

Kevin looked at him, seemingly understanding what he meant. "You're going to gather information?"

“Yes,” Lynn said, “tonight.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No, you stay at the hotel,” Lynn said. “It’ll be less noticeable if I go alone. If we both show up, it’ll seem too deliberate.”

Kevin wanted to argue, but seeing Lynn's resolute expression, he could only nod. "Okay. But contact me immediately if anything happens."

"rest assured."

Lynn changed his clothes—he took off his suit and leather shoes and put on an old jacket, faded jeans, and sneakers. He messed up his hair, didn't shave, and looked much more disheveled than usual.

“Does this look like something an FBI agent would do?” he asked Kevin.

“He looks like an unemployed middle-aged man,” Kevin commented.

"That suits me perfectly."

Lynn left the hotel and walked towards San Francisco. He didn't drive because the rented Toyota was too clean and ordinary for his destination.

His destination was a neighborhood south of downtown San Francisco—a place known as Tenderloin. This is one of San Francisco's most notorious areas, notorious for its high crime rate, drug trafficking, and homelessness. Police typically turn a blind eye to this area, rarely venturing in unless a major case occurs.

Lynn spent about forty minutes walking to the edge of Tenderloin. The scene here was a stark contrast to Palo Alto—narrow streets were littered with trash and broken glass, walls were covered in graffiti, and streetlights were either broken or flickering with an eerie strobe effect. The air was thick with the smell of urine, rotting food, and some kind of sweet chemical.

On the street corner, several homeless people wrapped in blankets huddled in cardboard boxes, next to all their belongings—a few plastic bags and a rusty shopping cart. A man in a worn-out coat leaned against the wall, staring blankly into space, muttering unintelligible words.

Lynn walked along the street, searching for his target.

He stopped in front of a neon-lit bar. The bar's sign read "Sunset Tavern," but some of the fluorescent lights were broken, leaving only the words "Sunset Tavern" flashing. A fat security guard stood at the door, wearing a tight black T-shirt, his chest muscles bulging like his belly. He glanced at Lynn sideways, said nothing, and let him in.

The bar was larger inside than it appeared from the outside, but equally run-down. A few wooden tables were scattered throughout the dimly lit space, and faded beer posters and a few rickety chandeliers hung on the walls. The bar counter was a heavy oak plank, covered in knife marks and cigarette burns. Several old television sets hung in the corner, playing a baseball game that no one was watching.

An old rock song played from the stereo, the guitar melody and hoarse vocals echoing in the stale air. The air was thick with the mingled smells of tobacco, alcohol, and sweat, making it almost suffocating. (End of Chapter)