Although Benedict despised Finnick and Noah with everything in him, now was not the time for personal grudges. There was something else much more important at hand.
“Go to the police station immediately to find out who this car plate number is registered under. I want to know the owner’s name, address, contact information, and everything else that you can find,” Benedict instructed.
Noah didn’t waste any time in following Benedict’s orders, he took off down the stairs and zoomed off towards the police station in his car.
Benedict wanted to call Vivian to check up on how she was doing, but she didn’t answer the phone.
All he heard was a robotic female voice telling him, “The person you are trying to call is unavailable…”
Frustrated, Benedict threw his phone aside, turning his attention to the video clip for what seemed to be the millionth time. Did we miss anything?
But Coast Haven was a desolate place, with few people going in or out. He was certain that they hadn’t overlooked anything.
The kidnapping case had caused the entire city to go into a frenzy looking for the missing child because the housemaid had gone to file a police report.
Of course, it wasn’t because the citizens were just kind, good Samaritans. They just wanted the reward money for finding Larry.
Larry’s adorable looks had also caused a crowd of more shallow younger women and girls to spring into action, doing their best to play detective. When the media somehow got wind that the child was one of the Morrisons, reporters swarmed the lobby of the Morrison Group building in an attempt to ambush Benedict and try to interview him.
But the man never showed up, and they could only wait aimlessly downstairs while Benedict stayed upstairs, waiting for updates from Noah.
Thankfully, Noah quickly found out who the car belonged to.
With this new information, he and Benedict made plans to meet up at the address of the car owner.
As soon as Benedict stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby, the reporters flocked towards him.
“Mr. Morrison, who is the little boy?”
“Mr. Morrison, did you secretly get married?”
“Mr. Morrison, who’s the lucky woman?”
“Excuse me! Make way!” The security guards did their best to escort Benedict onto his vehicle, guarding him against the reporters’ microphones and flashing cameras.
The mass media personnel directed fiery glares at the guards, irritated at how their huge scoop was getting snatched away right in front of their eyes.
Benedict and Noah arrived at the car owner’s address at nearly the same time. The residential area the address was located at was entirely made up of narrow, winding roads, forcing them to get out of their cars and walk the rest of the way.
The rancid odor of moldy trash invaded their senses as they walked, but they could only cover their noses and push forward.
Outsiders rarely came and went in this small residential area.
“The pig next door just gave birth.”
“The neighboring old lady is hitting her son’s wife again.”
“The lady living in the west cried in the middle of the night again.”
These small, mundane issues were the only things the residents had to talk about over dinner.
That one driver was the only person in the entire area who regularly left the area for work, and many people envied him because of this.
He also earned some side income through renting out his property, which allowed his family to live a comparably comfortable life here.
Everyone else merely had a small piece of land to their name and had to provide for themselves.
The residents of the area stared warily at the two outsiders.
The man walking in front was tall and handsome, emanating an aura of regality. The guy following behind him wasn’t as eye-catching, but clearly also wealthy.
Benedict glanced around at everyone, feeling very uneasy with their curious stares burning into him.
Approaching a middle-aged man in the street, he inquired, “Excuse me. Does Mr. Jeffrey Watson live here?” The residential area was small but messy and unorganized making it harder to look for a single person than they’d initially expected.
Or worse, Jeffrey might go into hiding if he heard that there were people looking for him.
“Oh, Jeffrey? Yeah, he lives up there,” the man replied, pointing towards a house that looked much more modern and extravagant than the rest of the houses in the area.
“Thank you,” expressed Benedict, making a bee-line for the house.
He knocked on the door thrice before a frail-looking young man answered the door.
“Who are you?” Jeffrey had worked in the city for many years. One look at the two strangers’ outfits was all he needed to know that they were rich people.