Although Wesley instinctively understood that someone like William wouldn't lie to him, he struggled to accept that the parents who had raised him were actually adoptive. "This can't be true. It's impossible."
William turned his gaze to the dark, endless sea. "I understand it's hard to accept. If someone told me the same thing, I wouldn't believe it right away either.
But the fact is, your biological father is alive. For certain unavoidable reasons, he had to leave you and couldn't acknowledge you for your own safety.
Even though he couldn't reveal himself to you, he's been quietly watching over you all these years. He even spends a portion of each year living near you, keeping an eye on you from the shadows."
"Then hasn't he been spying on me this whole time?"
William rolled his eyes. "Is that really the question you should be asking right now?"
"Sorry, I just didn't want things to get too heavy." Wesley couldn't help but relax a little, partly because William's calm demeanor and approachable attitude made him feel less pressured. He even thought to himself that super-rich aristocrats like William truly lived up to their reputation—not only polite and easy to talk to but also incredibly warm.
Tentatively, Wesley joked, "If what you're saying is true, then is my father a spy, an agent, or an assassin?"
"Haha, Wesley, I like you. You're not entirely wrong, but you're not entirely right either." William laughed, then plucked a strand of hair from Wesley's head.
"You've heard of DNA testing, right? When the results come in, and you've got undeniable proof, we'll continue this conversation about who your father is.
For now, focus on fishing. Or, if you're not interested, you can head home."
Wesley glanced at the fishing rod in his hands, shook his head, and put it back in the tackle box. He had never fished before, and at this moment, he certainly wasn't in the mood to try.
"Mr. Devonshire, can you at least tell me how you know my father? And why he couldn't come to explain all this himself?"
"Sorry, how I know your father is classified." William cast his fishing line with a smile. "As for why he couldn't come himself, it's because your father is currently involved in something he believes is the right thing to do. It's also dangerous.
Meeting you now would only expose you to danger. If anyone finds out about your connection, you'll instantly become a target." William turned to Wesley with a sharp look. "You don't want to be endlessly hunted, do you?"
The mention of being hunted made Wesley stiffen, his face pale. "Fine. Even if we can't meet, can't you at least tell me his name or what he looks like?"
"Sorry, that's also classified. I'm not going to risk exposing your father because of you."
For William, there was no advantage in revealing the truth to Wesley now. Not until Wesley was taken to the Brotherhood's stronghold for training would William disclose any information about Carlos. "You'll find out when the time is right."
"Classified, again." Wesley rolled his eyes. "This can't be said, that can't be said. God, I'm just going to go home and sleep. Maybe when I wake up tomorrow, I'll find this was all just a dream."
"Haha, maybe." William laughed and pointed to the speedboat about 20 meters away. "Mr. Martin Donner will take you home."
Before Wesley could leave, William issued a final warning. "And remember, don't tell anyone about our meeting. No one. Even if someone becomes very important to you in the future, keep this secret. Otherwise, the consequences will be severe—severe enough to cost you your life."
"Don't worry, Mr. Devonshire. Nobody pays attention to me, and nobody would even think to ask," Wesley muttered dejectedly.
"No, Wesley. You don't realize how serious this is." William thought for a moment before reaching into his pocket. Using the fabric to obscure the motion, he retrieved his identification as Director of the English Intelligence Service from his storage space and tossed it to Wesley.
When Wesley saw the document and looked back at William in shock, William calmly explained, "If you leak our meeting, not only will your father's enemies hunt you down, but I guarantee the English Intelligence Service won't let it slide either.
We won't kill you, but we will lock you away in the most secretive prison until your father either retires or dies. And even the CIA and FBI will help us capture you. So now, do you understand the importance of keeping quiet?"
"F. What kind of man is my father?"
Staring at the ID in his hands, Wesley cursed inwardly. Locking someone away without explanation just for the sake of secrecy?
And from the looks of it, William and his supposedly deadbeat father weren't just acquaintances—they seemed to have a very close relationship.
Piecing it together, Wesley started imagining that his father might also be a secret agent for England, with a high-ranking position or an extremely classified mission. Otherwise, why would someone as influential as William bother to approach him?
At that moment, Wesley began to imagine his mysterious father as a superhero of sorts. He suddenly felt an eager desire to meet him.
Unfortunately, reality didn't align with his fantasies. Three days after meeting William, Wesley woke up in an old, dim factory. There, an older black man informed him that his father had been assassinated the previous morning on the rooftop of the Metropolitan Building.
Devastated by the news, Wesley left the factory in a daze and frantically searched for William. But he spent an entire day searching to no avail. With no address or contact information, someone like Wesley—at the very bottom of society—had no chance of finding someone like William.
Exhausted and heartbroken, he returned to his office. As soon as he sat down, the landline phone rang.
Remembering that William had used this phone to contact him three days earlier, Wesley grabbed the receiver.
"Hello?"
A voice distorted by an electronic modulator came through. "I'm looking into it. I'll let you know when I have news. So stop running around like an idiot. You might want to die, but I don't. Got it?
And next time you go sea fishing, pick a rod with a reel. That red rod you chose last time can't handle a fish over five kilos. Lastly, my condolences, Wesley."
The call abruptly ended.
When Wesley heard the mention of the fishing rod, he was convinced it was William on the other end.
Reflecting on William's mysterious behavior, Wesley began recalling all the news stories about him.
The man who had saved the English king, hundreds of English officials, the leaders of France, Italy, and Germany, and even the U.S. president, Benjamin Arthur, three times.
If his father was connected to someone like William, the dangers he faced were unimaginable.
Wesley reasoned that his father must have been desperate to reconnect, knowing his situation had become too perilous. If he didn't act now, there might never be another chance—hence his request for William's involvement.
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