Wayne Baker didn’t open the door. He silently grabbed the crowbar nearby. The other person didn’t keep knocking; instead, they pushed the door open and walked in themselves.

The black hooded robe covered the intruder from head to toe, making it impossible to see their face. Under the overhead light, the shadows of the robe were stark, which only increased the pressure Wayne Baker felt. His palm, gripping the crowbar tightly, broke out in a thin layer of sweat.

Wayne Baker stared intently. Although he couldn’t see the face beneath the hood, judging by the rise and fall at the chest of the robe, he guessed the intruder was a woman.

A business deal?

“You’re the owner of this detective agency, right? I have a business proposition to discuss with you.”

“Can we talk tomorrow? We’re closed now.”

Although the woman’s voice was pleasant, Wayne Baker still refused her. Anyone dressed so mysteriously was clearly someone with a story, and he didn’t want to get involved with such people.

The intruder said nothing, slowly walked to the desk, glanced at the table full of potatoes, let out a soft laugh, and waved her hand to place down a thick stack of cash.

The queen’s portrait on the bills stabbed at Wayne Baker’s eyes. Each bill was a one-hundred-denomination shilling, at least fifty bills—five thousand shillings in total, enough for him to work himself to death for two years.

The shilling was the legal currency of the Kingdom of Windsor, with copper coins called shenks below it—twelve shenks could be exchanged for one shilling, the so-called small change.

Due to the economic depression and the looming threat of war, the purchasing power of the shilling had been steadily declining, but for Wayne Baker, this was still a huge sum.

“Can we talk now?”

“Please, have a seat.”

Wayne Baker sat behind the desk, the crowbar laid across his legs. His instincts told him this thing was useless against the other party, but he needed some psychological comfort—a handy tool gave him a bit more confidence when speaking.

The woman seemed quite satisfied with Wayne Baker’s business acumen in the face of money, and sat down in the chair across from the desk, unhurried and composed.

Wayne Baker observed the intruder up close and could see the lower half of her face, which the hood hadn’t concealed. Her lips were delicate, her skin luminous and white as pearls, and he imagined her chin would feel soft and smooth to the touch.

Judging by her appearance, Wayne Baker guessed she was quite young—sixteen to eighteen, certainly no older than twenty.

At this age, with such beauty, to break into a single man’s home alone at night—either she was very capable, or… she was very capable.

Judging by her generosity, it was probably the latter.

The woman’s silence made Wayne Baker uneasy, so he put on his official customer-service smile and politely asked, “Have you eaten? Would you like some potatoes?”

“Black tea.”

“One moment.”

Wayne Baker put away the five thousand shillings on the desk and went to the kitchen to make tea. Who knew how, in a world without maritime trade, the locals even got their hands on tea leaves.

A moment later, Wayne Baker sat down again and saw the woman place her hands on the edge of her hood, as if about to reveal her face. He quickly interrupted her.

“I know the rules. I don’t want to know what you look like. After tonight, let’s not know each other at all. Please don’t take off your hat.” Wayne Baker raised his hand to cover his eyes.

It was useless. The other party did as she pleased and didn’t care about his opinion at all.

The young woman had blonde hair and blue eyes, her features perfectly balanced. Her looks and bone structure were just right, and her cold, fashionable beauty was highly versatile—she could pull off both sweet innocence and icy aloofness.

For example, right now, her golden hair was coiled at the back of her head, and her cold, deep eyes seemed to hold starlight. She picked up the teacup, sniffed it under her nose, but didn’t taste it, and set it straight back down.

What’s wrong, is the country bumpkin’s food not good enough for you?

Though the woman said nothing, Wayne Baker still sensed a thick barrier called class difference. The premium tea he’d bought at great expense was worthless in her eyes.

That’s great—this must be a big job!

From habits formed in his previous life, Wayne Baker never complained to wealthy clients—at least not on the surface. He kept smiling and said, “Respected miss, could you tell me about the business you’d like to discuss?”

“I need a job, and you need an assistant.”

“……”

Wayne Baker was stunned. He pointed at his office: “As you can see, it’s a small operation. I can’t afford to…”

“I’ll pay to work here. I’ll give you one thousand shillings a month to be your detective agency’s assistant.”

“……”

“If not, forget it.”

“Welcome, Miss Assistant. You’re hired by this detective agency.”

Wayne Baker nodded without hesitation. With the previous five thousand, that made six thousand shillings in total.

Maybe it made him seem shameless, but six thousand shillings and dignity weren’t even comparable. Hesitating for even a second would be too generous to the potatoes.

Wayne Baker enthusiastically reached out his hand. The other party didn’t take it, so he shook his own hand and, unfazed, said, “Your resume and ID… Oh, I’ll just make those up myself. I’m Wayne Baker, owner and chief detective of this agency. How should I address you?”

“Veronica Smith.”

Veronica Smith gave a name that may or may not have been real, and then told a story that may or may not have been true. She came from a foreign land, had loved detective novels since childhood, and aspired to become a great detective.

She wouldn’t stay long at Wayne Baker’s detective agency, nor would she bring trouble to Wayne Baker. As long as he didn’t ask too many questions, he’d make endless money with the queen’s portrait during her employment.

A perfunctory lie, seriously lacking in sincerity—but it was enough.