According to her education, the term "professional ethics" is not used this way.

Veronica Smith rolled her eyes beautifully. This morning, she flipped through the diary on the desk. Since reading someone else's diary without permission is tantamount to invading their privacy and is unethical, she asked Wayne Baker first.

Wayne Baker was sleeping at the time and didn't say anything.

Not saying anything means tacit consent!

In the diary, the clients gave Wayne Baker high praise, commending the handsome young man's professionalism and moral standards. All the recorded daily trifles and details also showed that Wayne Baker was a positive and upright outstanding youth.

He abides by etiquette and the law, he is willing to help others, he injects positive energy into a decaying society, and he is a role model for contemporary young people.

After reading the diary, Veronica Smith was deeply shocked, and her impression of Wayne Baker changed greatly. She felt ashamed for having misunderstood Wayne Baker's character, and asked William Johnson to make more delicious food to make up for her offense of peeking at the diary.

Now she understood why such a private thing as a diary wasn't locked up, but left on the desk within easy reach.

How terrible, the female college student felt she was being played by society's trash!

"Go on, what have you found out about Mrs. Clark?"

Veronica Smith handed over a coin with the queen's portrait, expressionless. There was a scent of death on Mrs. Clark, who had come into closer contact with deathwalkers than Wayne Baker. Following this lead, the hidden target could soon be found.

"According to the investigation, Mrs. Clark is somewhat famous among dockworkers and the down-and-out art circle for her charitable deeds, and she has a lot of connections..." Wayne Baker had no qualms about doing business for money and spilled everything.

From a work perspective, it was reasonable and logical for a detective to tell the assistant the results of the investigation.

From a business perspective, he didn't sell the information to Mrs. Clark, thus upholding his own professional standards.

"Be specific, who are the painters and dockworkers?"

"Why are you asking about this?"

Wayne Baker frowned. "Assistant Smith, don't make things difficult for the boss. I took Dr. Clark's money. Our detective agency won't provide investigative services for Mrs. Clark."

"This has nothing to do with Mrs. Clark. I'm commissioning you to investigate now." Veronica Smith waved the cash in her hand.

"Please have a seat."

"……"

Can't you at least put up a struggle?

……

Lundan City can be divided into five districts by political and economic lines. The central district, located at the heart of the city, is also called Inner Lundan or Lundan City, and is the political, economic, and cultural center of the entire Kingdom of Windsor.

There you’ll find the best universities, the best hospitals, the largest stock market, museums, theaters, and so on—all firmly controlled by the new capitalists who were once noble lords.

The west and north districts are home to the middle class, while the east and south districts are the largest in area but have the poorest resources. These are the hubs for ports, industry, and warehouses, and most people living here are working class.

Port docks.

Sailors untied the ropes, the melodious sound of the steam whistle signaled departure, and the blazing sun, the sea, and curses together wove a chapter unique to this place.

In different people's eyes, the scenery of the docks is completely different.

In the eyes of the upper class, the docks are romantic. Amid the symphony of seagulls, sailors sing unified songs of courage, braving the waves to foreign lands. They pursue the true meaning of life, explore unknown routes, bring back wealth, and spread civilization. Everything seems to have come straight out of an oil painting.

In the eyes of the lower class, the docks are filthy—full of noisy seagulls, icy seawater, and workers just like themselves, toiling for a living, forced to be disheveled, covered in grime and stinking sweat.

If this could be called an oil painting, it must have been made by stomping with the dirtiest feet, dipped in the foulest mud and grease.

As an old capitalist power, the Kingdom of Windsor's industrial facilities and supporting infrastructure are thoroughly outdated, inevitably leading to a decline in productivity. Coupled with economic depression, war, and other factors, the docks were far less prosperous than they once were.

Near afternoon tea time, Veronica Smith was enjoying black tea in a restaurant, holding the black cat Monica Harris, while Wayne Baker and William Johnson split up to look for the dockworker Blake Turner.

Blake Turner was one of Mrs. Clark's "sea ports," known for his strong physique and great strength.

As usual, Wayne Baker searched for his whereabouts but couldn't find him. According to his coworkers, Blake Turner didn't come to work today—he might have gone to the warehouse district, or maybe he was sleeping at home.

On the way, Wayne Baker unfortunately ran into William Johnson. The latter perked up as soon as he saw him, grabbed him and wouldn't let go, sighing and complaining.

"Wayne Baker, I just met a young, down-and-out noble. He's up to his ears in debt and had no choice but to come to the docks to look for work..."

"I suggested to him, since he's so deep in debt, why not pay it off with his ass? But he refused. What a pity, who knows who'll get lucky in the future."

"After that, I scouted a few more, but none were as young and handsome as that fallen noble."

Wayne Baker: "……"

What is this, the gay version of Poseidon, a safe harbor for ships, the legendary queer dock?

No, wait, so you haven't done a single proper thing all this time!