Owen went downstairs, turned on his computer, and pulled up the security footage. Setting it to fast-forward, he started reviewing everything from that afternoon.
Most of the footage was dull and uneventful—an occasional car passing by. The camera faced straight ahead, capturing part of McCall's house as well.
On-screen, Mr. McCall was in his usual spot, reading a book on his lounge chair. After a while, he got up and went inside.
Owen was getting bored. He sped the video up to 4x speed, letting the footage flicker rapidly—until suddenly, someone appeared.
Owen immediately recognized him—it was the dead man from earlier.
He slowed the footage back to normal speed. The man, Mahmoud, approached Owen's house. At first, he pretended to casually walk by, but then he doubled back, looking around as if checking for witnesses.
Seeing no one, he pressed himself against the window, peering inside.
Then he put his ear against the door, listening for sounds from inside.
As Owen watched, his frown deepened.
At that time, Owen had been out, his mother was still at work, and Amanda was at school.They had barely escaped a disaster.
If someone had been home, Owen didn't even want to imagine what would've happened…
On the screen, Mahmoud suddenly whipped around, startled by something behind him.
Then, abandoning his break-in attempt, he cautiously moved toward McCall's house.
There was no audio, so Owen couldn't tell what had startled him, but something had.
Mahmoud moved around the back of McCall's house—and never came out again.
Owen rewound the footage, double-checking.
Yes. He went in—but never came out.
That meant… Mahmoud was killed at McCall's house.
Owen sat back, thinking.
Mahmoud had come to kill him. That much was obvious.
But why did he go into McCall's yard?
And more importantly—when did he get killed?
A face flashed in Owen's mind—the ever-smiling, calm Robert McCall.
A man who always seemed to be enjoying life.
Owen picked up his phone and called Chloe again.
"Chloe, I need you to look someone up."
Chloe sighed audibly. "Owen~~~"
"Please. It's important."
Owen felt a little guilty. He was definitely overusing her goodwill. But when it came to his family's safety, he didn't care.
"Fine. What's the name?"
"Robert McCall."
"Give me a sec…"
Owen stayed on the line. Chloe's keyboard clattered in the background.
Then she said, "Got him. Black male, unemployed, no criminal record. Grew up in Montana. His records show he's been moving around the U.S. since he was 20—Boston, San Francisco, New York, Houston, Philadelphia, Detroit, Atlanta, Pittsburgh…
"He's basically traveled across the entire country.
"He also spent five years overseas, but I can't find out what he was doing."
Owen's stomach tightened.
McCall had been moving around the country for decades—and had spent time abroad on unknown business.
Chloe continued, "Three years ago, he came back to the U.S. and settled in Los Angeles.
"Oh, and guess where he lives? The Zilin neighborhood."
"Yeah, I know. He's my neighbor."
"Anything suspicious?" Owen pressed.
"Hmm… Let me check…"
More typing.
"…Nope. Everything seems normal. Education records, bank transactions, travel history, medical records—all clean.
"Oh, but he served in the military.
"His evaluations were excellent.
"Specialties: reconnaissance and hand-to-hand combat."
Owen exhaled.
"Alright. Thanks, Chloe."
Everything looked clean.
McCall's profile showed nothing unusual.
He seemed completely normal.
But then why had Mahmoud died in his yard?
Owen was about to hang up when Chloe suddenly gasped.
"Wait, Owen! Guess what I just found?"
Owen sat up. "Don't play games. What is it?"
"His income."
Chloe sounded like a kid who had just found a treasure chest.
"Every month, McCall receives money from a fund called Tuwei Capital.
"And guess what? That fund is a CIA shell company.
"They use it to pay for black ops."
Owen's heart skipped a beat.
"…So you're saying McCall is CIA?"
"No. I'm saying he might be.
"He could be an agent, a spy, a contractor, a fixer, or a black ops asset.
"Or… maybe he's just a random investor who put money into the wrong fund.
"…But honestly, I don't buy that last one."
Chloe paused, then warned, "Whatever the case—this guy isn't ordinary. Be careful, Owen."
She didn't ask why he was investigating McCall.
And Owen didn't explain.
After hanging up, he lay on his bed, thinking.
McCall had killed Mahmoud.
That much was certain.
He had CIA ties and combat training.
He was more than capable of taking out a threat—quietly.
But the question was: why?
If McCall was a CIA operative, had he been assigned to watch Owen?
Had he been sent to protect his family?
Or was it just a coincidence that Mahmoud died in his backyard?
Owen mentally pieced together a timeline.
Three years ago, McCall moved into the neighborhood. That same year, Owen's family became his neighbors.Now, a Red Front operative tried to kill Owen—but got lured into McCall's yard and wound up dead.
None of this was normal.
Could it be that McCall had a personal grudge against Mahmoud?
Maybe he had fought the Red Front overseas before they became a known terror group?
Or was it just a coincidence?
Owen replayed the footage again.
Mahmoud had drawn his gun before turning toward McCall's house.
That meant something—or someone—caught his attention.
Owen suspected that McCall had spotted him first.
Then, somehow, McCall had lured him into his house—and silently eliminated him.
But why?
McCall had no reason to protect Owen's family.
And yet… he did.
If Mahmoud had broken into Owen's house, his mother and sister would be dead.
Terrorists like the Red Front didn't follow any code of honor. They wouldn't have spared women or children.
McCall had stopped that from happening.
Whatever his motives, he had helped Owen's family.
And Owen trusted his instincts.
McCall wasn't the enemy.
Determined, Owen stood up, walked outside, and crossed the street.
He knocked on McCall's door.
A moment later, the door opened.
McCall stood there, his usual calm expression in place.
"Hey, Owen. What's up?"
Owen hesitated, then spoke.
"Nothing much. Just… wanted to say thank you."
McCall raised an eyebrow. "Thank me? For what?"
"For what you did for my family. I don't know why you did it—but I appreciate it."
For a brief second, something flickered in McCall's eyes.
Then he smiled—his usual warm, friendly smile.
"I have no idea what you're talking about.
"But I do love the Zilin neighborhood.
"The people here are kind, quiet, and look out for each other.
"…And I like this life.
"I don't want anything to disrupt it."
Owen nodded.
McCall's words made sense.
And yet… they didn't.
_________________________
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