Chapitre 172: 172: The Muggle World and Watson's Trouble
The train pulled into Platform 9¾.
John bid farewell to his friends.
"See you next term, John! I promise I'll learn more delicious recipes by then," Daphne called out, waving reluctantly behind him.
"Y..Yeah.."
John stumbled a little at her words, hastily quickening his pace to leave.
Outside the station, he spotted the Dursley family with expressions of nervousness and forced enthusiasm, their unease almost tangible.
Mrs. Wick approached and pulled her son into a warm embrace.
"You've grown taller... but also thinner," she said, her voice tinged with concern as she stroked John's noticeably slimmer cheeks.
John glanced around. "Where's Dad?"
Not spotting Watson Wick, he assumed his father was off preparing some new surprise.
A flicker of unease flashed in Mrs. Wick's eyes, but she quickly masked it. Her voice was soft and reassuring as she said, "He's at home waiting for us—had a bit of an upset stomach."
"Alright. Heh~ Let's just hope he doesn't gain weight from eating too much chocolate," John replied, shrugging, not questioning her words.
As they got into the car, John caught sight of Harry looking startled by the Dursley family. It was as if Harry couldn't believe how much they had changed.
Even though, during Christmas, Harry had been baffled to receive an elegant and expensive handkerchief from the Dursleys, he had chalked it up to a mistake on their part.
However, the Dursleys now seemed nothing like they had been when Harry left, leaving him feeling uncomfortably flattered by their sudden change in demeanor.
...
Mrs. Wick's driving was notably smooth—unlike Watson Wick, who had a fondness for slamming the brakes unexpectedly.
This was the first time since John started school that Mrs. Wick had come to pick him up alone, which felt strange to him.
Tom rested her head on John's lap, while Basil, rather than staying in the cage, dozed off atop Tom's back, occasionally kneading his paws into her fur.
"John, I've been thinking—it's been a while since we went on a vacation."
The car glided steadily along the road as Mrs. Wick gripped the steering wheel.
Glancing at John's reflection in the rearview mirror, her tone was calm but tinged with a subtle nervousness as she tentatively asked, "How about we take a trip this holiday?"
John didn't seem to mind.
Watching the scenery blur past outside the window, he replied casually, "I'm fine with that, but it'll have to be a week from now."
Hearing his response, Mrs. Wick's face visibly relaxed, a smile of relief forming.
John sensed something was off. He glanced up at her, and Mrs. Wick quickly averted her eyes.
Frowning slightly, he asked, "Mom, is something wrong?"
"Nothing," Mrs. Wick replied, trying to maintain her composure.
But the restless tapping of her fingers on the steering wheel betrayed her anxiety.
John's gaze lingered on her for a moment before shifting back to the view outside.
It seemed as though nothing had happened, but deep down, John knew something might be wrong at home.
"That's good then."
John's expression remained calm, his gaze distant and contemplative as he stared out at the horizon.
The car hadn't yet reached their house when he spotted two black vehicles parked out front.
John noticed a driver in one car smoking a cigarette while another man, who looked like a bodyguard, surveyed the surroundings with vigilance.
Standing near the house was a burly man whose muscles stretched his suit taut, his sharp eyes fixed in the direction of their approaching car.
Mrs. Wick grew visibly agitated, something uncharacteristic for her. She muttered a rare curse under her breath, only to catch herself upon remembering her son was with her. Forcing a smile, she said, "A new Panda Express opened up nearby. I remember how much you love Asian spicy food—let's head there and give it a try."
John's eyes flicked toward the suited muscleman and noticed his expression darken.
Just as Mrs. Wick attempted to steer the car away from the house, angry voices erupted from inside.
John's enhanced hearing picked on them easily.
"Watson, Fein Wallace trusted you more than anyone. Are you seriously expecting me to believe you don't know anything about his dealings?"
"Enough! I'm just his financial manager like other clients of the Continental—I don't handle your dirty business!"
The two voices made the atmosphere tense. John's eyes locked on the man next to the black car. The man had put his hand on his waist.
After a while, a man opened the door heavily and left the house with a gloomy face.
John saw clearly from the car that the man went in with a weapon.
As the man got in the car, the two black cars left the door, Mrs Watson finally stopped the car at the gate.
Inside the house, nothing seemed out of the ordinary at first glance. However, Watson Wick was uncharacteristically serious, sitting on the couch deep in thought.
Hearing the door open, he turned to see his family return. His grave expression faltered, and he quickly plastered on his usual smile, as if nothing were wrong.
"Who were those people outside?"
Before Watson could respond, John tilted his head up, looking at the ceiling. Mrs. Wick followed his gaze and gasped. There was a small hole in the ceiling—clearly the result of a bullet.
She covered her mouth in shock. Watson grimaced, tugging at the corners of his mouth awkwardly. His son's keen observation skills never ceased to amaze—or frustrate—him. It left no room for a father to maintain any sense of authority or mystique.
Unable to keep up his facade, Watson rubbed his face roughly with his hands, smearing away any remnants of a forced grin.
"Those people were from London," he finally admitted. "Fein Wallace has been killed, and some of his legitimate assets were tied up in investments I managed for him."
Watson explained further: this wasn't the first group to show up. In recent weeks, more people had come, all with the same goal—to seize Fein Wallace's assets.
As a professional with principles, Watson refused to hand anything over.
And even if he were to relent, he argued, those assets should go to Wallace's family, not to some random crime bosses looking to capitalize on his death.
"Things like this should be handled by the Continental, right?"
"Well, Wallace hadn't posted a Will to the table as he wasn't concerned about dying this early," Watson explained while rubbing the back of his head.
"And now it's become free for all, huh?"
"They threatened you, didn't they?"
John asked with a steady tone, as if he already knew the answer. He wasn't about to believe that people operating in gray areas of the law would approach things diplomatically.
Watson hesitated, then scratched his head awkwardly. "Well… yeah. One of them did say something about kidnapping my son."
"..."
Why don't I see even a shred of concern on your face?
John looked at his father and thought about how their family had gotten entangled in such a mess.
He had always maintained a non-interference, non-involvement policy when it came to the Muggle world. Taking action against Muggles could lead to violations of the Statute of Secrecy, which would cause endless trouble for John.
As for his father's work, John had a vague understanding of it.
His father worked as the financial manager for the Continental Associates, managing investments for wealthy clients.
Because of this, Watson had connections with many people, including those in gray areas of society.
Fein Wallace was one of them. He had a close relationship with Watson—so close that almost all of Wallace's legitimate businesses were managed by him.
Fein was the biggest crime boss in London, and the wealth tied to his businesses was enormous.
Their relationship had always led people to assume that Watson was the Wallace family's trusted strategist.
When Fein was alive, this status kept many problems at bay. But now that he was dead, it only invited trouble.
"Don't worry, I'll handle this," Watson said with forced ease, clapping his hands as if to dismiss their concerns.
He turned to John with a look of pride. "You've matured. From now on, I'm counting on you to take care of your mom."
Wait, what?
Didn't you just say you'd handle this?
Now you're leaving your last words?
John's expression turned strange. Dad, you really have no idea about what kind of man your son is.
And even without magic, John was a grandmaster-level assassin with Level 7 proficiency in short weapons.
Worst-case scenario, he could just eliminate all those crime bosses!
"Don't say things like that!"
It seemed this whole ordeal had truly frightened Mrs. Wick.
Just as Watson was preparing to comfort his wife, he saw her pick up the phone.
"Uh... who are you calling?" Watson asked cautiously.
Mrs. Wick, with a determined expression, replied firmly, "I'm calling Andrei to come over."
"No, don't! Please, no!"
The mere thought of this caused Watson to panic more than having a gun pointed at his head earlier. He reached out to stop her, but Mrs. Wick quickly dialed the number.
Watson froze mid-motion as a voice on the other end answered in a familiar Russian accent.
"Natalya?"
It wasn't her younger brother Andrei—it was her eldest brother, Seryozha.
Hearing the familiar voice, Mrs. Wick's eyes immediately reddened, tears threatening to fall. She spoke with a trembling voice, "Seryozha, I…"
"Natalya, what's wrong? Speak up!"
Her hesitation made her family back in Russia so anxious they sounded like they might crush the phone in their hands.
Watson, meanwhile, wore a look of utter defeat. He could already picture the impending chaos when his brothers-in-law showed up.
That was far more terrifying than any bullet!!
After a while, the voice on the other end changed to someone else.
John recognized the voice on the other end—it was his aunt. The women were speaking softly to each other.
Hearing her older sister mention calling Andrei to protect her brother-in-law, Roulouse glanced at the men who were already eager to spring into action. Calmly and without revealing her thoughts, she assured her sister she would handle everything.
After the call ended, Mrs. Wick collected herself, regaining her usual elegant demeanor.
Watson, however, was left looking utterly defeated, muttering to himself, "Is it too late to start training in martial arts?"
Regardless of his reluctance, there was no avoiding the inevitable.
In a rare display of decisiveness, Watson tapped into his seldom-seen sense of authority. He booked a trip abroad for John and Mrs. Wick, hoping to temporarily shield his family from the chaos brewing.
Before their departure, a call came in from Fane Wallace's son, inviting Watson to attend his father's funeral the next day.
John had a clear understanding of what this so-called funeral would entail—likely another arena for power struggles.
He decided to accompany his father to protect him in case things went south.
___________
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
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