Chapter 841
Nursing Home
Chapter 841 Nursing Home
Looking at Dobby's nervous yet smug little face, Wade felt as if a pebble had been thrown into his heart, causing shallow ripples.
A smile flickered in his eyes: "You're really clever, Dobby. You did even better than I expected."
Most importantly, Dobby can naturally say the words "my master," which, although intended to resonate with other Pokémon, also proves that Dobby has gradually emerged from the shadows of the past.
Upon hearing this, Dobby jumped up and down on the bed excitedly: "Dobby is so happy that Dobby can help Mr. Wade Gray!"
He sniffed hard, and the corners of his mouth involuntarily turned up.
Wade smiled and turned his gaze to the roll of parchment Dobby had brought. He carefully unfolded it, the edges of which still smelled of cleaning agents and fireworks.
Under the dim light, Dobby jotted down a lot of trivial clues in crooked handwriting, and in the end all the suspicions pointed to five names.
……
While Wade was organizing clues in the United States, two men in ordinary suits were walking on a bumpy road on the outskirts of the city, with a faint smell of disinfectant in the air.
The younger man among them, with red hair, was thin and tall, and had freckles on his face—it was none other than Percy Weasley.
He once rose to a position close to the Minister of Magic, and—Percy can say without any modesty—he was once one of Minister Fudge's most trusted men, even able to represent the Minister of Magic on some important occasions.
However, all this glory vanished with Fudge's resignation.
At this moment, he was full of resentment, his hair was unkempt, and even the suit he wore to disguise himself as a Muggle looked cheap.
"I can't believe I was assigned to this job!"
Percy Weasley grumbled as he kicked away an empty, deflated soda can on the road.
"Coming all the way to this place to investigate the ramblings of a Muggle lunatic! If Mr. Fudge were still here..."
"Don't count on Fudge, Weasley. He didn't think of us at all when he was leaving everything behind to enjoy a comfortable life—that's how all the big shots are."
The older man, with a numb expression that suggested he was used to it, said, "It's just routine. They want a report, so we give them one."
"...As for the content? Who cares?"
He squinted and looked up at the dilapidated building in front of him.
The small three-story building had large sections of peeling paint, revealing the dark gray bricks underneath. A rusty tin sign hung on the iron gate, tilted to the left, the lettering illegible.
It took him a lot of effort to make out the words "Madison Sanatorium".
"This is the place, let's go."
"Mr. Fuller, are we just going to have to endure this?"
Percy quickened his pace to catch up with him, and said indignantly:
"Exiled, marginalized, and relegated to doing trivial things like dealing with pipe explosions!"
"And what's there to investigate about this guy who's just been left to die in the sanatorium? It's a huge waste of the Ministry of Magic's resources! We should be pursuing more important leads, not staying here!"
The older Mr. Fuller, with an indifferent expression, said, "What's wrong with that? Go in, take a look around, ask a few questions, take a few photos, and then call it a day. I can go home early today."
He reached out and pressed the doorbell next to the gate, but unsurprisingly, he didn't hear a sound. So he grabbed the lock chain and banged on it a few times.
"Dang-dang-dang--"
The ear-piercing crash echoed in the empty courtyard.
Then, Fuller turned around and saw that Percy still had that frustrated and angry expression on his face, as if he was annoyed by his companion's lack of ambition. He couldn't help but laugh mockingly and reached out to pat Percy on the shoulder.
"Silly boy, you'll understand in a few years—"
"The best job in the world is one where you can get around without having to fight dark wizards, without taking any responsibility, and where no one remembers your reports after you finish writing them!"
"You think being able to stand in the center of the stage and hold all the power is the real skill? You're wrong! True wisdom lies in living a peaceful and comfortable life until retirement!"
Percy's shoulders stiffened, clearly disdainful of the argument, but he could only swallow his dissatisfaction and stare even more darkly at the creaking iron door.
A moment later, a middle-aged man wearing a wrinkled white coat and with greasy hair came out. Even when he saw the two waiting outside the iron gate, he did not quicken his pace, and his lips drooped down impatiently.
The man's name tag read: Warren Edwards, SLP.
Through the iron gate, Edward asked impatiently, "Who are you? We don't welcome reporters, and we don't have any money to buy anything!"
Fuller calmly took out a black leather wallet, waved it, and said:
“National Crime Special Investigations Unit, Mr. Edward, we need to know something about Cornelius Davan, who used to live here.”
"It's him again! How long has that old guy been gone?!"
Edward leaned closer to examine the document in Fuller's hand, his eyes glazed over for a moment, then unlocked the iron gate, muttering a complaint:
"I shouldn't have taken on such a troublesome guy! First it was their relatives who never showed up, then several groups of people from research institutions, and now even the National Crime Agency has come!"
"Honestly, that old man can't even stand up to pee, how much trouble can he possibly cause?"
Fuller approached the door and casually asked, "Don't you ever watch the news, Mr. Edward?"
"News? Listen to what politicians are bragging about? I'm only interested in swimsuit shows and beauty pageants!"
Edward muttered, "So what? That old bastard Davan is on the news? All those guys who came before wouldn't say anything, they just kept asking me questions!"
He led the two into the sanatorium's office, opened a drawer, pulled out a stack of patient files, and threw them on the table.
—Because so many people have been coming to Cornelius lately, each carrying documents that he couldn't refuse, Edward was forced to organize all the information, which conveniently made things easier for Fuller and his companion.
"A hijacking occurred recently. Fortunately, there were no casualties, but unfortunately, the entire plane was burned."
Fuller was happy to chat with him and patiently explained, "Back then, the hijackers on the plane claimed that there was a man named Cornelius who had a terminal illness but was cured by someone..."
As he recounted what happened on the plane (the version known to the public), he casually flipped through some documents without looking at them closely, and simply took out his camera to take a few photos.
(End of this chapter)