It wasn't just the bank cards and checkbooks.
By the time Locke went to pick up Gwen for the vigil that afternoon, George had already handled the replacement driver's licenses. He had brought both Gwen's and Locke's new IDs home with him.
For an average person, replacing a lost license would take at least twenty days.
But... Gwen was family, and Locke was grandfathered in. It didn't take twenty days; it didn't even take an afternoon. In less than an hour, everything was sorted.
Dylan looked at the license Locke pulled out with pure envy. "I was planning to go wait in line this afternoon, but the crowd was insane. Any chance I can get in on that back door?"
Locke glanced at him. "No. Move along."
Dylan: "..."
Money was Locke's own, but favors belonged to others. A back door? Not a chance.
Locke rolled his eyes. "Tell you what: go find the clerk, hand her five thousand dollars, and forget the afternoon—you'll probably have it in two hours."
Dylan shook his head. "Forget it. I'll just wait. I need to go browse the used car lots anyway."
Locke hummed in response and fell silent.
A few moments later, Robert Ramsey arrived with his daughter, Jennifer. Locke and Dylan crushed their cigarettes and walked over to meet them. Once the group was assembled and they had exchanged a few low-voiced words, they joined the flow of people moving toward the open clearing where the Poseidon had once been docked.
The pier was already transformed. Thousands of photos and personal mementos had been placed there. It was chaotic, yet strikingly orderly.
The photos depicted the faces of those who had boarded the Poseidon but never returned. Thousands of candles stood side by side, their flames flickering in the gentle breeze. The smoke and light seemed to drift toward the open sea, following the path where the ship had last sailed, as if telling a story.
Locke was no different from the others. He lit his candle, placed it down, and didn't leave immediately. Instead, the group huddled together, listening to the families of the victims who sat on the ground, sharing stories about their loved ones.
Most of the names were unfamiliar to Locke's group. But as the families described their lost kin, Locke could occasionally match a story to a face he remembered seeing in the ballroom or the corridors during the chaos.
Locke didn't interrupt. They were merely survivors, and he didn't consider himself a hero. The protagonists of tonight's vigil weren't the eleven of them; it was the three thousand souls still out there in the dark.
Thousands of candles burned steadily. One by one, family members tearfully recounted their memories.
However... out of the corner of his eye, Locke noticed a few "mourners" who, despite their best efforts to look sad, couldn't quite suppress the excitement in their expressions.
The reason? Likely money.
The Poseidon had sunk, but the company behind it was a New York-based giant in the cruise industry. This disaster meant a massive payout. While a "rogue wave" was an unpredictable act of God that might save the company from total bankruptcy, it wouldn't save them from the legal onslaught.
Locke mused that these families, while genuinely mourning, were probably overwhelmed by the thought of the impending insurance settlements.
Time ticked by. Soon, it was late into the night. Some families, having found a small measure of closure, began to filter out.
The survivors prepared to leave as well. Robert and Jennifer drove off first, followed by Maggie, Connor, and Dylan. Then Happy arrived in a discreet car to pick up Pepper.
Beep beep!
An Audi R8, parked for days and covered in a fine layer of dust, chirped twice as it unlocked.
Inside the car, Locke started the engine. He seemed to remember something and turned to Gwen. "There's a folder in the glove compartment."
Gwen opened it and pulled out a manila folder. "This one?"
"Yeah."
Locke took the folder and pulled out two sets of documents. After confirming the names, he handed them to Kahn and Cindy in the back seat. "These are for you."
Kahn and Cindy were stunned. "What is this?"
"Insurance."
"..."
The two blinked, staring at the policies with their names on them. Cindy read a line aloud: "Coverage amount... one million dollars?"
In the passenger seat, Gwen looked at her own identical policy, her eyes wide with shock.
Locke shifted into gear, his expression neutral. "I'm an orphan. Every time I travel, I buy insurance. It's a logical precaution. When I went to buy mine, they had a 'Buy Two, Get Two' deal. So I figured I'd put your names down."
The three stared at him. Back in Texas, Locke had bought insurance for every rodeo he entered—this was before he had the Resilience talent. If a low-starting orphan ended up disabled, he'd just be a homeless orphan. He had made it a habit.
When he went to Augusta, he'd bought insurance then, too. He'd missed the ball where the accident happened, which meant the insurance company made a clean ten thousand dollars off him.
This time? With the deal, Locke figured he might as well include his friends. He had to pay for two anyway; why not get four for the same price?
Locke glanced at Kahn and Cindy in the rearview mirror. "Wait a few weeks, then go to the insurance office. Collect your million-dollar payout for the accident."
Kahn and Cindy's mouths twitched. Gwen breathed out a soft, "Locke... you didn't know this was going to happen, did you?"
Locke chuckled. "If I had known, I wouldn't have bought such a low policy. I would have gone for at least ten million."
He spoke truthfully. Buying insurance was a ritual for him now, like a smoker tapping a cigarette before lighting it. He wasn't worried about anyone questioning him; since he started his career as a cowboy, he had purchased no fewer than a hundred policies from this specific federal insurance giant.
The trio sat in stunned silence. One million dollars?
After dropping off a dazed Kahn and Cindy, Gwen finally spoke. "I finally understand what 'windfall' means." If these "accidents" happened a few more times, they'd reach financial freedom in no time.
Locke smiled. "Isn't that exactly what the insurance commercials promise?"
Why else would people take such risks? Though Locke didn't take the risk on purpose; he just bought the policy and happened to get hit by a sales pitch.
By the way, the agent who handled this accident policy was the same one who handled Locke's car insurance.
Gwen shook her head. "If that agent isn't fired after this, I'll believe this insurance company is the most humanitarian organization on earth."
They had paid for four of his cars already, totaling over four hundred thousand. And now? They were adding an extra zero to the check. That agent was likely being sent to expand the "Iraq branch" as we speak.
"We're here," Locke said, pulling up to Gwen's apartment.
Gwen leaned over, gave him a lingering kiss, and unbuckled her seatbelt. "See you tomorrow."
Locke's smile was warm. "See you."
...
Once Gwen was safely inside, Locke turned the car around. He reached into his inventory and pulled out his sunglasses.
He was back. Time to celebrate with a little bit of justice.
In a slum near the New York harbor.
"Hahaha!" A young man sat cross-legged on a bed, tossing handfuls of cash into the air like confetti. "That money is so damn easy to take!"
He looked at the bills scattered across the floor, his eyes gleaming with greed. "I heard another cruise ship went missing. Fantastic! I'll make a killing on that one, too—thwip!"
A bullet shattered the window and punched through the center of his forehead without a word of warning. His pupils dilated as he slumped over onto the bed.
The thousand dollars in loose change scattered on the floor vanished into thin air.
...
In a sewer crawl-space near the harbor.
The homeless man who had given away candles for free was huddled in a dirty coat. He had just returned home with a bag of food he'd scavenged from a dumpster.
Since his bankruptcy, his house had been seized by the bank. Without an address, he couldn't get a job; without a job, he couldn't get an address. He was just another ghost in the system. A reed mat and a single blanket were his only possessions.
Stepping through the brackish water, he sat on his mat and sighed. Disasters were terrible, but at least they brought out a bit of empathy in people.
"Huh?"
He unfolded his blanket to wrap himself up and froze. Ten stacks of Franklins tumbled out.
Along with the money was a printed note. It held a single sentence:
"I'm paying for your kindness."
— Peerless!