Chapter 5: Shooting

Michael Turner followed Alexander Reed's instructions, meticulously revisiting Ethan Winters' background inside and out once more.

Days later, he handed all the gathered information over to Alexander Reed.

"Here are the accident reports and death certificates of Ethan Winters' parents, all his enrollment records, entry and exit documents, and any activity records that are still verifiable," Michael Turner concluded, handing over the stack of documents.

"One could say his life story is complete without gaps. Apart from proving that he's a genuine wealthy second generation, I can't see anything wrong." Alexander Reed skimmed through the documents hastily before setting them aside.

He didn't doubt Michael Turner's capabilities; if Michael couldn't find any issues, then there likely weren't any.

"But this doesn't explain the calluses on his shooting hand," Michael frowned slightly.

"Yes," Reed agreed. "His timing is too coincidental. Just days ago, someone was after my life, and suddenly, he shows up proposing a partnership with The Circle, bringing a significant deal with him."

Reed gently touched the same spot on his hand, noticing the thin callus, "This kind of callus, if not from holding a gun for a long time, I really can't think of any reason that could justify it."

"Maybe it's just a coincidence," Turner tried to argue, "It's a big deal, after all, to turn it away just like that—"

"You may leave," Reed cut him off, "Let me think this over."

Turner had no choice but to close his mouth and leave the office to return to his desk.

Not long after, he came back to knock on Alexander Reed's office door.

"I just received a call; Ethan Winters wants to meet you at the shooting range this weekend."

"A shooting range?" Reed repeated with interest, "It seems the 'answer' has come to me."

*

Ethan Winters vividly remembered the day he met Alexander Reed.

The moment Reed's handshake loosened, he subtly brushed against the callus on Winters' hand, as if confirming its presence.

The callus was an undeniable fact, and Winters knew that hiding it would only make Reed more suspicious.

So his plan was not to conceal, but to find an excuse that would rationalize the existence of the callus.

After waiting for several days without any move from Reed, Winters became even more convinced that Reed had noticed the callus on his hand. With the situation already set in stone and Reed holding back, Winters had no choice but to take the initiative.

The callus was indeed hard to explain, just as writing a lot could cause a callus on the side of the middle finger's first joint, specific activities leave specific marks in particular areas.

Winters could not find a reason to convince himself, much less Reed. After much consideration, admitting the truth seemed the most rational approach.

Thus, he reached out to Michael Turner, suggesting a meeting with Reed for some shooting practice. After consulting Reed, Turner scheduled their meeting for Saturday morning.

Winters arrived first, and when the agreed time passed without Reed's appearance, he knew Reed wouldn't show up anytime soon and decided to wait in his car.

About an hour later, a Mercedes appeared in his view, followed by a black Lincoln. Only Reed would have such an entourage. Winters adjusted his clothes and got out of the car.

The cars parked, and four bodyguards emerged from the Mercedes, one of whom rushed to open the door for Reed.

After Reed got out, he immediately saw Winters standing alone and approached him, apologizing for his tardiness without a hint of actual regret on his face.

Winters displayed understanding, "It's an honor for me that you could make it, Mr. Reed."

"Let's go inside, then," Reed suggested, heading in with his four bodyguards following.

Winters hesitated, unaccustomed to the presence of the bodyguards, "Them..."

"With The Circle's vast empire, countless people envy my position. This is a live fire range, and one can never be too careful," Reed hinted meaningfully at Winters.

"Makes sense, better safe than sorry," Winters agreed, letting the issue of the bodyguards go.

Reed didn't find anything amiss in Winters' expression and asked, "Do you always go out alone?"

"I have a driver," Winters honestly replied, "Having just inherited such a vast fortune, I don't have many acquaintances in the business world, not compared to The Circle, so it's unlikely anyone would target me. Plus, I prefer the freedom of moving alone without a crowd."

Even notable individuals don't always move with bodyguards like Reed, who, because of The Circle's arms dealings, faces far greater risks than the average businessman.

As they talked, they walked towards the shooting range.

Upon arrival, Winters noticed something unusual—there were too few people at the range, lacking not only customers but also staff, with only two visible, one leading the way.

This was probably due to Reed's preparation, knowing "this is a live fire range."

Winters kept a wary eye on his surroundings, aware of the danger the range posed to him as well, especially if Reed had discovered another inconsistency or was simply taking a "better safe than sorry" approach to potentially eliminate him.

At the shooting position, the staff member left, and everything needed, including handguns, bullets, safety goggles, and ear protection, was ready for them.

"I'm curious," Reed began, inspecting his handgun, "how did you come up with the idea to invite me here? I don't recall mentioning whether I enjoy shooting or not."

Winters lifted his right hand, pointing to the callus with his left, "When we first shook hands, I noticed you had a callus here too. As a shooting enthusiast, I guessed it might be from holding a gun. Plus, since you hadn't given me an answer for so long, and I didn't know your usual preferences, I took a risk in my urgency."

"Lucky for you, I indeed enjoy shooting," Reed put on his safety goggles, "How about we have a match?"

"I'd love nothing more," Winters replied eagerly.

"You first," Reed graciously motioned for Winters to start.

Winters confidently equipped himself and fired three shots at his target. If he were to reveal his true skill, such a short distance would make it child's play for him to hit the same spot with all three shots.

But he couldn't afford to do that. He deliberately tilted his aim slightly, resulting in only one shot hitting the bullseye, while the other two scored nine points, one barely on the line of the nine-ring.

"Well done," Reed applauded from behind. Removing his ear protection, Winters sighed, "That was close; almost missed the nine-ring."

"Such good marksmanship, where did you learn?" Reed was well aware of Winters' current identity and whether he had learned to shoot, but he asked deliberately, using these questions to probe Winters.

Winters saw through Reed's intentions.

Adding shooting as a hobby was his own idea, not mentioned in the prepared documents, so Reed couldn't trace back the source of his "interest in shooting," which would make Reed doubtful.

"I've never formally learned, just some basic instructions from range coaches. My dad was strongly against me touching anything dangerous. When he was around, I had to sneak to the range to practice, so nobody knew about this hobby. But now, it unexpectedly comes in handy."

It was his personal secret, thus untraceable.

Reed didn't respond, simply putting on his ear protection and suddenly raising his handgun, aiming directly at Winters' forehead.