New Gods of North America

Don't be fooled by the fact that high-end restaurants these days don't even have private rooms. In terms of affectation, they are on par with, or even surpass, some modern high-consumption restaurants that "only cater to regulars."

A fancy restaurant where even the complimentary matchboxes are worth saving and reusing is naturally a leader in this trend. It's said that they only accept reservations, and even booking half a month in advance doesn't guarantee a table.

Of course, this might be true, but for important figures, rules are meant for others to follow.

At least, Reverend Tyrrell's influence was sufficient. The next morning, when Wayne presented the restaurant invitation he'd received, the doorman accepted it, verified its authenticity, and then simply asked, "How many will be dining?"

Someone resembling a head waiter quickly arrived upon hearing the news and personally took charge of the reception. Wayne wasn't there to eat, and after a brief moment of surprise from the head waiter, he was quickly led to a room resembling a parlor.

Wait, you *do* have rooms?

The decor is also quite nice. Why not replace the sofa and coffee table with a private dining setup?

Wayne didn't have to wait long in the parlor while sipping coffee. The head waiter, having apparently completed his inquiries, returned and assured him of their full cooperation.

He took the matchbox Wayne handed over and examined it, providing more useful information than Wayne had expected: "Our restaurant's matchboxes are custom-made. While the overall style remains consistent, each version is slightly different. This is the newest packaging, and it's been in use for less than a month."

"You should have a daily guest reservation or dining list here, right?" Wayne asked.

The head waiter was indeed quite cooperative. "I've already arranged for someone to transcribe it. You can also cross-reference it with our archived version later to ensure the content is consistent. However, we only record information about the main guest or the person who made the reservation, not other guests—unless they are regulars. We must ensure we can promptly understand our valued guests' preferences. Also, we don't keep track of matchbox distribution; we provide them whenever a guest requests one."

Wayne pondered, "You probably offer servant meals here, too? What if they want matchboxes?"

The head waiter replied without hesitation, "Chauffeurs or personal servants are escorted to the back for their meals. They also have access to matchboxes there, but they don't bear our restaurant's logo."

Even complimentary items have different tiers...

Two lists were then delivered, one thick and one thin. Sanders, imitating Doug, proactively took them and cross-referenced them. "The original appears unaltered and complete, and the contents are identical."

...

This high-end restaurant doesn't have a "table turnover" system. It only serves a set number of tables for lunch and dinner. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn't accept additional guests during those times.

Even so, with over twenty tables in the restaurant, that's still a lot of people over a month. Discounting recurring names, that's still hundreds of records.

It's said that there wasn't originally a lunch service. A distinguished guest made a request, and the restaurant, being able to offer other guests who couldn't compete with the distinguished guest more options, added a relatively simple daytime service.

The head waiter specifically explained that the restaurant, in theory, doesn't exclude ordinary people. Some people save money frugally and are willing to book in advance and wait. For the restaurant, it's actually something that can enhance its prestige. If the reason is for a major life event like a marriage proposal, they'll even try their best to accommodate.

This just makes things more difficult for the detective agency. Not only are there twice as many records, but the people are also more complicated.

The record Wayne brought back was an abridged version. The original was even more extravagant, including the day's menu, the names of the wines served, and the guests' requests, etc.

Even after Wayne questioned people about physical characteristics, and the head waiter and several servers marked potential key individuals based on their memories, it still filled a page.

Armed with a document stamped with the cathedral's seal, Wayne then went to City Hall to search and retrieve relevant personnel files.

In this era of paper records, finding things is often particularly troublesome. The archives were divided into inner and outer rooms, separated by walls and thick iron doors. The inner room had only an office window with iron bars, and rows upon rows of iron cabinets almost reached the ceiling. There was even a small rolling staircase to help the archivists climb up and down.

To save time, Wayne first used the names to find the targets' registered birth dates, addresses, and basic identification information in the summary register.

After eliminating some who were too different in age and status, and who seemed unlikely, and then comparing them with the key individuals, there were only about twenty left—assuming the guy booked the table under his own name. If he was freeloading or used an alias, it would all be for nothing.

After filtering through them again, he finally started to actually review the files.

The only thing that made Wayne feel a little relieved was the access log that the file clerk showed him when he signed. Some of the "key personnel" records had already been accessed multiple times that day. It seemed that others besides the detective agency were also busy. Looking back, it wasn't clear if they were all working together, but there were at least two other groups, and they were investigating more thoroughly than Wayne.

The file clerk was a plump woman in her forties. She had seen Wayne's name in the newspaper recently and, after knowing his name and seeing his face, was quite enthusiastic towards Wayne, a bit like a fan meeting a minor celebrity.

After signing, the file clerk took a special hooded lantern and entered the inner room from the other side. Wayne waited outside the small window for her to find the files one by one, taking the opportunity to chat with her and gather information:

"Miss Susan, why don't some of the previous access logs require a signature? I see that everyone else needs to be recorded even just for viewing."

Miss Susan winked at Wayne from afar between the cabinets. "Those are people with special credentials. It's different."

I see, internal personnel.

Perhaps because these files had been accessed several times recently, Miss Susan found them quite quickly. After a few trips back and forth, she quickly drew a series of circles with a pencil on the access sheet.

But then her speed noticeably decreased. The light from the hooded lantern lingered behind one of the cabinets for quite a while, but the sound of searching never stopped.

Wayne couldn't help but ask, "Miss Susan, are you alright?"

Miss Susan returned to the small window with a cold face, silently flipping back and forth through the access and retrieval records several times, comparing them with her own internal records. Then, she started flipping through the table, picking up the stacked files and checking them one by one. Finally, her voice seemed to become somewhat choked:

"I'm looking for the files that Mr. Wayne wants to view, but the one I'm looking for is gone... I confirmed in the records that it has been returned."

Huh?!

"Whose file is missing?" Wayne asked quickly.

Miss Susan's trembling finger pointed to a name. Wayne thought for a moment, "Don't panic, first look for the remaining files and see if he's the only one whose file is missing."