11: Chapter 11 The dead don't lie, but candlestick charts do.

Over the next three days, the atmosphere at the 127th Precinct was eerily strange.

Murphy seemed to have eaten gunpowder; he wanted to bite anyone he looked at, and his tires had already been slashed twice, while dead rats had been thrown through his home windows.

Marcus's revenge was both direct and disgusting.

Chen Mo hid in the morgue like nothing had happened.

Until Wednesday afternoon, when a special body was brought in.

It wasn't the usual bottom-feeding scum who died from gunshot wounds, drug overdoses, or brawls.

This body was wearing a meticulously tailored Armani custom suit; even now, stained with vomit and dust, one could still discern its top-tier quality.

The Patek Philippe Nautilus on its wrist, though cracked on the surface, was still ticking precisely.

Arthur Hamilton, 34 years old, a senior analyst at a top Wall Street investment bank.

The cause of death was acute myocardial infarction, commonly known as death from overwork.

It was said he died on the luxurious carpet of his office after working for 48 consecutive hours.

"Poor bastard." George shook his head while filling out the autopsy report.

"Making millions a year, living in a Manhattan penthouse, driving a Ferrari, and for what?

In the end, he's still lying in the same room as an old man like me who earns a fixed salary. Money, sometimes, is just a death warrant."

Chen Mo stood before the autopsy table, his gaze not falling on those luxurious accessories, but fixed intensely on the body's head.

In the system's vision, this body was emitting an unprecedented, intense radiance.

It wasn't the ordinary white or green, but a pale golden halo that carried the stench of money.

It was obsession. Extreme reluctance over money, unfinished deals, and the impending opportunity for sudden wealth.

"George, go help me get that new sample bag; this body's blood samples need to be sealed separately." Chen Mo sent the old coroner away.

Once George's dragging footsteps disappeared at the end of the corridor, Chen Mo quickly reached out and pressed his hand onto Arthur's cold forehead.

"System, extract."

Hum—

The commotion this time was greater than any before.

Chen Mo felt as if his brain had been forcibly shoved into a high-speed computer.

Countless red and green K-line charts, dense financial statements, and obscure financial jargon flooded into his mind like a tidal wave.

[Extraction successful!]

[Skill Acquired: Financial Analysis Basics (White)]

[Intelligence Acquired: Guaranteed Stock Code (Green · Rare)]

Chen Mo opened his eyes abruptly, holding onto the autopsy table to keep from falling.

The intense vertigo made him feel nauseous, but the clarity that followed made him tremble.

The body that had previously just looked like a "rich man" to him had now become a collection of data.

He could discern the value of the suit, the secondary market premium of the watch, and even estimate the deceased's credit rating while he was alive.

But most importantly, there was that green intelligence entry.

A clear memory fragment exploded in his mind:

It was the top-secret email Arthur had seen half an hour before his death.

"...Regarding Alpha Biomedicine (Code: ABM)'s new targeted anti-cancer drug 'Z-19', the Phase III clinical trial data has been confirmed to meet the standards.

Survival rate increased by 40%, and the FDA approval channel has been cleared. The news will be officially announced after the stock market closes this Friday..."

Chen Mo's heart began to beat violently.

He quickly accessed the [Financial Analysis Basics] he had just acquired in his mind.

ABM's current stock price was at penny stock levels, only $2.1, because its previous two drugs had failed, and it was facing the risk of delisting.

Once this news was announced, it wouldn't just be a matter of the stock doubling or tripling; it would skyrocket like a rocket.

Ten times? Twenty times? In this crazy era, anything is possible.

This was inside information enough to drive anyone crazy.

Arthur had died of cardiac arrest precisely because he was too excited, coupled with long-term overwork, taking this secret to his grave.

Now, this secret belonged to Chen Mo.

Chen Mo touched the locker key in his pocket.

Inside was the $100,000 obtained from a double-cross, plus the few thousand he had scraped together from petty cash found on corpses during this time.

$100,000 was a huge sum for an ordinary person, but on Wall Street, it wouldn't even make a ripple.

But what if you added that thing?

Leverage.

A gambler's glint flickered in Chen Mo's eyes.

In this era where regulations still had countless loopholes, as long as you found the right underground bank, $100,000 could turn into $500,000, or even $1,000,000 in chips.

This was his only chance to turn things around.

Staying at the police station as a small-time cop, even if he climbed to the position of chief, would just make him a high-level wage slave, and he would still have to take crap from scum like Murphy.

Only capital is the true master of this country.

"Thanks for the Legacy, Arthur." Chen Mo straightened the corpse's crooked tie and whispered, "I'll spend this money for you."