135: Chapter 135 Robbery is Faster Than Printing Money

The sun in Texas was still scorching, baking the ground until it was searing hot.

Inside the ventilation ducts of the underground bunker, massive exhaust fans were roaring, pumping the scent—a mixture of machine oil, gunpowder, and fresh polymers—up to the surface.

Ava sat in the makeshift command room, the stack of financial reports in front of her pricklier than the cacti outside the bunker.

She slammed a document onto the table; the red deficit figures on it were shocking.

"Are you planning to burn all the money we worked so hard to raise on Wall Street on this pile of scrap metal?"

Ava rubbed her temples, pointing at the production line beyond the one-way glass, which was devouring raw materials.

The robotic arms swung tirelessly, each movement consuming expensive special alloys and chips.

"Two hundred million dollars. A full two hundred million dollars, and all we have to show for it are three prototypes and a pile of semi-finished products that still need debugging."

Ava's voice carried a deep sense of exhaustion.

"Our cash flow can only sustain us for two weeks now. If we can't pay those suppliers by next week, that old bastard Priest will come looking for us with a gun to collect the debt."

Chen Mo leaned back in his chair, propping his legs on the edge of the table with a freshly lit cigarette dangling from his mouth.

Smoke swirled and rose under the cold fluorescent lights.

"Only two hundred million?" Chen Mo flicked the ash, his tone as casual as if he were discussing today's lunch.

"That's just the entry fee. To really get this Ghost Fleet up and running, we need to dump another five hundred million into it."

"Five hundred million?" Ava's voice went up an octave.

"Do you think I'm the Federal Reserve? Although the Rockefeller Family has money, the movement of every single cent has to be audited."

"I'm currently in exile; those old men in the family are just waiting to see me go bankrupt so I'll crawl back to them like a stray dog."

She stood up and paced back and forth in the narrow room, her high heels clicking sharply against the steel grating.

"We need money. A large amount of clean, liquid cash that we can access at any time."

Ava stopped, planted her hands on the desk, and stared into Chen Mo's eyes.

"If you don't want this group of veterans—who have just tasted success—to mutiny, you'd better tell me right now where we're going to get this money."

Chen Mo didn't speak.

He reached out and pulled a crumpled map of the United States from under the pile of reports; he had grabbed it from some motel.

His finger traced across the map, passing New York, passing Texas, and finally stopping in a desert in Nevada.

A red circle was marked there.

"Here." Chen Mo tapped his finger.

Ava leaned in to take a look, and her brow furrowed even tighter.

"Las Vegas? You want to go gamble? Don't joke around; that's a money pit, not an ATM."

"That's true for gamblers." Chen Mo exhaled a smoke ring, a hint of amusement flashing in his eyes.

"For the house, it's a mint. Plus, it has the largest cash flow in the world; countless amounts of money flow across the tables every day, anonymous and untraceable."

"You want to open a casino?" Ava was stunned for a moment. "But gambling licenses are hard to get, and the forces over there…"

"Who said I was going to apply for a gambling license?" Chen Mo crushed his cigarette butt into the ashtray on the corner of the table, a cold sneer tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Buying an existing one is faster."

Old George, who had been squatting in the corner cleaning his gun, looked up, his cloudy old eyes narrowing.

"You want to move against Fallen Angel?" Old George tossed the rag, stained with gun oil, to the side.

"I've heard from friends on the street that this old-school casino is indeed applying for bankruptcy and auction. But kid, you need to understand the situation."

Old George stood up, walked to the map, and tapped heavily on the location of Las Vegas with his finger, which was missing half a digit.

"That place is a wolf's den. The Chicago Syndicate, the Italian Mafia, and the white gloves raised by the Deep State have long since carved up that cake."

"Even though Fallen Angel is bankrupt, that land and the gambling license are still a fat piece of meat. Without an entry ticket from that side, you'll be devoured, bones and all, before you even step through the door."

Chen Mo stood up and straightened his collar.

He turned around and looked through the one-way glass at the sixty fully armed Legacy Defense soldiers drilling in formation on the square below.

They wore uniform black tactical gear, holding freshly produced HK416s, and every one of them had a fierce look in their eyes that only came from having seen blood.

"An entry ticket?" Chen Mo smiled, his voice very soft, yet carrying a chill that made one's back go cold.

"George, did you forget what we do?"

He pointed to the group of murderous private soldiers behind him.

"I have guns. That is the best entry ticket."

Chen Mo turned his head to look at Ava, who was still dazed.

"Pack up and bring your checkbook. We're going shopping in the desert."

...

Four hours later, the Gulfstream G650 soared into the clouds once again.

This time, there were a few fewer people on the plane. Priest, that war maniac, stayed in Texas.

He had no interest in those glitzy cities; only cold machine tools and the smell of gunpowder could excite him.

Chen Mo had handed over full control of the base's defense to him; that was the root of Legacy, and absolutely nothing could go wrong there.

When the plane landed at McCarran International Airport, it was the most enchanting time of the night in Las Vegas.

Looking down from the porthole, the entire city looked like a brilliant gem embedded in the pitch-black desert.

The Strip was bustling with traffic, and massive neon signs dyed the night sky a suggestive pinkish-purple.

"This place, the air itself floats with the scent of desire."

Jack Martin sat opposite Chen Mo, holding an encrypted laptop, with countless data streams jumping across the screen.

"Boss, I found it. The auction for Fallen Angel is being held inside the casino at nine tonight. The list of participants is very interesting."

Jack turned the screen around.

"Besides a few local real estate developers, there's a big player—the Chicago United Fund."

"That's the money bag for the Chicago Mafia to launder their cash. I heard they are determined to get this casino and have even put out the word that whoever dares to bid is crossing Chicago."

"Chicago?" Chen Mo asked nonchalantly, watching the lights streak by outside the window.

"A bunch of thugs who started out collecting protection money," Nightingale, who was sitting in the back row with her eyes closed, suddenly spoke up.

She had already changed out of her blood-stained tactical gear and was wearing a black evening gown; her short-cropped blonde hair made her look capable and cold.

"That was in the past." Ava closed the folder in her hand and touched up her makeup.

"Now they call themselves investors. But the methods are still the same: intimidation, extortion, or manufacturing a few accidents."

The motorcade was waiting at the airport exit.

Three black Cadillacs, lacking the rugged off-road style of Texas, appeared understated and professional.

"Going to the hotel?" the driver asked.

Chen Mo glanced at the watch on his wrist. Eight-thirty.

"No," Chen Mo straightened his cuffs. "Go straight to Fallen Angel. Since we're here to spend money, let's not keep the seller waiting too long."

The motorcade drove onto the Strip, with replicas of the Eiffel Tower and pyramids on either side; those bizarre, fantastical buildings looked as illusory as a mirage.

"Fallen Angel" was located at the end of the Strip.

Unlike the glittering casinos surrounding it, this once-glorious landmark now seemed somewhat desolate.

The massive angel statue had a broken wing, and half the neon sign was dark, like a dying old man.

The entrance was filled with luxury cars, but most carried an air of malicious scrutiny.

Chen Mo pushed open the car door, and a wave of heat mixed with the dryness of the desert rushed to meet him.

He looked up at the damaged angel statue, and a light blue system prompt popped up on his retina.

[Potential Territory Node Discovered: City of Sin (Inactive)]

[Current Status: Ownerless/Chaotic]

"Interesting." Chen Mo murmured under his breath.

Ava linked her arm with his, her red skirt fluttering slightly in the night breeze.

She held her head high, her face wearing that haughty, imperious smile typical of a wealthy heiress.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

Chen Mo patted the hard object at his waist; it was his modified M1911.

"As long as the check clears, leave the rest to me."