138: Chapter 138 The coffin size is just right.

The renovation project at the Olympus casino was forced to halt the next morning.

It wasn't because of a union strike or a broken capital chain, but because a person had grown inside that load-bearing wall.

The renovation foreman, a chubby man of Mexican descent, was standing trembling in the ruins of the VIP lounge, his hard hat crushed out of shape in his hands.

Seeing Chen Mo walk in, he looked as if he had seen a savior, or perhaps a living Yama.

" B-Boss. " The foreman pointed to the cement wall that had just been half-smashed open, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

" The guys were removing old pipes when the drill bit got stuck. We thought it was rebar, but when we smashed it open... "

Chen Mo didn't speak; he walked over, stepping on the broken bricks and dust covering the floor.

The air was filled with the smell of old cement dust and an indescribable fishy odor, like sun-dried salted fish that had been sealed in a jar to ferment for thirty years.

At the gap in the wall, a shriveled corpse was sealed right in the center of the cement pillar.

It wasn't just a casual burial, but a casting done with great ritual.

The deceased was wearing a striped suit in the style of the eighties, with hands crossed over the chest; although the muscles had dehydrated and withered into blackish-brown skin and bone, the outfit still maintained the dignity it had in life.

" Very particular. "

Old George followed behind Chen Mo, carrying a bottle of industrial alcohol used for cleaning gun barrels.

He leaned in to take a look, his cloudy old eyes showing not much fear, but rather a hint of banter, as if seeing an old acquaintance.

" Italian handmade custom three-piece suit, alligator leather shoes. "

Old George used his finger, which was missing a joint, to fiddle with the pocket on the dried corpse's chest; it was the only place not completely sealed by cement.

He pinched a playing card out with two fingers.

It was made of special plastic, with a gold-foiled angel pattern on the back and an Ace of Spades on the front.

" It really is him. " Old George blew the dust off the card and handed it to Chen Mo, " Goldfinger Ross. The founder of this casino. "

Chen Mo took the card. The plastic was cold, with worn edges.

" I've heard of that name. " Ava Rockefeller stood two meters away, covering her nose, " A legend of Las Vegas thirty years ago; it's said he could swap an entire deck of cards in the instant he shuffled them. Later, he suddenly disappeared. Some say he took the money and ran to South America. "

" South America? " Old George sneered and took a swig from the alcohol bottle.

" Rumors in Las Vegas usually only have the date as true. Ross didn't go to South America; he has been here all along, watching his successor count money. "

Old George pointed to the load-bearing pillar.

" This pillar is the core support of the casino hall. Sealing him here means someone wanted to ensure he could never turn over a new leaf, and he also had to carry this building for his enemy. This is an old rule from Sicily, called a foundation sacrifice. "

Chen Mo looked at that blackish-brown face, eyes deeply sunken, mouth wide open, as if silently screaming.

" Check the casting date of this pillar. " Chen Mo pocketed the Ace of Spades and turned to look at Jack.

Jack had been standing in the corner holding his laptop, his fingers typing rapidly on the keyboard.

" Found it. On October 12, 1994, the Fallen Angel Casino underwent a large-scale internal structural reinforcement. The contractor was Red Rock Construction Company, and the legal representative was... Carl Rogers. "

" The current Godfather of the gambling city? " Ava's expression changed, " That old man who controls half of the Las Vegas hotel industry? "

" Back then he was just a foreman. " Old George added, " It seems Ross's disappearance became a stepping stone for someone to rise to power. "

Just then, a commotion came from outside the hall.

The Legacy Defense soldiers who had been guarding the entrance raised their riot shields, and the sound of bolts being pulled back rang out in unison.

" Boss, someone is delivering a package. "

Nightingale's voice came through the earpiece, carrying a biting chill, " I think you'll want to sign for this personally. "

Chen Mo adjusted his cuffs and turned to walk toward the hall.

At the main entrance of the casino, a stretched black lincoln hearse was parked across the middle of the road, blocking the path that originally belonged to guests.

Four burly men in black suits and white gloves were lifting a huge mahogany coffin from the car.

The coffin hit the ground with a dull thud.

An old butler with gray hair, wearing a tailcoat, stood beside the coffin.

He stood straight, like an old relic from a bygone era, with an uncomfortable, polite smile on his face.

" Mr. Chen. " The butler bowed slightly, his voice steady without a hint of fluctuation.

" I am Mr. Rogers's butler. I heard you bought this building and intended to renovate it with great fanfare. My master specifically asked me to bring a congratulatory gift. "

He patted the coffin. It was fine mahogany, the lacquer so shiny it could reflect a person's silhouette.

" Mr. Rogers says that renovation is dangerous work, especially when tearing down walls; it's easy to hurt someone. Keeping this ready is just a precaution. "

This was a naked threat.

The gamblers and tourists watching the commotion held their breath.

In Las Vegas, everyone knew what Carl Rogers's "gifts" meant. They were death warrants.

Ava's hand subconsciously tightened around her handbag.

But Chen Mo smiled.

He didn't even look at the butler; instead, he walked straight to the coffin.

He reached out and tapped lightly on the coffin lid.

Dong, dong, dong.

The sound was crisp, the wood solid.

" Honduran mahogany. " Chen Mo's fingers slid across the smooth lacquer.

" Hand-carved, the lining should be velvet. This one must start at fifty thousand dollars. Mr. Rogers has gone to great expense. "

The butler's smile deepened slightly: " As long as Mr. Chen likes it, Mr. Rogers wouldn't mind sending a few more for your... friends. "

The air froze. The fingers of the Legacy Defense soldiers were already on their triggers; with just one look from Chen Mo, this place would turn into a slaughterhouse.

But Chen Mo didn't draw his gun.

He turned around and sat down on the coffin.

He crossed his legs, took a cigarette case out of his pocket, and lit a cigarette.

" Go back and tell Rogers. "

Chen Mo exhaled a cloud of smoke, spraying it onto the butler's stiff, old face.

" I accept this gift. I was just worrying about where my old friend should sleep after finding him. This coffin is just the right size, quite spacious. "

The butler's smile froze on his face: " Mr. Chen, some walls cannot be torn down. If you tear them down, the house will collapse. "

" If the house collapses, it can be rebuilt. " Chen Mo reached out and flicked the ash; sparks fell onto the coffin lid, burning a black spot.

" But if a person has nowhere to sleep, that would be too pitiful. "

He stood up, patted the butler's shoulder, and leaned close to his ear, his voice so soft that only the two of them could hear.

" By the way, help me measure Mr. Rogers's height. If this coffin is too cramped for him when he sleeps, I'll have a larger one custom-made for him later. A double one, maybe I can even fit his whole family inside. "

The butler's pupils contracted violently.

He took a step back, and the feigned elegance finally cracked.

" Let's go. "

The butler waved his hand and got into the hearse with the four burly men, leaving the scene as if fleeing a plague.

Chen Mo watched the hearse disappear at the end of the long street, the smile on his face vanishing instantly.

" Carry it inside. " Chen Mo pointed to the coffin, " Put Ross in it. Since someone sent a bed, don't let anyone sleep on the floor. "

" Jack. "

Chen Mo said into his earpiece while walking back.

" Here, Boss. "

" Check the police who were in charge of Ross's disappearance case back then. I don't believe that when such a big living person goes missing, the file would only contain the word 'missing'. Dead men can't talk, but there must still be living people who know something. "

" Understood. "