143: Chapter 143 The Gambling King's Legacy

On the other end of the line, there was only the sound of heavy breathing, like an old accordion with a broken bellows.

Rogers hung up the phone.

There was no hysterical roaring, nor were there any harsh threats; this silence was more real than any threat.

Chen Mo tossed the phone to Nightingale, opened the car door, and sat in the driver's seat. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the black ledger that still smelled of earth.

"Back to the casino."

The Wrangler roared as it rushed out of Red Rock Valley, leaving the burning ruins and the sky full of smoke and dust behind its taillights.

By the time they returned to Olympus, it was just beginning to dawn.

The morning shift cleaners were washing the dust off the steps at the entrance. Seeing the off-road vehicle covered in bullet holes and scratches pull up to the door, they were so startled they couldn't even hold their hoses steady.

Chen Mo strode into the lobby with the ledger tucked under his arm. The air was filled with a mix of cheap perfume and stale tobacco.

"Jack."

Chen Mo pressed his earpiece and pushed open the door to the top-floor office. "Time to work."

Jack poked his head out from behind the computer screen with dark circles under his eyes, still clutching half a slice of pizza.

"Boss, you made too much noise."

Jack pointed to a row of monitors beside him. "CNN, FOX, and even the BBC are reporting on the geological collapse in Red Rock Valley. Although the authorities haven't officially classified it yet, Rogers' people have already sealed off the area."

"What's the point of sealing off a pile of ruins?"

Chen Mo tossed the black ledger onto the table with a dull thud. "The key to the nuclear missile silo is right here."

Jack leaned in curiously and flipped open the damp, warped notebook.

After just one glance, the kid's eyes widened, and the pizza in his mouth nearly fell onto the keyboard.

"My God... this is..."

"This is the trump card that has allowed Rogers to run wild in Las Vegas for the past thirty years."

Chen Mo poured himself a glass of whiskey, no ice, and downed it in one go. The spicy liquid burned down his throat, dispelling the chill of the desert night.

"But he forgot that a trump card is worthless once it's revealed."

Chen Mo pointed to page seventeen of the ledger. "Scan this page. The recipient is Judge Howard of the Chicago Federal Court of Appeals."

Jack quickly operated the scanner, the blue light sweeping across the yellowed pages.

"Send it. Use an encrypted jump server, and set the IP address to Rogers' private villa."

Chen Mo swirled the glass in his hand, watching the amber liquid leave oily trails along the sides of the glass.

"Judge Howard is a respectable man, but his illegitimate son studying in Switzerland has his annual tuition and living expenses paid for by Rogers. It's all clearly recorded here."

The notification sound for a successful email delivery was crisp and pleasant.

Ten minutes later.

Ava pushed the door open, holding a tablet with a strange expression on her face.

"What just happened? The Chicago United Fund suddenly issued an announcement declaring the withdrawal of all investment projects in Las Vegas, citing force majeure market risks."

"They reacted quickly."

Chen Mo smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Judge Howard doesn't want his wife to know he has a son out there, and he certainly doesn't want the FBI to know about that account. To keep his position, he has to cut all ties with Rogers."

"Continue."

Chen Mo tilted his chin at Jack.

For the next three hours, the top-floor office of Olympus became the eye of the storm in Las Vegas.

Anonymous emails, like virus-laden darts, struck precisely at every key node of this city of sin.

Page 24, sent to the councilman in charge of urban planning, recorded his receipt of a seaside villa from the Red Rock Construction Company.

Page 39, sent to the chairman of the Police Union, contained the loan records of him embezzling pension funds to gamble in Macau.

Page 56, sent to the leader of a Mexican gang, detailed how Rogers had privately sold out their drug trafficking routes to the DEA.

...

The entire superstructure of Las Vegas began to shake violently.

The once solid alliance of interests quickly disintegrated under the solvent known as "fear."

By noon, the sunlight outside the window was so scorching that it was blinding.

At the entrance of Rogers' "Godfather Palace" casino, more than half of the luxury cars that usually flocked there were gone.

Those powerful figures who usually called themselves brothers with Rogers now wished they could chew up their SIM cards and swallow them, terrified of being associated with that name in the slightest.

"Boss, Rogers has called you twelve times."

Jack looked at the red number flashing on the screen. "Should I answer?"

"Don't."

Chen Mo propped his feet on the desk, toying with a poker chip he had pulled out from who knows where.

"Let him soak in fear a little longer. Meat tastes best when it's been stewed until tender."

Ava stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the famous Strip.

"You've destroyed his foundation."

Ava turned around, looking at the man who was currently resting with his eyes closed.

"But he still has guns and loyal henchmen in his hands. If you corner a mad dog, it will bite."

"He's not a mad dog; he's an old wolf."

Chen Mo opened his eyes, the neon lights outside reflected in his pupils. "An old wolf without teeth can only rely on howling to scare people. I'm going to pull out his teeth and then skin him alive."

He sat up straight and flicked the chip into the air.

"Issue an announcement."

Chen Mo adjusted his shirt collar. "Use the name of the heir to Golden Finger Ross."

"Olympus will host a gambling match."

"No entry requirements, no limits."

"The winner can make one request of me."

Chen Mo's voice was very soft, yet it carried a scent of blood. "If anyone can beat me, I'll give them one hundred million dollars."

"If I win..."

Chen Mo paused, picking up the Damascus hunting knife on the table. The blade glinted with a cold, sharp light in the sunlight.

"I want Rogers' life."