147: Chapter 147 The New King of Las Vegas

Touching the back of Carl Rogers' head, it felt cold, like touching raw meat just taken out of the refrigerator.

The system's notification sound rang clearly in his brain, much like the sound of a slot machine spitting out coins.

【Extraction Complete】

【Obtained Purple Special Item: Las Vegas Contact Network (Complete Version)】

【Obtained Blue Item: Deep State Contact List (Incomplete/Encrypted)】

【Obtained Skill: Advanced Extortion Art (Mastery)】

It felt as if hundreds of invisible threads had burrowed into Chen Mo's palms.

Those threads crawled up his arms and finally buried themselves deep in his brain. In an instant, it felt as if a massive phone book had been stuffed into his head.

The address of the mayor's mistress, the secondary card password for the police chief's Swiss Bank account, the hiding spot for the state senator's drug-use video, and even the medical records of several mafia old-timers' prostate surgeries.

This wasn't just memory; this was leverage.

As long as he held these threads, this city in the desert would be like a marionette, allowing him to manipulate it however he pleased.

"Jingle-ling—"

On Rogers' large mahogany desk, an old-fashioned black rotary phone suddenly rang.

The sound was piercingly loud.

Immediately after, the backup phone in the drawer, the satellite phone in his suit pocket, and even the emergency communicator hidden in a secret compartment in the bookshelf nearby all began to ring.

Dozens of different ringtones mixed together, creating a bizarre symphony in this office filled with the scent of gunpowder and blood.

Chen Mo released Rogers' corpse and casually wiped the bloodstains on the man's expensive handmade suit.

He walked to the desk, pulled out the chair that still held the warmth of Rogers' body, and sat down.

He picked up the red landline that was ringing the most vigorously.

"Carl! Damn it, I saw the news! What's going on with the fire over there? Did you handle Olympus? Can my reelection campaign funds arrive by tomorrow?"

The voice on the other end was a man's, sounding anxious, even accompanied by a bit of flustered panting.

Chen Mo flipped through the pile of "phone book" data newly stuffed into his brain.

Voice match successful.

The incumbent mayor of Las Vegas, Edward Parker.

"Mayor Parker." Chen Mo put his feet on the desk, the dust on his soles smearing onto the unburned document, "Good evening."

The person on the other end sounded as if they had been suddenly choked, the breathing stopping instantly.

A full five seconds passed.

"Who are you? Where is Carl? Let Carl take the phone!"

"Carl is tired and is lying on the floor sleeping." Chen Mo twirled the phone cord with his finger, watching the fire growing ever more intense outside the window.

"From now on, I'll take over his business. As for your campaign funds..."

Chen Mo paused, his tone as flat as if he were discussing what to have for breakfast tomorrow.

"Withdraw your proposal to increase the gambling tax, and by tomorrow morning, the money will appear in your offshore account on time. Same old rules, through the Cayman Islands shell company, right?"

Only heavy breathing remained on the other side.

"Are you... the one from Olympus?"

"I am the creditor." Chen Mo hung up the phone.

He didn't answer the other phones. Those ringtones were still blaring, but he just listened quietly for a while, then reached out and pulled the phone line.

The world was quiet.

Footsteps came from outside the door. Light, rhythmic, the sound of combat boots stepping on the carpet.

"Boss."

Nightingale pushed the door open. Her camouflage hadn't been wiped off yet, a streak of black soot on her cheek, and the muzzle of the glock in her hand was still emitting a faint heat.

"Is the trash outside cleaned up?" Chen Mo didn't turn his head, still looking out the window.

"The first and second floors of the Godfather Palace have been secured. There were about one hundred and twenty of Rogers' loyalists, all dealt with."

"The rest were just mercenaries working for money; they ran as soon as the fire started."

Nightingale walked to the table, pressing bullets into an empty magazine, "Also, Jack cut off the building's external surveillance; no one knows what happened here tonight."

"No need to cut it off." Chen Mo stood up and tossed the antique revolver seized from Rogers to Nightingale.

"Let the media film it. The clearer, the better. Let them see how the coffin lid of the old era is nailed shut."

Nightingale caught the gun, skillfully spun it, and holstered it in the small of her back: "How do we handle this building? The fire can't be contained."

"Let it burn. Out with the old, in with the new."

Chen Mo stepped over Rogers' corpse and walked out: "Notify Jack to clear out the basement of my Olympus casino. I want to build something new there."

"A new casino?" Nightingale followed behind.

"No, the casino is just the skin." Chen Mo stepped on broken glass, his voice echoing in the empty corridor.

"Rogers was an idiot. He sat on such a huge gold mine, but only knew how to use it for extortion. I'm going to build an abyss."

"An abyss?"

"An intelligence exchange." Chen Mo stopped and looked back at Nightingale.

"In this world, what's more valuable than dollars are secrets. From now on, this is the rule of Olympus—to enter the VIP room, you either bring enough money or enough secrets."

The two walked out of the building.

The air outside was chilly, carrying the dryness unique to the desert.

Dozens of black SUVs were parked in the plaza, and heavily armed veterans were moving hard currency scavenged from Rogers' vault into the vehicles.

Gold, bonds, and even two large crates of uncut diamonds.

Ava stood next to a stretched lincoln. She was wearing a black evening gown with Chen Mo's jacket draped over her, the wind blowing her hair into a mess.

Seeing Chen Mo come out, she handed over the tablet in her hand.

"This is the data Jack just summarized." Ava's voice was trembling, a shiver from excessive excitement.

"Eighty percent of Rogers' secret accounts have been cracked. Plus the gains from our shorting of the joint fund, and the annexed land and physical industries..."

She took a deep breath, as if afraid that this breath would blow the number away.

"Total assets exceed seven billion US dollars. Cash flow... two billion."

Two billion US dollars in cash.

Even on Wall Street, financial groups that can mobilize this much cash at any time can be counted on one hand.

Chen Mo glanced at the long string of zeros on the screen, his expression unchanged.

"First, pay off that debt. For the remaining money, put half into equipment upgrades for Legacy Defense. I want to give those drones still on the drawing board some real teeth."

Ava was stunned for a moment: "That's half of the cash flow... don't you plan to keep some?"

"Keep it for what? To breed?" Chen Mo smiled and reached out to open the car door.

"Money is something that only becomes money when it's spent and turned into bullets and influence. Lying in a bank, it's just a string of useless numbers."

Ava looked at this man.

The firelight reflected on his profile, outlining his silhouette like a blade.

She suddenly stepped forward, wrapped her arms around Chen Mo's neck, and kissed him hard on his lips, which tasted of gunpowder and blood.

This wasn't a tender kiss.

This kiss was aggressive, carrying a worship of power, and even a bit of the revelry of a beast after feasting on its prey.

"You really are a maniac." Ava let go, her eyes shining frighteningly, "But I like it."

"Get in the car." Chen Mo patted her waist, "The night isn't over yet."

The convoy drove away from the burning Godfather Palace in a grand procession, like a black snake slithering toward the brightly lit Olympus.

When they returned to the penthouse suite, it was already three in the morning.

Outside the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, the neon lights of Las Vegas were still flickering.

This city didn't sleep; even though a godfather had just died, the gamblers below were still frantically pulling the levers in front of the slot machines.

Chen Mo poured himself a glass of whiskey, no ice.

He walked to the balcony, the night breeze dissipating some of the dry heat.

"Boss, this is the compiled list."

Nightingale walked over with a black folder and placed it on the small round table.

It was a printout of the "Deep State Contact List" obtained from Rogers.

Although it was an incomplete version, and many names were blacked out or replaced with codenames, one could still see how large this network was.

Chen Mo took a sip of his drink and opened the folder.

The first page was the main event.

There were no specific names, only a codename—"The Gatekeeper."

Followed by a string of encrypted phone numbers in Washington D.C., and a strange note: Contact before the quarterly budget review.

"Did you find the origin of this number?" Chen Mo asked.

"Jack tried to track it; the signal finally disappeared near Capitol Hill."

Nightingale leaned against the railing and lit a slender lady's cigarette for herself.

"However, according to Rogers' cash flow records, this money every year eventually went into an account called the Patriot Foundation."

Chen Mo tapped his finger on the codename.

"Patriot Foundation..." He narrowed his eyes, "The name sounds very expensive."

He flipped to the next page.

There was a name on this page that hadn't been blacked out, or rather, Rogers had intentionally kept this name, using it as an amulet.

【Frank Underwood (Senator/Vice Chairman of the Appropriations Committee)】

Chen Mo's movements stopped.

He turned to look at Nightingale, a playful smile curling on his lips.

"Nightingale, I remember your dead father's diary mentioned that the person who cut the budget for the FBI's off-the-books special task force back then and sent you to that hellhole in Mexico to die was this Mr. Underwood, right?"

Nightingale's fingers holding the cigarette tightened, and the slender cigarette was snapped directly.

A spark fell on the expensive carpet, burning a small black dot.

"It was him."

Her voice was cold, like a piece of ice falling into a collar.

"At that time, he was just a congressman. To save that bit of money for his political record, he canceled our extraction point in Juarez. My three teammates... we didn't even find their bodies."

"Small world."

Chen Mo closed the folder and poured the remaining half of the drink onto the carpet, just extinguishing the spark left by the cigarette butt.

"It seems our next stop is already set."

He turned around, his back to the brilliant night view of the gambling city, his gaze fixed on the dark night sky to the north.

"Rogers was just a watchdog; the real meat is in that circle."

Chen Mo picked up the satellite phone on the table and dialed Jack's number.

"Boss?" Jack's keyboard-clattering sound came from the headset.

"Help me book three tickets to Washington. First class."

Chen Mo looked at Nightingale's face, which was tense with anger, and smiled.

"Let's go see this Senator Underwood of ours. By the way, ask him if he sleeps soundly after spending that blood money from the dead."

Nightingale took a deep breath, steadying her breathing: "Go now? The situation here hasn't stabilized yet."

"Stability isn't something you get by guarding."

Chen Mo threw the folder into the trash can nearby.

"Why did Rogers die? Because he trapped himself in this desert as a local emperor, thinking he could sleep soundly with this list."

"But he forgot that the people on the list only recognize interests, not friendships."

He walked up to Nightingale and reached out to tuck her bangs, which had been blown messy by the wind.

"We're going to be the ones who set the rules, not beggars holding a list to beg for food."

A commotion suddenly came from downstairs.

Chen Mo looked down.

At the entrance of the Olympus casino, a new sign was being hung up.

Huge neon tubes formed—"Legacy."

The original statue of Zeus had been pushed over, and in its place was a huge, black, faceless cloaked figure sculpture.

That was Death, and also the Corpse Collector.

Countless luxury cars were parked at the entrance, and those weather vanes who had been watching from the sidelines were now lining up, waving banknotes, trying to squeeze into the territory of this new king.

Chen Mo withdrew his gaze.

"Let's go. This place is too noisy; it's not suitable for talking about big business."

He placed the empty wine glass on the railing, the bottom of the glass refracting a cold light under the moonlight.

"Washington should be much quieter."