151: Chapter 151 The Dead Are the Best Advocates

In May, the air in Washington was filled with a rotting, sweet scent called power.

The ballroom of the Willard InterContinental Hotel was brightly lit.

Beneath the crystal chandeliers, countless expensive wine glasses swayed, held by well-dressed politicians and arms dealers.

Chen Mo stood in the shadows of a corner, holding an untouched glass of soda water.

His identity tonight was as a security consultant for Legacy Defense; the three-thousand-dollar custom suit he wore didn't make him look like a businessman, but rather exuded a cold, unapproachable hardness.

His gaze cut through the crowd and landed in the center of the ballroom.

There stood a massive glass display case containing the new product Ares Industries was proud of: a model of the Guardian infantry fighting vehicle.

Beside it, a young man with slicked-back hair and an arrogant expression was holding a wine glass, spouting off to several members of the House Armed Services Committee standing around him.

Robert Rockefeller. The head of the collateral branch of the Rockefeller Family and a special consultant for Ares Industries.

"That's a coffin meant for the dead."

Beside Chen Mo, Nightingale lowered her voice, her tone laced with mockery.

"No." Chen Mo shook his head, his sharp gaze taking in every detail of the model.

"A coffin at least has a stable center of gravity. This thing's chassis suspension design is flawed, and the side armor is too thick, causing the center of gravity to be too high. It wouldn't make it sixty-four kilometers on the crummy roads of Iraq before tipping over."

In his mind, the master-level military logistics knowledge extracted from Hamilton was whirring into action.

To Chen Mo, those dry data points and blueprints transformed into countless fatal flaws.

"That idiot hasn't noticed?" Nightingale glanced at Robert in the distance.

"He only cares whether this thing can help him push his stock up by twenty points." Chen Mo withdrew his gaze and looked the other way.

Ava Rockefeller was wearing a sharply tailored black evening gown, standing alone at the edge of the crowd like a proud black swan.

Robert clearly saw her too. A sickeningly fake smile hung on his face as he pushed through the crowd toward her.

"Look who it is." Robert spread his arms theatrically, his voice loud enough for half the ballroom to hear.

"Our little Ava, did you crawl out of the mud pits of Texas? What's the matter, did you wash off that smell of oil yet?"

A few low chuckles rippled through the surrounding area.

Ava turned, her champagne glass so steady that not a ripple disturbed the surface of the liquid.

She looked at Robert as if she were looking at a pile of dog shit on the side of the road.

"Uncle Robert." Ava's voice was icy. "I thought you would be more concerned about tomorrow's hearing than my perfume."

"The hearing?" Robert acted as if he'd heard a joke, leaning close to Ava and lowering his voice, though his vicious tone remained clearly audible.

"My dear, that's just a formality. Before Hamilton died, he had already drafted the contract."

"Tomorrow at ten in the morning, once the pen hits the paper, Ares Industries will secure this twenty-four billion dollar order."

"And you, along with that crappy company of yours called Legacy, can just roll back to Texas and play in the mud."

He reached out, intending to pat Ava's cheek.

A hand reached out from the side, intercepting Robert's wrist in mid-air.

Chen Mo stood beside Ava, having appeared out of nowhere.

His fingers were long and strong; he didn't even use much force, but Robert's face instantly turned the color of pig liver.

"Mr. Robert." Chen Mo released his hand and took the opportunity to straighten the other man's slightly crooked bowtie.

"Hamilton was a decent man, but he is dead. Promises from dead men are sometimes less reliable than this caviar that's about to spoil."

Robert rubbed his wrist, staring at Chen Mo with sinister eyes. "You're the Corpse Collector? The mad dog who killed Rogers in Las Vegas?"

Chen Mo smiled, revealing a set of white teeth. "I am a legitimate funeral industry practitioner. If you have a need, I can give you a twenty percent discount."

"Just you wait." Robert snorted coldly, adjusted his collar, and turned to stride away.

"Tomorrow I will let you know that The Pentagon is not a place for stray dogs like you to run wild."

Watching Robert's angry retreating figure, Ava let out a soft breath.

"He is very confident."

"Because he thinks the referee has already taken the money." Chen Mo took out his phone and glanced at the time on the screen. "It's a pity, the final whistle hasn't blown yet."

The next morning, Capitol Hill, at the site of the military procurement hearing.

The atmosphere was dull and oppressive.

On one side of the long conference table sat five generals with stars on their shoulders, as well as several congressmen primarily responsible for appropriations.

Robert sat in the seat for Ares Industries, crossing his legs and twirling a pen in his hand.

He didn't even bother to look at the representatives of Legacy Defense across from him.

Presiding over the meeting was General McCarthy, a hawk known for his hardline stance.

"Regarding the procurement proposal for the next-generation light tactical vehicle." General McCarthy flipped through the thick documents in front of him and pushed up his glasses with some impatience.

"The Guardian proposal provided by Ares Industries meets the Army's requirements in terms of protection and firepower. Although the price is slightly high, considering the stability of production capacity..."

He paused and picked up his pen.

"If there are no objections, we will proceed to the signing process."

The smile on Robert's face was almost impossible to hide; he had already brought the tip of his pen over the document.

"I have an objection."

A somewhat hoarse voice suddenly rang out.

Everyone's gaze turned to the corner of the hearing gallery.

Senator Frank Underwood raised his hand, his face pale.

He looked as if he had just recovered from a serious illness, with fine beads of sweat still seeping from his forehead.

Robert frowned, a flash of threat in his eyes.

Underwood had taken quite a few benefits from Ares Industries.

"Senator Underwood?" General McCarthy was somewhat surprised. "This is against protocol."

"Rules exist to serve people, General." Underwood swallowed. Under the table, his hands were gripping the document Chen Mo had forced him to sign the night before so tightly that his knuckles were white.

He dared not look at Chen Mo, and could only stare into General McCarthy's eyes, speaking at a rapid pace.

"I have received a... supplementary report regarding the production capacity of Ares Industries. According to data simulations, if we were to start a war in the Middle East right now, their production lines would be unable to deliver a sufficient quantity of parts within six months."

"Nonsense!" Robert stood up abruptly. "Our production lines are the most advanced in the United States!"

"Is that so?"

Chen Mo stood up. He didn't look at Robert, but instead pushed a USB drive directly to the staff member beside him.

"This is a logistics simulation done by Legacy Defense based on the publicly disclosed financial reports of Ares Industries."

Chen Mo's tone was flat. "In addition, there is also an analysis of the defects in the Guardian tank's center of gravity design. If you want to let soldiers flip their vehicles in the desert, then this is indeed the best choice."

The big screen lit up.

Red warning icons and complex logistics node diagrams appeared before everyone's eyes.

That was not a forgery; it was the naked truth derived by Chen Mo based on the real data in Hamilton's brain, with all the sugar-coating and whitewashing stripped away.

Whispers began to erupt in the conference room.

General McCarthy's brow furrowed tightly.

"This is just a theoretical deduction." Robert gritted his teeth in rebuttal. "There is no combat evidence! This is slander!"

Just at this moment, a series of harsh phone vibrations rang out one after another in the conference room.

It wasn't just one person's phone.

It was the phones of all the congressmen, generals, and even the assistants present; they all received a push notification at almost the exact same second.

General McCarthy frowned and picked up his phone. He only took one look, and his face instantly turned ashen.

Robert also pulled out his phone.

On the screen was a screenshot of an email.

The sender was the late Hamilton, and the recipient was the CFO of Ares Industries.

The content was concise and clear—regarding how to legally use a batch of substandard special steel on the Guardian tank production line under the guise of equipment maintenance fees.

In the email attachment, there was even Robert's own signature.

"This... this is forged!" Robert's hand shook, and the phone dropped onto the table. "This is a hacker attack! I want to call the police!"

"Hamilton is dead." Chen Mo leaned back in his chair, his voice not loud, but it plunged the whole room into dead silence.

"But he seems to have left some backups in the cloud. Mr. Robert, do you want to confront the dead?"

Of course, there were no backups.

That was something Jack Martin had "found" in The Pentagon's servers using Hamilton's account privileges.

As for that email, as long as the correct digital signature and timestamp were added, it was real.

General McCarthy slammed the folder in front of him shut.

"In light of this new... evidence." The General stared at Robert, his eyes so cold they could carve a piece of flesh off a person.

"The procurement proposal is suspended. We need to conduct a re-examination of the qualifications of Ares Industries."

Robert's mouth hung open, and he couldn't speak for a long time.

"And another thing." McCarthy turned to look at Chen Mo, his gaze complex.

"Since you are so confident in your own product. Three days from now, Yuma Proving Ground. Bring your things; we want to see a live-fire test."

"Gladly." Chen Mo nodded slightly.

The parking lot after the hearing ended.

Just as Chen Mo walked to that black Chevrolet, Robert brought two bodyguards to block his path.

This elite of the Rockefeller Family now had messy hair, and his eyes were bloodshot.

"You ruined two years of my planning." Robert's voice was squeezed out from between his teeth. "Do you know what price this will make you pay?"

Chen Mo's hand, which was pulling open the car door, paused.

He turned around and looked at this man who was exasperated.

"I know." Chen Mo nodded. "Ares Industries' stock price will likely hit the limit down."

"You will need to explain to the Council of Elders why you played such a good hand so terribly."

"Yuma Proving Ground is a live-fire test." Robert took a step forward, almost pressing against Chen Mo's face.

"That's the desert, no surveillance, nothing but heavy weapons. Accidents happen every year, for example... a representative from a certain company gets hit by a stray bullet and has their head blown open."

This was a naked death threat.

Chen Mo was not angry; there wasn't even a flicker in his eyes.

He reached out and once again helped Robert straighten the tie that had been messed up in the conference room earlier.

The movement was gentle, as if he were preparing a corpse for viewing.

"Mr. Robert, you might have some misunderstanding about my profession."

Chen Mo leaned into Robert's ear, his voice low and mocking.

"I don't sell arms. I am a Corpse Collector."

"The thing I am best at in this life is dealing with dead people who think they won't die."

He patted Robert on the shoulder, the force making half of Robert's body go numb.

"Go prepare your tanks. Don't forget to bring a few extra body bags to collect the corpses of your scrap metal."

Chen Mo got into the car.

The car window rolled up, cutting off Robert's face, which was twisted with fear and anger.

"Drive." Chen Mo said to Nightingale. "Go prepare the tickets. We're going to Arizona to catch some sun."