159: Chapter 159 How Much is Justice?

The dim streetlights in the parking lot stretched their shadows long.

Hopkins pulled a photograph from his trench coat pocket, his movements so slow it was as if he were drawing a gun.

The edges of the photo were frayed, clearly having been rubbed countless times.

On it was a blonde woman in an FBI uniform, smiling brightly; this was Jessica Vance before she became Nightingale.

"This is a photo from three years ago." Hopkins took a drag from the cigarette that was nearly burning his fingers, the smoke dissipating across his wrinkled face.

"Back then, she was still a rising star at the FBI. The files say she died in a gang shootout, her body burned to charcoal."

The old man raised his head, his sharp eyes staring fixedly at Chen Mo.

"But this week, I saw a woman at the airport in Washington. She had cut her hair short and dyed it black, but I recognized those eyes. It was Jessica."

Chen Mo didn't look at the photo.

He opened the car door and made a "please" gesture.

"It's windy outside. Since we're talking about an old friend, why not talk inside the car?"

Hopkins was stunned for a moment, seemingly not expecting this reaction from Chen Mo.

He hesitated for half a second, threw the cigarette butt on the ground and crushed it, then bent down and climbed into the back seat of the bulletproof lincoln.

The car door closed, and the noise from the outside world was instantly cut off.

Jack raised the soundproof partition between the front and back seats and slid the car out of The Pentagon's parking lot.

"You're a smart man, Mr. Chen." Hopkins touched the leather seat.

"You know what I'm investigating. Rogers' ledger is missing a few pages, the ones about those dirty cops inside the FBI back then. Jessica didn't die; she became your hitman, helping you clean up those people."

"This is first-degree murder, plus faking the death of a federal agent, and…"

"And your meager pension." Chen Mo interrupted him.

He took a bottle of Evian water from the car's refrigerator, unscrewed the cap, and handed it to the old man.

"Agent Hopkins. 35 years of service. Solved three serial murder cases, received the Silver Star medal twice. And the result?",

"You're now driving a twelve-year-old Ford and living in a basement in Queens."

Chen Mo's voice was steady, without any mockery, just stating facts.

"You've spent your whole life investigating cases, sending countless bad guys to prison. But you've found that the more bad guys you catch, the worse your own life gets."

Hopkins didn't take the water. His hand gripped the corner of his trench coat, his knuckles turning white.

"You want to bribe me? With your blood-stained money?"

The old man sneered, "Save it. The greatest pride of my life is that I've never taken a single cent of dirty money."

"I know." Chen Mo nodded.

"You are a good cop. It's a pity that God doesn't show mercy just because you're a good person."

He took out his phone and pulled up an electronic medical record, the light from the screen illuminating the dim cabin.

"Mary Hopkins. Your only daughter. Acute lymphoblastic leukemia, stage three. Your health insurance limit was used up last month."

"She's currently in a general ward at St. Louis Hospital because you can't afford the two thousand dollar daily fee for the intensive care unit."

Hopkins' pupils contracted sharply.

Like an enraged lion, he lunged at Chen Mo, grabbing him by the collar.

"You dare touch her! I will kill you! I swear I will…"

Chen Mo didn't resist, letting the old man grab his tie.

"I didn't touch her. It's this damn world that's touching her." Chen Mo looked into the old man's bloodshot eyes.

"A bone marrow transplant surgery costs three hundred thousand dollars, and post-operative anti-rejection drugs cost fifty thousand dollars a year. Your pension isn't even a fraction of that."

"Hopkins, you are a hero. But heroes can't save their daughters."

The old man gasped for air, his chest heaving violently.

That anger slowly subsided, replaced by a bone-deep sense of powerlessness.

His hand let go, and he slumped back against the seat, as if he had aged ten years in an instant.

"What do you want?" The old man's voice trembled.

Chen Mo straightened his tie and pulled a black card from his pocket.

It was a bearer card from the Swiss Bank.

"There is one million dollars in here. Enough to give Mary the best surgery, hire the best caregivers, and let her live like a princess."

The card slid along the texture of the leather seat to Hopkins' side.

That was not a plastic card.

That was his daughter's life.

"I am not trying to buy your conscience." Chen Mo watched the streetscape flying by outside the window.

"That world is rotten to the core, Hopkins. So-called justice is nothing but a garnish on the dining tables of the powerful."

"Jessica chose her path; she is maintaining order in a different way—even if it is a dark order."

"What I want you to do is very simple."

Chen Mo turned his head and stared into the old man's eyes.

"Forget that photo. The agent named Jessica is dead; she died honorably. The one alive now is just Elizabeth, an executive at Legacy Defense."

Hopkins looked at the card.

He reached out his hand, hovering in mid-air, trembling violently.

On one side was the belief he had held onto his entire life, the only torch he carried while walking in the darkness.

On the other side was his daughter, lying on a hospital bed, covered in tubes, her very breath smelling of blood.

This minute was so slow it felt like an entire lifetime had passed.

Finally, that hand covered in age spots and scars slammed down onto the card.

With such force that his nails left marks on the leather.

"…The password." The old man's voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible.

"Six zeros."

The car stopped at the side of the road.

Hopkins pushed open the car door and stumbled out.

The wind after the rain was cold, blowing his trench coat with a flapping sound.

He didn't look back, his back hunched, like a deserter who had just sold his soul to the devil.

Chen Mo watched his back disappear around the street corner.

"Boss, are we really letting him go?" Jack's voice came from the front seat, "Only dead people keep secrets best."

"That's for enemies." Chen Mo closed his eyes.

"For a father willing to kneel for his daughter, we must give basic respect. Besides… he is more useful than a dead person."

In a phone booth at the street corner.

Hopkins' hands trembled as he tucked the card close to his body, then took out an old-fashioned Nokia phone.

He dialed a number.

It was Jessica's direct supervisor, the Deputy Director of the FBI, who was also a mole planted by Ouroboros in the judicial system.

The call connected.

"Hello? Hopkins?" The voice on the other end carried a hint of impatience, "How is the matter I asked you to investigate going? Is that Elizabeth actually Jessica?"

Hopkins glanced at the black lincoln slowly driving away in the distance.

He took a deep breath and said with the firmest tone of his life:

"I investigated wrong, Director. The fingerprint comparison doesn't match, and the skeletal features don't align either. That's just an Asian woman who has had plastic surgery, not Jessica."

There was silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds.

"Understood. Don't waste any more time on this case; come back and process your retirement paperwork."

"Beep—beep—"

The call hung up.

Hopkins hung up the receiver and looked at his aged self in the glass reflection.

Justice died.

But his daughter could live.