160: Chapter 160 Corpses Can't Be Accounted For

The rain had stopped, and the sewers of Washington were swallowing the murky water on the road, making gurgling, gulping sounds.

A black lincoln drove into the underground garage of a safe house located on the edge of Georgetown.

This place was once an abandoned KGB stronghold during the Cold War, and now it belonged to "Legacy".

Jack Martin had been waiting inside for a long time.

Several servers were humming, and the heat they generated made the air in the basement so dry it made one's throat itch.

On the three screens in front of him, green code was scrolling continuously.

"Boss, did you take care of Hopkins?" Jack didn't turn around, his fingers clattering on the keyboard.

"If you're worried, I can arrange a gas leak."

"No need. Sometimes, a living father is tighter-lipped than a dead agent."

Chen Mo took off his rain-drenched coat, tossed it onto the sofa, pulled up a chair, and sat down next to Jack. "Are you ready to receive the Legacy?"

Jack stopped what he was doing, turned around, and pushed up his thick-rimmed glasses, unable to hide the excitement on his face.

"You mean that old ghost Hamilton's private stash? I've checked; he has seven offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands and Switzerland, but they all have top-level biological locks.

Retinas, fingerprints, and a thirty-second dynamic voiceprint password. Without him in person, these are just numbers you can see but can't touch."

"Who said he isn't here?"

Chen Mo leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

The system interface unfolded on his retinas.

[Target: Hamilton (Deceased)]

[Extracted Memory Fragments: Union Bank of Switzerland account keys, underlying logic of Cayman Islands trust funds, voiceprint characteristics, biological iris data packets.]

[Skill Loaded: Thousand-Faced Deceiver (Blue)]

[Skill Loaded: Voiceprint Memory Palace (Blue)]

Chen Mo's Adam's apple bobbed. When he opened his eyes again, a faint blue afterimage of data streams flashed deep within his pupils.

"Open the login interface for the Swiss Bank." Chen Mo's voice changed.

It was no longer the voice of that cold Asian youth, but had become low, gravelly, and carried the arrogance of someone long accustomed to heavy drinking and issuing orders—it was the voice of General Hamilton, even the slight Texas accent was imitated perfectly.

Jack's hand shook in fright, nearly knocking over the coffee on the table. He stared at Chen Mo with wide eyes, as if he had seen a ghost.

"Don't just stare, get to work." Chen Mo—or rather, "Hamilton"—urged impatiently.

Jack swallowed hard and quickly hit Enter.

A deep blue verification box popped up on the screen.

"Please enter the voiceprint password."

Chen Mo spoke into the microphone, using that voice that didn't belong to him, fluently reciting a string of illogical words: "Whiskey, 75th Ranger Regiment, blood-stained medal, Arlington tombstone."

[Voiceprint verification passed.]

"Next is the iris." Chen Mo leaned close to the dedicated high-definition camera.

Under Jack's terrified gaze, Chen Mo's eyeballs seemed to undergo some imperceptible muscular adjustments.

A few seconds later, the screen turned a pleasant green.

[Welcome back, Mr. Hamilton.]

[Current account balance: 480 million USD.]

"My God..." Jack looked at the number, panting heavily, "And this is just one of the accounts?"

"Open the other six as well." Chen Mo reverted to his own voice and rubbed his sore, strained eyes.

"This old guy has been skimming from the Logistics Bureau for twenty years; he even dared to take a cut of the pensions for fallen soldiers. This money will just rot here; we'll help him air it out."

For the next half hour, the only sounds in the basement were the clacking of the keyboard and the notification sounds of successful transfers.

A total of 2.3 billion USD.

This was a pile of "dead money" that no one dared to audit, and no one could audit.

Hamilton was dead, and in the eyes of the law, this money was ownerless property.

"Is the money laundering path set up?" Chen Mo lit a cigarette.

"It's set." Jack's fingers danced on the keyboard, moving so fast they were just a blur.

"Through six hundred shell companies, circling three times in the Caribbean, London, and Hong Kong, it will finally all flow into NASDAQ under the name of Atlas Capital."

"Very good." Chen Mo exhaled a smoke ring, his gaze piercing through the screen, looking at a point in the void.

"Notify Ava, the hunt begins. Target: Ares Industries."

...

The next morning, New York Stock Exchange.

The moment the opening bell rang, the stock price of Ares Industries plummeted like a kite with a broken string.

The K-Country scandal was still fermenting, and the "suicide" of Robert Rockefeller drove investors to extreme panic.

Large sell orders flew toward the trading desk like snowflakes, and the red limit-down line was shocking to behold.

Just when everyone thought Ares Industries was doomed, a mysterious, massive sum of capital suddenly entered the market.

Like a giant shark lurking in the deep sea, it suddenly opened its jaws.

One billion.

Two billion.

That 2.3 billion USD from the "dead man" turned into the sharpest fangs, crazily devouring all the circulating shares of Ares Industries on the market.

By 3 PM, the board of directors of Ares Industries finally realized that this wasn't some market self-rescue, but a long-planned hostile takeover.

But it was already too late.

Ares Industries headquarters, top-floor conference room.

The current CEO, Stevens, was pacing back and forth in front of the floor-to-ceiling window like a rat trapped in a cage, anxious.

His tie was loosened, and his expensive handmade suit was soaked with sweat.

"Where's the boss? When is that guy surnamed Chen going to see me?" Stevens roared at his secretary.

"Mr. Chen said… he is having afternoon tea and asked you to wait a little longer." The secretary lowered her head, her voice as quiet as a mosquito.

"Wait? I've already waited for six hours!" Stevens grabbed a crystal glass from the table, intending to smash it, but his hand hung in mid-air before falling powerlessly.

He didn't dare.

Everyone knew now that the Chinese man not only held the guns but now also held the purse strings.

The lifeblood of Ares Industries was already held in the palm of his hand.

It wasn't until the sunset outside the window dyed the Hudson River blood-red that the doors to the conference room were pushed open.

Chen Mo walked in. He wasn't wearing a suit, just a simple black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing his sturdy forearms.

Nightingale followed behind him, carrying a black briefcase.

Stevens immediately put on a sycophantic smile and hurried over: "Mr. Chen! I've heard so much about you! Regarding the acquisition, the board feels we can sit down and discuss the price…"

Chen Mo didn't look at him, walking straight to the head of the table to sit down, resting his legs on the priceless mahogany conference table.

"There is no negotiation." Chen Mo took a document from Nightingale and tossed it in front of Stevens, "Only notification."

Stevens froze for a moment, then opened the document with trembling hands.

After just one glance, his face turned deathly pale: "This… this is impossible! $12 per share? That's only one-third of the market price! This is robbery!"

"Correction." Chen Mo picked up a fountain pen from the table and spun it in his hand.

"If this contract isn't signed by tomorrow morning, I will release the second wave of evidence regarding tax evasion at Ares Industries. By then, your stock will be too rough even to wipe your ass with."

"You…" Stevens glared at Chen Mo, his chest heaving, "You are trying to force us to our deaths!"

"Force you to your deaths?" Chen Mo laughed, but there was no warmth in his eyes.

"Mr. Stevens, when you locked that little girl named Sophia in a cage to conduct experiments, did you ever think about what it meant to be forced to death?"

He stood up, walked over to Stevens, and straightened his crooked tie.

"This 2.3 billion is the funeral money General Hamilton sent you. Sign it, and you can still take your severance pay and go fishing in Florida. Don't sign it, and you can only go feed the fish in the Hudson River."

Chen Mo patted Stevens on the shoulder and turned to walk out.

"I'll give you ten minutes. Nightingale, watch him sign it."

When he reached the door, Chen Mo stopped and said without looking back:

"By the way, corpses don't audit accounts, and don't count on anyone coming to save you."