162: Chapter 162 Listen, that's the sound of money burning.

Garrison's movements were even faster than Chen Mo had anticipated.

Less than half an hour later, a screen in front of Jack suddenly turned a glaring red.

"Damn! Boss, something's gone wrong."

Jack's fingers flew across the keyboard, and he spoke at lightning speed, "The US SEC just issued a temporary freeze order. The stated reason is suspicion of major money laundering and market manipulation."

"Our trading account has been locked, and those 2.3 billion in funds are currently untouchable. The short sellers received word and are organizing a counterattack!"

Chen Mo leaned back on the sofa, not even lifting his eyelids.

"What are you panicking about?" he said indifferently. "Send that folder over."

"Which one?"

"The one Hamilton left behind. The file is named 'Patriot Action'."

Jack paused for a moment, then quickly found the file on the encrypted hard drive.

He opened it to take a look, and his Adam's apple bobbed violently.

That was not a business document at all.

It was a 'Special Operations Memorandum' jointly signed by The Pentagon's Logistics Agency, the CIA's Operations Directorate, and three active-duty four-star generals.

It explicitly stated: The funds in this account are used to maintain 'National Security and Overseas Covert Operations' and enjoy the highest level of immunity.

Although Hamilton had forged this document to launder money for himself, every single signature and seal on it was real.

"Send it," Chen Mo commanded.

"Okay... it's done. It's been sent to the SEC's investigation supervisor."

Three minutes.

Only three minutes later, that red screen turned back to a normal green.

Jack stared at the system log, dumbfounded.

"It's unfrozen... The SEC sent an email saying it was a system technical glitch and apologized to us? Good heavens, Boss!"

"Sometimes, the prestige of a dead man is more effective than that of a living one."

Chen Mo stood up and straightened his collar. "The news of the account being unfrozen will spread quickly. Garrison has lost his final trump card. Ready the car; we're going to the shooting club."

"What are we going there for?"

"To collect a debt," Chen Mo sneered. "Since this is a negotiation with an arms dealer, there needs to be a bit of gunpowder in the air."

...

In the western suburbs of Washington, at the Delta Shooting Club.

This was the favorite social venue for politicians and arms dealers.

The air was filled with the pungent smell of high-grade gunpowder burning, occasionally interspersed with a few muffled gunshots.

Chen Mo wore noise-canceling earmuffs and stood in front of the VIP shooting lane.

In his hand, he held a 'Guardian' series assault rifle produced by Ares Industries, which the club had just provided.

"Bang! Bang! Click—"

After firing only two rounds, a harsh sound of metal friction came from the chamber. It had jammed.

Chen Mo pulled the bolt with an expressionless face, attempting to eject the round, but this precision weapon priced at two thousand dollars was like a lump of scrap metal, holding onto the bullet tightly.

"Is this your product?"

Chen Mo took off his earmuffs and casually tossed the gun onto the table in front of him. The gun body hit the wooden table with a loud clatter.

Garrison, sitting on the sofa opposite, twitched an eyelid.

This Vice President of Raytheon Dynamics looked somewhat disheveled at the moment.

Although he was wearing an exquisite handmade suit, the fine beads of sweat on his forehead and his slightly trembling fingers betrayed his inner panic.

The SEC investigation had been terminated, and the stock price of Ares Industries had surged by 60% in a short squeeze.

As the main force behind the short selling, Raytheon Dynamics was losing astronomical sums every second.

"Mr. Chen," Garrison took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm.

"We are both businessmen. You win this time. We can cancel the short position and compensate for your losses. But about that illegitimate child..."

"You don't seem to understand the situation."

Chen Mo picked up a wet towel from the table to wipe the gun oil off his hands. "I asked you to come here today, not to negotiate compensation. To me, money is just a number."

He turned around, his gaze locked onto Garrison.

"I want the full set of patent technology for the vector nozzle. And all the data from your high-temperature alloy laboratory in Nevada."

Garrison stood up abruptly, knocking over the coffee cup in front of him.

"You're crazy! That is Raytheon Dynamics' core asset! It's the key technology for the F35 engine! Even if I die, the board of directors would never agree..."

"Don't be in such a rush to talk about dying."

Chen Mo interrupted him and took out his phone from his pocket. The screen was lit, showing an ongoing call interface.

"Listen to this."

Chen Mo pressed the speakerphone button and tossed the phone in front of Garrison.

There was no talking on the other end of the line, only deafening explosions—the sound of heavy artillery bombarding the ground, mixed with the sound of dense machine-gun fire and men's roars.

"This is..." Garrison's face instantly turned ashen.

"This is northern K Country." Chen Mo's voice was as calm as if he were commentating on a golf tournament.

"Just ten minutes ago, a batch of anti-aircraft missiles that Raytheon Dynamics secretly shipped over there was accidentally bombed by local militants."

"Of course, if the patent transfer agreement isn't signed quickly enough, the next shell might land on your rare earth mine over there."

"You... this is terrorism!" Garrison pointed at Chen Mo, his finger trembling violently.

"No, this is called after-sales service."

Chen Mo stepped forward and straightened Garrison's crooked tie, his movements as gentle as an old friend.

"My drone is hovering over that mine right now. Do you want to keep those useless patent papers, or do you want to keep the mine that contributes three billion in profit to you every year? Oh, that's right, and that illegitimate child of yours whom you don't want your wife to know about."

Garrison collapsed onto the sofa.

He looked at the young Asian man in front of him and felt that he was not facing a person, but a monster in human skin.

This monster not only ate people, but didn't even spit out the bone fragments.

"I... I don't have the authority to sign such a large transfer agreement." Garrison's voice trembled; it was the precursor to a breakdown.

"You do."

Chen Mo pulled a pre-prepared document from his briefcase and slapped it onto Garrison's chest.

"This is a technology-sharing memorandum drafted by Lieutenant General Hamilton before he died, backdated by three months. You only need to sign it; our friends at The Pentagon will handle the remaining compliance processes for us."

Chen Mo picked up the jammed rifle, expertly disassembled it, and poured out a deformed bullet.

"Make your choice, Mr. Garrison."

Chen Mo stood the bullet upright on the table, making a crisp sound.

"Sign it, and we all get rich together. Or, like this bullet, get stuck in the chamber and end up being cleared out?"

On the other end of the line, there was another huge explosion.

The Montblanc pen in Garrison's hand felt as heavy as a thousand pounds.

He trembled as he signed his name at the end of the document, the pen tip tearing the paper and leaving an ugly ink stain.

That was Raytheon Dynamics' pillar of shame, and also the life-saving charm for Ares Industries' resurrection.

"A wise choice."