47: Chapter 47 Ava's Dilemma: Betrayal by Her Family

In the Manhattan Upper East Side, at a private residence of the Rockefeller Family.

A massive crystal chandelier cast down cold, frigid light. Ava Rockefeller sat on a velvet sofa, her back straight as a rod, like a Persian cat ready to strike at any moment.

But her trembling fingers betrayed the fear within her.

On the coffee table in front of her lay a family trust document, along with a Queen of Spades playing card that had been slipped through the crack of the door.

On the card, the Queen's throat was slashed by a red line.

"This is a warning," Ava whispered into the phone, her voice hoarse.

"The family can't trace the whereabouts of those five million or the details of the Legacy investment. They think I embezzled it, or... that I betrayed them."

There was only the static of electricity on the other end of the line, followed by Chen Mo's voice, processed through a voice changer, carrying a calming indifference.

"No, they know you don't have the guts. Ouroboros is making a move because your very existence is a risk.

The mess your father left behind, combined with your recent restless actions, has made them decide that cleaning you up is more cost-effective than keeping you around."

Ava's heart contracted violently.

She looked out the window; the courtyard, usually heavily guarded, was as quiet as a graveyard tonight.

The usual patrolling bodyguards were reduced by half, and the remaining ones were unfamiliar faces.

"They've withdrawn my security," Ava bit her lip.

"There is a charity art exhibition at The Metropolitan Museum of Art tonight, and the family has explicitly named me to attend. This is an execution, isn't it?"

Brooklyn safe house.

Chen Mo leaned back in a leather swivel chair, toying with the M1911 he had obtained from George.

On the screen in front of him, countless lines of green code flowed like a waterfall—that was Hacking Mastery hijacking the peripheral security communication channels of the Rockefeller Family.

"Codename 'Purge', execution time 20:00, location: Contemporary Art Gallery."

George sat nearby, a cigar dangling unlit from his mouth, his fingers dancing across the keyboard.

"These people really don't care about finesse; they aren't even bothering to fake an accident, just sending in a cleanup squad directly."

Chen Mo watched the red dots on the screen, the corners of his mouth curling up slightly.

He chuckled softly into the phone: "Congratulations, little viper. You've finally qualified to become prey."

"I'm about to die! And you're still making sarcastic remarks?" Ava's voice was laced with tears.

"I've already given you those five million; you said we were partners!"

"Business is business, and life is life," Chen Mo said in a flat tone.

"If you want to survive, you not only have to pay me, but you also have to sell your soul to me."

Ava fell silent. She stared at that Queen of Spades, the fear in her eyes gradually being replaced by a frantic determination.

In this cannibalistic family, she had always been an outsider, a tool.

Now, since the family wanted to abandon her, she would burn that bridge completely.

"Save me," Ava said into the microphone, enunciating every word.

"As long as I can walk out of The Metropolitan Museum of Art alive tonight, all my authority, channels, and connections within the family will be yours.

I will be your puppet, your white glove, your dog—as long as I can make them pay the price."

This was the sentence Chen Mo wanted.

Only the straw grasped in desperation will people hold onto with a death grip.

"Send me the security map for the art exhibition. Also, tell me the color of your evening gown tonight."

Chen Mo stood up from his chair and stretched his neck, his joints cracking with a crisp sound.

"Red, red like blood."

"Very good." Chen Mo hung up the phone and looked at George.

George spat out the cigar, took a glock 19 from the gun rack, and skillfully checked the magazine.

"Are we going to do some freelance work? This is a losing deal; that girl is a target right now."

"No, this is an investment." Chen Mo walked to the tactical table and picked up a floor plan of The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Within his field of vision, the Advanced Engineering skill activated instantly.

The originally flat blueprints constructed themselves into a three-dimensional model in his mind.

The thickness of the load-bearing walls, the direction of the ventilation ducts, the blind spots of the fire escapes, the blast points of the glass curtain walls... The entire museum was like a dismantled building-block toy, with all its weaknesses exposed completely.

"Ouroboros wants to turn her into performance art there."

Chen Mo tapped his finger on a corridor on the blueprint, "But they forgot that buildings have life. As long as you find that exact point, even a museum can turn into a mousetrap."

He turned around and took out a set of gear he had long prepared from the system space: an expensive handmade suit, gold-rimmed non-prescription glasses, and that police badge belonging to "Robert Chen."

"Get the car ready." Chen Mo adjusted his collar; the killing intent in his eyes was perfectly shielded by the lenses, leaving only the elegance and arrogance belonging to high society.

"Tonight, we're going to teach those crawlers what a real 'purge' is."