5: Chapter 5 Sorry, this money now belongs to the Chen family.

Three days later.

Chen Mo signed the discharge papers.

The doctor strongly objected, believing his wounds needed at least another week of observation, but Chen Mo insisted he was homesick, and as a police officer, he was not only physically strong but also capable of self-rescue.

Actually, it was because he had no money to pay for further hospitalization. Although he had insurance, those self-pay high-end care items were burning money every second.

He refused the interview arranged by the police public relations department and slipped out the back door of the hospital.

The New York sky was still gray. Chen Mo wrapped himself tightly in the ill-fitting old jacket, the only "decent" piece of clothing the original body had.

He bought a pack of cheap cigarettes at a convenience store on the corner, opened it, pulled one out, and put it in his mouth without lighting it.

He was waiting.

Waiting for night to fall, for the lights to come on, and for the entire Queens to be cut in half again by neon lights and shadows.

Chen Mo lowered the brim of his hat and hailed a taxi. He didn't go to Black Street where the incident happened, but got off at an intersection two blocks away.

The wound was still throbbing; every step felt like being pricked by needles. He bit down on the cigarette filter, turning this pain into a stimulant.

Black Street had already been cordoned off by police with yellow tape. Although the case was closed, the scene hadn't been cleared yet.

Chen Mo stood in the shadows at the mouth of the alley. [Primary Scout Intuition] made the hair on the back of his neck stand up slightly.

Someone was watching this place.

The young Black man leaning against the utility pole smoking on the front left kept glancing into the alley; in the old Ford with the engine off on the right, the red dot in the passenger seat flickered.

It was the Falcone family. And police.

They were waiting for the missing money, or waiting for the person who might come back for it.

This was originally a dead end. If it were the old Chen Mo, he would have turned around and ran.

But now...

Chen Mo took a deep breath and pulled the bright silver badge from his chest, hanging it around his neck.

Then, he straightened his back and strode toward the cordon.

"Hey! What are you doing! Didn't you see the blockade?" The young Black thug who was smoking immediately dropped the cigarette butt, put his hand in his pocket, and walked over.

The door of the old Ford opened, and two plainclothes officers climbed out.

Chen Mo didn't stop. His gaze scraped across the thug's face like a knife, devoid of any emotional fluctuation, only a coldness that looked at dead people.

"Get lost."

Just two words.

Stung by that gaze, the thug's hand in his pocket froze.

That was the look of someone who had killed people and seen blood. He had been on the streets for so long that he could tell the difference between bluffing and someone who would really dare to shoot.

"NYPD investigation." Chen Mo walked to the cordon and flashed the badge on his chest to the two plainclothes officers approaching.

"127th Precinct, Robert Chen, back to re-examine the scene, needed for the report."

The two plainclothes officers looked at each other. Robert Chen? That lucky guy who made the news?

"This place has been searched eight times, buddy." One of the plainclothes officers chewed gum, looking Chen Mo up and down.

"And why aren't you lying in the hospital? What are you doing here?"

"Detective Murphy asked me to come." Chen Mo lied without changing his expression.

"He said some details in the report didn't match up, so he asked me to confirm the ballistic trajectory. Do you have any objections? You can call Murphy."

Mentioning Murphy, the two plainclothes officers shrugged. No one wanted to provoke that mad dog.

"Make it quick, don't disturb the scene."

Chen Mo nodded, lifted the cordon, and slipped into the alley that had changed his fate.

Once he entered the shadows, he immediately quickened his pace.

The feeling of being watched still existed, but he knew that as long as he was wearing this uniform, the people outside wouldn't dare to come in.

This was the darkness under the lamp.

The most dangerous place is often the place where the rules are strictest.

He walked to the depths of the alley, where the familiar large trash can was still standing.

Beside it was the spot where the police officer's body had fallen; dark red bloodstains could still be seen on the ground.

Chen Mo put on gloves. Without the slightest hesitation, he reached directly into the bottom of the trash can, groped for the rusty iron interlayer, and gave it a hard tug.

Click.

A heavy sensation came through.

It was still there.

He quickly pulled out the black sports bag, skillfully stuffed it into his large jacket, and clamped it tight with his arm.

The whole process took less than five seconds.

After finishing all this, he even had the leisure to pick up an empty shell casing from the trash can and put it into an evidence bag.

When he walked out of the alley, Chen Mo's face was a bit pale, and his forehead was covered in cold sweat.

"Found it?" the plainclothes officer asked.

Chen Mo shook the evidence bag in his hand: "Found it. A stray shell casing."

The plainclothes officer scoffed: "Really dedicated."

Chen Mo ignored him, clutching his chest—the location of his wound, and also the location of the money.

Under the gaze of several pairs of eyes, he hailed a car and disappeared into the night.

Back at the cheap rental in Brooklyn that was less than twenty square meters, Chen Mo locked the three deadbolts and pulled the curtains.

He threw the sports bag onto the moldy mattress and pulled the zipper open.

Whoosh.

Green Franklins poured out, emitting a charming scent of ink in the dim room.

[Asset change detected.]

[Current assets: $102,400 (Main source: Unknown funds)]

[Note: Money is a passport to power. Congratulations, you have obtained the admission ticket.]

Chen Mo sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the pile of money, and finally a trace of a real smile appeared on his face.

This wasn't just money; this was life.

He didn't throw the money into the air like an upstart, but calmly divided it into three parts.

Fifty thousand, sealed in a waterproof bag, hidden in the interlayer of the toilet water tank.

Thirty thousand, stuffed into the gap behind the old refrigerator compressor.

The remaining twenty thousand, put into his pocket.

"System, can I use money to directly purchase entries?" he asked silently in his heart.

[No, entries can only be obtained through extraction. But you can use money to purchase equipment to improve your survival rate.]

Chen Mo nodded, picked up his phone, and dialed a number he saw on a black market forum.

Two hours later, he got what he wanted from a locker in a subway station.

A second-hand lightweight Kevlar bulletproof vest, and a folding tactical knife for combat.

Putting on the bulletproof vest, although it was a bit stuffy, the sense of security from being wrapped up made him feel much more at ease.

He looked at himself in the mirror. Pale, thin, but his eyes were burning with wild fire.

"Murphy wants this money?"

Chen Mo straightened his collar to cover the outline of the bulletproof vest and sneered at his reflection in the mirror.

"Fine, I'll go 'give' it to him right now. But what I'm giving him, that will be up to me."