58: Chapter 58 The Self-Cultivation of a Master Actor

The chaos in Washington D.C. was like a pot of boiling asphalt—viscous, scalding, and emitting a nauseating, acrid stench.

Senator Gore's scandal was merely the first domino to fall.

What followed was a purge targeting the "insiders."

This was more than just political distancing; it was a physical erasure.

New York, 127th Precinct.

Chen Mo sat at his desk, feet propped up on a pile of unorganized files, idly playing with a Patek Philippe Nautilus in his hand.

The watch face refracted a cold light under the fluorescent lamps, looking completely out of place against the yellowing walls and coffee-stained desk.

"Is this thing real or fake?" Miller, an old detective nearby, leaned in, his eyes wide as saucers. "Robert, did you go and rob a bank recently, kid?"

Chen Mo grinned, a look of mercenary smugness flowing naturally from him, as if it seeped from his very bones.

He shook his wrist, letting the priceless mechanical watch emit a crisp sound.

"Rob a bank? That's too much work." Chen Mo lowered his voice, as if sharing some unspeakable secret.

"Miller, you have to learn how to invest. Not in stocks, but in people."

"You mean that... illegitimate daughter of the Rockefeller Family?" Miller looked gossipy. "The papers say she nearly lost her life at an art exhibition last night. Did you really bag her?"

"That is my 'long-term meal ticket'." Chen Mo pulled a box of Cuban cigars from his pocket and tossed one to Miller.

"She's terrified right now and needs a strong, brave, and discreet man to keep her company. This watch is what she gave me yesterday to thank me for being on call whenever she needs me."

Miller took the cigar, greedily sniffing it under his nose. "Damn, your luck... But I heard the FBI is investigating this. That female agent named Vance..."

"Don't mention that crazy woman." The smile on Chen Mo's face collapsed instantly, replaced by an expression of lingering fear.

"She just wants to drag someone down with her, but I'm clean. Besides being a bit greedy for petty cash, what dirt do they have on me?"

"Besides, I'm Ava Rockefeller's private consultant now. Before the FBI touches me, they'll have to ask the Rockefeller Family's legal team first."

The entire Major Crimes Unit laughed.

No one would suspect a greedy cop who treated "living off a woman" as an honor and bragged about it everywhere.

In their eyes, Robert Chen was just a short-sighted little man who had gotten lucky.

This contempt was the best bulletproof vest.

Chen Mo pulled his legs back and picked up his phone. An encrypted message was displayed on the screen.

The sender was Jack Martin.

[The bait has been taken. To appease Ava, the Rockefeller Family has opened up access to some offshore accounts. I've tracked three shell companies that are frantically selling off assets and transferring funds. That's Ouroboros's slush fund.]

Chen Mo's fingers tapped rapidly on the screen.

[Bite down hard. Short them with five times leverage. Make them hurt, but don't kill them. I want them to think this is the Rockefeller Family's retaliation, not an attack from a third party.]

[Understood. Also, tonight at the lincoln Memorial... I don't recommend you go.]

Chen Mo deleted the message and stuffed his phone back into his pocket. He stood up and grabbed the jacket from the back of his chair.

"Where are you going? The captain hasn't arrived yet," Miller called out.

"To see my cash cow." Chen Mo straightened his tie and flashed a standard, sycophantic smile in the mirror.

"She said she wants to go for a drive tonight. If I don't perform now, when will I?"

Walking out of the police station, the noisy streets rushed to meet him.

The smile on Chen Mo's face vanished instantly.

His pupils contracted slightly, his gaze sweeping over the nondescript black sedan parked at the street corner, and the man beside the newsstand pretending to read a newspaper.

That was Ouroboros's peripheral surveillance.

Like sharks that had caught the scent of blood, they were frantically searching for that mysterious "ghost."

But they were destined to never find it.

Because in their logic, the mastermind who could orchestrate all this could never be a tacky cop who bragged in the police station about how he swindled money from women.

Brooklyn Heights, safe house.

Old George was oiling an M110 sniper rifle; the barrel emitted the distinct, cold scent of gun oil.

Seeing Chen Mo push the door open and enter, he didn't even look up.

"You're crazy." George racked the bolt with a sharp clack-clack.

"That female agent is a moving target right now. The FBI is looking for her, Ouroboros is looking for her. You going to see her is the same as throwing yourself into a meat grinder."

Chen Mo took off his jacket, pulled a bottle of soda from the fridge, and twisted it open. The sound of the bubbles bursting was exceptionally clear in the quiet room.

"Ouroboros has initiated the purge protocol." Chen Mo took a swig of water, the icy liquid sliding down his throat.

"They want to cut off all leads. Jessica Vance is the last survivor."

"So we're going to save her?" George sneered. "Don't tell me you've fallen in love with her. That's not like you, Chen."

"Love? That's too expensive." Chen Mo walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking at the gloomy sky outside. The dark clouds hung low; a rainstorm was coming.

"She is a good blade, a blade sharpened to perfection by the system, yet abandoned by its master. If I don't catch her, she will snap. If I do catch her..."

Chen Mo turned around, his eyes devoid of any warmth, holding only a chilling calculation.

"She will become the sharpest dagger aimed at Ouroboros's heart."

George stopped what he was doing and looked at Chen Mo.

He suddenly felt that the young man in front of him was more terrifying than those agents who killed in the shadows.

Agents needed a reason to kill, but Chen Mo, he was weaving fate.

"They've definitely got snipers staked out there," George warned. "The lincoln Memorial, open ground, the Reflecting Pool—it's a perfect execution ground."

"I know." Chen Mo walked to the weapon rack, reached out to take the modified glock, checked the magazine, and chambered a round.

"That's why I have to go."

Chen Mo looked at the ominous black hole of the muzzle, his tone as calm as if he were discussing tonight's dinner.

"They think that's a funeral prepared for Jessica. In reality, it's a welcome gift I've prepared for them."

Outside, a bolt of lightning tore across the sky, and thunder rolled in. The rainstorm finally fell.