71: Chapter 71: There's no cure on Wall Street, only prices.

The rain was still falling, but the air in Washington had taken on a scent of disinfectant.

The black van had long since left the chaotic neighborhood, turning into an abandoned car wash.

Old George removed the license plate and tossed it into a barrel of strong acid nearby, watching the metal bubble and dissolve in the liquid.

Chen Mo sat on the toolbox in the back of the van, the intern coroner's outfit he had been wearing now stripped off and tossed aside.

He held the encrypted satellite phone in his hand, the blue light from the screen illuminating his expressionless face.

"Boss, I can't take it anymore, I'm actually going to throw up."

Jack Martin's hysterical voice came from the other end of the line, accompanied by the crisp, frantic clacking of a keyboard.

"Pfizer's stock is tanking, Morgan is selling off, the whole market is diving! Everyone is panic-selling because CNN just reported that the quarantine zone at Georgetown Hospital has tripled in size! This is literally the apocalypse!"

"It's not the apocalypse, Jack." Chen Mo fished a cigarette from his pocket. He didn't light it, just held it to his nose to sniff the tobacco. "It's a clearance sale."

"A clearance sale? You call this a clearance sale? Then what is a disaster?"

"A disaster is when you have cash in hand but can't buy anything of value. Right now, all high-quality assets are on discount."

Chen Mo glanced at the body bag at his feet, where the body of Patrick Gore lay quietly, like a gift waiting to be unwrapped. "Has the announcement for Atlas Medical gone out?"

"It's out! Sent five minutes ago!" Jack took a deep breath, seemingly forcing himself to calm down.

"Following your script, Atlas Medical announced that they extracted a similar antibody from bats a month ago and are currently conducting Phase I clinical trials with significant results. I even paid two Harvard Medical School professors to endorse it."

"Very good."

"Good my ass! This is just a shell company! Aside from that crappy lab we rented in Queens and a few centrifuges, we have nothing!"

Jack roared, "If the SEC finds out, I'll be rotting in prison for the rest of my life!"

"You won't go to prison." Chen Mo snapped the cigarette in half and tossed it into the puddle at his feet. "Because someone will be fighting to help us cover this lie."

He hung up the phone and dialed another number.

This time, it was answered after a single ring.

"I thought you would die in some corner of The Metropolitan Museum of Art or Georgetown University." Ava Rockefeller's voice sounded exhausted, with people arguing in the background.

"Sorry to disappoint you." Chen Mo leaned back, adjusting to a comfortable position.

"I hear the board of the Rockefeller Family is in session? Because of the plummeting tourism and aviation sectors?"

"They're going crazy." Ava lowered her voice.

"The family has a high stake in United Airlines and Marriott. If this pandemic lasts for a month, we'll lose over a billion dollars. Those old geezers are running around like headless chickens calling The White House, demanding they suppress the news."

"Suppression won't save the stock price, only an antidote can."

"An antidote?" Ava's breath hitched. "Do you really have one?"

"Atlas Medical." Chen Mo stated the name.

"It's the only small company in these chaotic times that dares to claim it has an inhibitor. Right now, its stock is at two dollars. In half an hour, it will be twenty."

There was silence on the other end for a few seconds.

"Is that your company?"

"That's not important." Chen Mo watched the curtain of rain outside the car window.

"What's important is that the Rockefeller Family needs a savior story to stabilize market confidence, and they also need this 'antidote' as a bargaining chip with the people on Capitol Hill. If you buy it, not only can you stop the losses, but you can also monopolize the future vaccine market."

"How much do you want?"

"It's not about what I want." Chen Mo smiled, a smile as cold as the rain outside.

"The market decides what it's worth. Tell your uncles that Atlas Medical has the complete data left behind by Dr. Hoffman. If they don't want Morgan or the DuPont family to beat them to it, they'd better act now."

"Are you trying to make me a lobbyist to help you sell this shell company to my own family?"

"No, I'm letting you earn credit." Chen Mo corrected her.

"You are the heir who, in a moment of crisis, had the foresight to find a lifeline for the family. Once this deal is done, your seat on the board will be secure."

"Deal." Ava didn't hesitate. "Give me ten minutes."

The call ended.

Chen Mo looked at Old George, who was wiping down a shotgun.

"Sometimes I think you're even darker than those people in 'The Council'." Old George held the barrel up to the light to inspect it.

"Taking a dead man's research, selling it to capitalists who want to cover up the truth, and making them grateful to you for it."

"That is Wall Street." Chen Mo stood up and stretched his stiff neck. "There is no antidote, only a price tag."

Fifteen minutes later.

Jack Martin called again.

This time he wasn't shouting; his voice was trembling as if he'd just snorted a kilo of cocaine.

"They're crazy... they're absolutely crazy..."

"Give me the numbers."

"The Rockefeller fund just initiated a hostile takeover bid! A four hundred percent premium! Immediately after, two offshore funds I don't recognize started following suit. The stock isn't just rising, it's taking off!"

Jack was panting on the other end. "Atlas Medical's market value has tripled thirty times in ten minutes! Our previous options... My God..."

"Sell everything." Chen Mo spat out the two words coldly.

"Wh...what? It's still rising! If we don't sell, we might..."

"I said, sell everything." Chen Mo cut him off.

"Dump the hot potato on Rockefeller. Once they buy the company, they'll naturally handle the FDA, handle the clinical data, and turn the lie we fabricated into the truth. We only take the cash."

"But..."

"Follow orders, Jack. Or I'll send the evidence of your past money laundering to the FBI right now."

There was a second of silence on the other end, followed immediately by the sound of frantic Enter-key tapping.

"All positions cleared." Jack's voice sounded drained.

"The funds are flowing back into the offshore accounts. We need to deduct the fees and taxes... and run it through three layers of cleaning..."

"Final number."

"Two hundred million." Jack swallowed hard. "Two hundred and fourteen million dollars. Cash. Clean."

Chen Mo looked at the brief transfer confirmation notification on his phone screen.

Two hundred million dollars.

On this stormy night, countless people were losing their families to the virus, and being displaced by panic.

And here, in this abandoned car wash, with a corpse and a stolen set of data, he had completed the first primitive accumulation of his capital empire.

"Let's go." He tucked his phone back into his pocket and patted Old George on the shoulder.

"It's time to give our new friend Jessica a makeover. This money is enough for us to make the 'Legacy' sign shine bright."