79: Chapter 79 The First Victim

This rain really came at a bad time.

New York's drainage system is just like the city's moral bottom line; it collapses under the slightest pressure.

A greasy film of water had accumulated on the asphalt of 57th Street, reflecting colorful halos when the headlights hit it.

Paul Pierce floored the accelerator.

The black Audi A8 rampaged through the curtain of rain like a startled wild boar.

"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!"

He pounded the steering wheel frantically while roaring into his Bluetooth headset, "Pick up! Susan! Pick up the phone!"

There was only a busy signal on the other end.

He glanced into the rearview mirror.

Two black SUVs without license plates were biting at his tail, less than twenty meters away, like two vicious dogs that couldn't be shaken off.

He knew who they were.

They were a "Bad Debt Cleanup Crew" from the bank.

He used to be the one signing the orders for these people to deal with the poor devils who couldn't pay their debts, but now, it was his turn to become the "bad debt."

"Bang!" A muffled thud.

The rear of the Audi was slammed hard, and the entire vehicle instantly lost its balance, sliding to the right.

Paul frantically jerked the steering wheel in terror, but on such a slick road, this only accelerated the loss of control.

The car spun twice like a top, crossed the median, and slammed hard into a thick streetlight pole.

Boom!

The moment the airbag deployed, Paul felt his nasal bone break. Warm blood smeared over his eyes.

He tried to unbuckle his seatbelt, but the car door was severely deformed and couldn't be pushed open at all.

Through the shattered windshield, he saw the two SUVs stop.

The doors opened, and three men in raincoats stepped out.

They didn't rush over but stood by the side of the road, one of them leisurely lighting a cigarette.

Then, another person took a red plastic bucket out of the car.

Gasoline.

Paul pounded on the car window in despair, opening his mouth wide to call for help, but his voice was swallowed by the sound of the rain and the ringing in his ears.

The man carrying the gasoline bucket walked over.

Just then, a piercing siren tore through the curtain of rain.

The red and blue police lights flashed wildly on the water-logged road as a police car roared over, executing a beautiful drift to cut between the Audi and the three men.

"NYPD! Raise your hands!"

The door pushed open, and a detective in a trench coat soaked by the rain rushed out, gun drawn.

The three men froze for a moment.

The leader threw away his cigarette butt and reached into his coat.

"Bang!" A gunshot rang out.

A spray of blood erupted from the leader's shoulder, and the impact of the bullet sent him staggering back two steps.

"I said, raise your hands!"

Chen Mo held his gun with both hands, the muzzle as steady as if it were welded into the air.

His gaze was colder than this freezing rainy night.

"This is your last warning. Next time, I'll blow your head off."

It was a standard warning, but the undisguised murderous intent in his tone froze the three men.

Was this just a passing patrol officer?

Hell, what patrol officer could shoot this accurately in this kind of weather?

More sirens approached from the distance.

"Retreat!" The leader growled through gritted teeth, clutching his shoulder.

The three quickly scrambled back into the SUV, tires spinning and smoking against the ground before disappearing into the rain.

Chen Mo did not pursue.

He holstered his gun and walked over to the Audi, which was emitting white smoke.

Paul Pierce inside the car was no longer moving.

The impact had caused severe internal bleeding, and combined with extreme shock, his life was fading away rapidly.

"Save... save me..."

Seeing Chen Mo's Asian face, Paul looked as if he had seen an angel, his blood-stained fingers weakly scratching at the glass.

Chen Mo smashed the car window with his baton.

Shards of glass splattered all over Paul.

"Paul Pierce, Credit Department Manager of Astor Bank."

Chen Mo didn't call an ambulance; instead, he pulled a pack of tissues from his pocket and leisurely wiped the rainwater off his hands.

"You... you know me?" Paul's pupils began to dilate.

"Of course. I was wondering who lost that ledger. Turns out it was a loser like you."

Chen Mo reached his hand into the car window and pressed it against Paul's carotid artery.

Not for first aid.

"Don't worry, the pain will end soon." Chen Mo's voice was very soft, yet terrifyingly clear in the noisy, rainy night.

"I will collect your value for you."

[Ding! Dying target detected...]

[Extracting...]

Paul's body convulsed violently; his eyes, filled with fear, stared fixedly at Chen Mo. His last breath caught in his throat, turning into eternal silence.

A massive stream of information rushed into Chen Mo's brain through his fingertips.

It was countless financial statements, K-line charts, and complex offshore account operating procedures.

It was the experience of a top-tier banker for half a lifetime.

And one more... a secret that made his whole body go cold.

Chen Mo closed his eyes, digesting this stream of information.

A few seconds later, he opened his eyes, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile devoid of any warmth.

[Skill Acquired: Intermediate Financial Audit (Green)]

[Description: You can see through those whitewashed financial reports at a glance, just like seeing through a naked whore. Any anomalies in capital flow appear as clear as a searchlight in the night sky to you.]

But this was just an appetizer.

The real "main course" was the most intense thought Paul had before he died.

It was a phone call he had overheard ten minutes before the car accident occurred.

Chen Mo stood up straight, watching the police cars and ambulances that arrived shortly after to surround the scene.

Chief Sullivan jumped out of the car, his expression turning ugly when he saw the corpse.

"Dead?"

"Dead." Chen Mo shoved his hands into his trench coat pockets, feeling the still-warm lighter.

"A car accident, or rather... a 'caused' accident."

"These big shots and their shitty business again." Chief Sullivan spat. "Do you know who this is?"

"I do." Chen Mo turned around, looking at the Astor Bank building looming in the rain and mist in the distance.

"This is a severed leg of Lawrence Astor."

He saw a very interesting piece of information in Paul's brain.

Tonight, at ten o'clock.

Lawrence Astor will meet someone at the "Metropolitan Private Club" in the Upper East Side.

A Russian named Ivanov.

That Russian doesn't have vodka in his hand, but he has money. A lot, a lot of money.

That is the last straw Lawrence will use to fill the forty-million-dollar hole in the Latin American bonds.

"Chief, I'll take this case." Chen Mo said to Chief Sullivan.

"You?" Chief Sullivan frowned. "This obviously involves..."

"It involves a two-hundred-million-dollar business." Chen Mo interrupted him, his voice audible only to the two of them.

Chief Sullivan froze for a moment, then shut his mouth.

Chen Mo patted the Chief's shoulder and turned to walk towards his Porsche.

"Help me handle the field report; just say it was... drunk driving."

The rain was still falling.

But in Chen Mo's eyes, this wasn't rain at all.

This was clearly green banknotes raining down from the sky.