84: Chapter 84 The Fall of the Penthouse

The thunderstorm over Manhattan was more violent than the forecast had predicted.

Purple-white lightning tore open the night sky over the Chelsea district, followed by a low, rumbling sound, as if a giant were beating drums in the clouds.

Rain lashed against the bulletproof glass of the Astor Building, a pitter-patter that grated on the nerves.

Lawrence Astor was in no mood to appreciate this apocalyptic scene.

The helmsman of Astor Bank was kneeling on the floor, his knees chafing against the expensive Persian rug until it grew warm.

He clutched a bottle of Louis XIII in his hand; the neck of the bottle struck the marble coffee table and shattered, sending amber liquid and shards of glass everywhere.

The flames in the fireplace leaped high, devouring stack after stack of documents.

Those were the private accounts of his dealings with Ivanov, every page of which was enough to keep him behind bars for life.

"Burn faster... faster..."

Lawrence muttered neurotically, his trembling hands grabbing a handful of documents and shoving them into the fire.

The firelight reflected off his twisted face, which was slick with cold sweat.

Click.

A soft sound, lighter than the thunder, heavier than a heartbeat.

It was the sound of the balcony's floor-to-ceiling window latch springing open.

Lawrence whipped his head around, his neck letting out a sharp crack.

The gale, carrying rain, instantly poured in; the flames in the fireplace dimmed, and the paper ash in the room was swept up, dancing chaotically like a swarm of gray moths.

A dark shadow stood by the window.

He wore a soaked black windbreaker and a windproof mask, the kind seen everywhere in New York, leaving only his eyes exposed.

Those eyes were calm, so calm they looked like they were observing a dead pig that had just been scalded with boiling water.

"Goo... good evening, Mr. Astor."

The man's voice was somewhat hoarse; his age was indistinguishable.

He held no gun, only a waterproof document bag in his hand.

Lawrence wanted to scream, but it felt as if his throat were stuffed with cotton.

He scrambled backward toward the desk, fumbling frantically to reach for the gold-plated pistol in the drawer.

"Don't bother."

The dark shadow walked over, his military boots crunching on the broken glass and spilled liquor.

He tossed the document bag onto the coffee table and pulled up a chair, sitting down as if he were back in his own home.

"There's no ammunition in that gun. Your bodyguard, Anton, removed the firing pin last night—incidentally, he took fifty thousand dollars from me."

Lawrence's hand froze on the drawer handle.

He collapsed to the floor, as if his spine had been pulled out.

"Who... who are you? Do you want money? I have money! There's five million in cash in the safe! And..."

"Sign."

The dark shadow interrupted him, pointing at the document bag on the coffee table.

Lawrence crawled over, trembling, and pulled out the documents inside.

By the flickering firelight, he made out the title: "Letter of Intent for Equity Transfer."

The transferee was an offshore company he had never heard of, but the date...

"Three days ago?" Lawrence looked up, his eyes glazed.

"Yes, three days ago." The dark shadow pulled a fountain pen from his pocket, uncapped it, and handed it over.

"Back then, you hadn't made such a mess of this disaster, and you weren't on the FBI's radar yet. This transaction looks... quite legal."

"This is... this is robbery..."

"This is loss mitigation." The dark shadow stood up, walked over to Lawrence, and looked down at him.

"Sign it, and your family will receive a decent trust fund, enough for them to live out the rest of their lives in the south of France. If you don't, the things this fire can't burn will be on the front page of The New York Times tomorrow morning."

The dark shadow paused, then added, "Including your VIP membership records for that Lolita Island club on St. Kitts."

Lawrence's face turned deathly gray in an instant.

He snatched the pen, the nib tearing through the paper.

He signed quickly, so quickly it was as if he were trying to scratch his own name out of this godforsaken world.

"Done... done." Lawrence pushed the documents back, panting like a dog. "You have it, now get out! Get out of my house!"

The dark shadow took the documents, checked the signature carefully, and nodded in satisfaction.

He stuffed the documents back into the waterproof bag and zipped it up.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Astor."

The dark shadow walked to the edge of the balcony and pushed open the glass door, which had been banging in the wind.

The torrential rain instantly soaked half his body.

"You can leave..." Lawrence slumped on the floor, his face smeared with tears and snot. "God bless... you can leave..."

"Leave?"

The dark shadow turned back, a hint of mockery in his eyes.

"Mr. Astor, I think you've misunderstood. I came to get the documents, and you are going to... fly."

"What?" Lawrence froze.

The dark shadow didn't waste any more words.

He strode back, grabbed Lawrence by the collar, and hoisted him up like a chick.

"No, you promised! I've already signed!"

"I promised to leave your family some money, not to leave you breathing."

The dark shadow dragged him across the rug, Lawrence's heels tearing the expensive carpet to shreds.

"Suicide out of fear of punishment—that's a good ending." The dark shadow pushed him to the edge of the balcony, and the rain instantly drenched them both.

"Decent, tragic, and it will even earn your daughter quite a bit of sympathy."

"Please... I have money... I know secrets... Bern Bank..."

The dark shadow leaned into his ear, his voice as light as the wind. "I will go get them myself."

He let go.

"Ah——————"

The scream was swallowed by the thunder.

A few seconds later, a dull "thud" came from downstairs.

It was the sound of a human body slamming onto the roof of the lincoln limousine parked at the entrance of the Astor Building.

The dark shadow stood by the railing and looked down.

Below, it was utter chaos; sirens and screams were mixed together.

He pulled a high-strength cable from his waist, hooked it onto the railing, leaned back, and glided into the darkness like a giant bat.

...

Three minutes later.

Below the Astor Building.

The police cars hadn't arrived yet; only the building's security guards were surrounding the crushed lincoln, their faces pale with terror.

An Asian man in plain clothes, wearing a police badge, pushed through the crowd.

He held a walkie-talkie and looked serious.

"Move aside, NYPD, everyone back, protect the scene!"

Chen Mo flashed his badge in front of the security captain, giving him no chance to see it clearly.

He strode across the police tape and walked over to the twisted corpse.

Lawrence's eyes were still open, staring fixedly at the rain-washed night sky.

Chen Mo crouched down and placed his fingers on Lawrence's still-warm carotid artery, pretending to check for a pulse.

"This is truly tragic," he muttered, but in his mind, that pleasant chime sounded.

[Ding! Target contacted: Recently deceased financial tycoon.]

[Extraction successful!]

[Skill Acquired: Master of Capital Operations (Blue · Rare) — You have mastered leveraged buyouts, cracking poison pill plans, and constructing offshore financial labyrinths. The rules of Wall Street are child's play in your eyes.]

[Item Acquired: Anonymous Safe Deposit Key for Bern Bank, Switzerland (Virtual/Physical Dual Authentication) — It contains the fig leaves of all the board members of that bank.]

Chen Mo withdrew his hand, stood up, and wiped non-existent blood off his pants.

He watched the police cars screaming toward them from the distance and twitched the corner of his mouth.

The entry ticket had been acquired.