183: Chapter 183 The Taste of Poison

Manhattan, New York, the penthouse suite of the Peninsula Hotel.

A silenced muzzle was pressed against his forehead. The coldness of the metal seeped through his skin.

Wang Hao held up his hands. He didn't panic.

The interface of the [God-level Scavenging System] in his mind was glowing. An "Absolute Defense Shield" worth five hundred points had been activated. A faint shimmer, invisible to the naked eye, covered his body.

“Go back and tell your master,” Wang Hao stared at the assassin disguised as room service, “No matter how deep the waters of Wall Street are, they won't drown a true dragon.”

The assassin didn't waste words and pulled the trigger directly.

“Bang!”

A muffled gunshot rang out in the suite.

The bullet stopped half an inch from Wang Hao's forehead and fell onto the wool carpet.

The assassin froze. He looked at Wang Hao as if he were a monster, then turned and rushed out of the room, leaving even the food cart behind.

Wang Hao brushed the dust off his suit. He walked to the coffee table and picked up the transfer contract for the Prometheus cardiovascular patent library.

“Chen Fan, Chen Muyang.” Wang Hao sneered, “Huihuang Group might be all-powerful in Yunzhou, but on Wall Street, you're not even fit to shine my shoes.”

He was once a bankrupt second-generation rich kid in Yunzhou. Hounded by loan sharks and dumped by his fiancée. Until half a month ago, when he unexpectedly awakened the system.

In just over ten days, he had used the scavenging information provided by the system to amass a fortune in the stock market and auction houses. This time, he had even directly intercepted the core assets that Huihuang Group had their eyes on.

Two days passed.

Wang Hao sat in the CEO's office of a Grade A office building on Wall Street.

He had just used the system to split and license three peripheral patents. Four hundred million dollars was already sitting in his offshore account.

“The protagonist of this era can only be me.” Wang Hao picked up his coffee cup, filled with self-satisfaction.

Before his voice could fade.

The solid wood door of the CEO's office was kicked open.

Twelve fully armed FBI agents rushed in with assault rifles. Countless red laser sights landed on Wang Hao's chest.

“Don't move! Hands behind your head!” the senior FBI agent leading the team shouted.

Several agents rushed forward and pinned Wang Hao down on the desk. Cold handcuffs were immediately locked around his wrists.

Following them, five IRS officials in dark blue suits entered the office.

The lead tax official took out a thick document and slapped it directly onto Wang Hao's face.

“Mr. Wang Hao, the Prometheus cardiovascular patent library under your name is suspected of three counts of international tax fraud and carries twenty billion dollars in hidden liquidated damages.” The tax official's voice was flat. “Including fines, you currently owe the federal government thirty billion dollars.”

Wang Hao's face was pressed against the cold tabletop. The coffee cup was overturned, and the brown liquid spilled everywhere.

“You've got it wrong!” Wang Hao screamed, the veins on his neck bulging, “I only bought this patent library two days ago! Those tax issues have nothing to do with me!”

“The contract is clear in black and white.” The tax official flipped to the last page and pointed at the signature, “You took over all the assets and liabilities of this Prometheus department. Take him away!”

Two FBI agents hauled Wang Hao up and dragged him out.

Wang Hao frantically called out to the system in his mind.

[System Notification: The target asset has irreparable underlying loopholes. Host faces a bankruptcy crisis.]

Wang Hao panicked completely. He struggled desperately.

“Let me make a phone call! I know President Pete of Wall Street!” Wang Hao shouted.

An agent pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Pete's number for him.

The phone rang only once.

“We're sorry, the number you have dialed is not in service.”

The mechanical prompt was exceptionally piercing in the quiet hallway.

Wang Hao felt as if he had fallen into an ice cellar. He realized that Pete was just a broker who had dug a pit for him.

Outside the office building.

A black rolls-royce phantom was parked by the roadside.

The window was halfway down. Chen Muyang sat in the back seat, holding a Leica camera.

He pressed the shutter.

In the lens, Wang Hao was being escorted out of the building by two tall FBI agents and shoved into a police car. He looked utterly pathetic.

Chen Muyang put down the camera. He picked up the tablet next to him and sent the photo to Chen Fan.

“Dad, the trash has been sent to the recycling bin,” Chen Muyang sent a voice message.

A debt of thirty billion dollars was enough to make Wang Hao rot in prison.

The phone screen lit up. It was a WeChat message.

Lin Wanqiu: [I heard you gave up on the Prometheus patent library? You didn't run into any trouble, did you?]

Chen Muyang looked at the name on the screen. His slender fingers tapped on the keyboard.

[Everything is under control.]

He tossed the phone onto the seat and ordered the driver, “To the airport. We're going home.”

Inside the police car.

Wang Hao, handcuffed, was squeezed into the back seat with two agents.

His head was lowered, and his eyes were bloodshot.

This was definitely a trap set by Chen Fan and his son. They had known all along that the patent library was a death trap and intentionally let him jump in.

“Chen Fan, I will never lose to you.” Wang Hao clenched his teeth.

He moved his fingers with difficulty and pulled a pure black business card from a hidden layer in his inner pocket.

There was no text on the card, only a dark gold hexagram pattern.

This was a life-saving item included in the novice gift pack when he awakened the system.

Avoiding the agents' gaze, Wang Hao used his handcuffed hands to laboriously dial the encrypted European number on the back of the card.

The call went through.

An old voice with a heavy British accent came through.

“Ross Family, at your service.”

Wang Hao lowered his voice, his tone urgent: “Get me out of here! As long as you can help me settle things with the IRS, I'm willing to do anything for you!”

There was silence on the other end for two seconds.

“Very well,” the old voice replied, “Tomorrow morning, we will send someone to bail you out. In exchange, you need to return to China and do something for us.”

Wang Hao's eyes lit up as if he were grasping at a life-saving straw: “What is it?”

“Xishan Rare Earth Mine.” The other party threw out a name, “We need a clean Chinese identity to help us secure it. The bidding for the Xishan Rare Earth Mine is tomorrow; you will enter the field with funding.”

The police car drove into the FBI's underground garage.

Wang Hao hung up the phone, crumpled the black business card into a ball, and stuffed it into the gap in the seat.

The old European financial tycoon, the Ross Family.

Wang Hao leaned back against the seat. Chen Fan, you think you've won? When I return to China backed by the Ross Family, it will be the end of your Huihuang Group.

“Officer.” Wang Hao looked up at the agent driving in the front, “I want to see my lawyer. Tell them that people from the Ross Family will be here soon.”