68: Chapter 68 American-Style Interception

Just as Zhao Guofu's car entered the ramp for the airport highway, the traffic ahead suddenly slowed down.

He frowned and decelerated to follow the flow.

In the rearview mirror, a black Mercedes GLS had pulled up behind him at some point, its front bumper less than two meters from his.

Zhao Guofu's heart skipped a beat, and he instinctively changed lanes to the right, trying to shake it off.

But the Mercedes followed him like a shadow, clinging steadily to his right rear.

Zhao Guofu's palms began to sweat.

He slammed on the gas, and the car roared forward, the speedometer needle instantly surging past 120.

But before he could catch his breath, a silver-gray Toyota Prado suddenly swerved out from the ramp exit ahead.

Its front end cut sharply into his lane, forcing him to jerk the steering wheel as his tires let out a piercing screech.

"Bang!"

Before he could straighten the wheel, the Mercedes behind him had already slammed into his rear left side.

Zhao Guofu's car shook violently, careening out of control toward the road shoulder.

He gripped the steering wheel tightly and slammed the brakes to the floor; the car's body scraped against the guardrail, sending out a shower of blinding sparks before finally coming to a crooked halt in the emergency lane.

The airbag deployed, striking him hard in the chest and face.

Zhao Guofu's ears rang, and his vision repeatedly went dark.

He struggled to push the door open, but it was deformed and jammed shut.

The passenger door was wrenched open from the outside.

Zheng Yong's face appeared before him, expressionless like a statue.

"Mr. Zhao, get out of the car."

Zhao Guofu's lips trembled, his voice sounding as if it were squeezed through his teeth. "Old Zheng... you..."

Zheng Yong didn't reply; he reached in and dragged him out of the driver's seat.

As soon as Zhao Guofu's legs hit the ground, they gave way, and he collapsed onto the asphalt.

A patch of skin on his forehead had been scraped raw by the airbag, and blood trickled down his eyebrow, mixing with sweat to drip onto the gray road.

"Where's the USB drive?" Zheng Yong crouched down, his tone as calm as if he were asking about a trivial matter.

Zhao Guofu's whole body jolted, and he instinctively clutched his chest.

Zheng Yong's gaze fell on the position of his fingers. He sighed softly, reached into Zhao's collar, tore through the stitching of the inner pocket with his fingernails, and pinched out the small USB drive.

Zhao Guofu watched helplessly as Zheng Yong put the USB drive into his pocket, his last shred of hope crushed to dust.

His shoulders began to shake violently, and a muffled sob escaped his throat.

"Chairman Zhou said," Zheng Yong stood up, looking down at him, "that you should go back. It's better to explain some things in person."

Two attendants flanked him, hoisting him up and stuffing him into the back seat of the Mercedes.

Zhao Guofu slumped onto the leather seat, feeling as though all the strength had been drained from his body.

The car started up again, made a U-turn, and drove away from the airport highway.

In the rearview mirror, his mangled car sat lonely by the roadside, its hazard lights still blinking feebly like a dying eye.

He didn't ask where they were going, nor did he ask what awaited him.

After ten years, he knew Zhou Wanquan all too well.

That man never did anything without preparation, and he never did anything without a sense of proportion.

Today's PIT stop—the speed, the angle, the timing—every step had been calculated perfectly.

There were no casualties, the traffic police hadn't been alerted, and even passing vehicles hadn't slowed down.

That was the most despair-inducing part.

In front of Zhou Wanquan, he didn't even have the right to run away.

The car didn't head back to Wantai Building.

By the time Zhao Guofu realized the route was wrong, the scenery outside the window had changed from a business district of skyscrapers to a desolate suburban fringe.

Dusty factory buildings, abandoned construction sites, and sparse roadside trees flashed past the window one by one.

His heart sank bit by bit.

Finally, the car turned into an abandoned logistics park.

The corrugated iron gates were covered in rust, and the guardhouse was empty.

Several scrapped trucks were parked in the park, covered in dust and bird droppings.

In the innermost warehouse, the roller shutter door was halfway open, revealing a dim yellow light inside.

The two attendants dragged him out of the car, hauling the stumbling Zhao Guofu into the warehouse.

The warehouse was empty, except for an iron chair placed in the center with several nylon zip ties hanging from its back.

Broken tiles and rusty iron parts were scattered on the ground, and the air was thick with the smell of mold.

Zheng Yong walked to the side of the chair, turned around, and looked at him calmly.

"Mr. Zhao, Chairman Zhou's meaning is that some things are inconvenient to discuss outside. Discussing them here saves everyone the trouble."

Zhao Guofu's legs began to go weak, and he was practically forced down into the chair.

The attendants expertly used the zip ties to bind his hands behind the armrests and then tied his ankles.

The plastic ties bit into his flesh, causing sharp pain.

"Old Zheng..." Zhao Guofu's voice was trembling. "I've followed Chairman Zhou for ten years... please, plead for me..."

Zheng Yong didn't respond; he simply took a black rubber baton from an attendant and weighed it in his hand.

The rubber baton was heavy, and the handle was worn smooth and shiny, clearly not having been used for the first time.

"Mr. Zhao, Chairman Zhou asked me to ask you something."

"He said you've followed him for ten years, and in what way has he ever mistreated you? Shares, dividends, trust—you've never lacked any of it. Why would you do this to him?"

Zhao Guofu's lips quivered, and tears began to flow again. "I... I was possessed... I..."

"Chairman Zhou also said,"

Zheng Yong interrupted him, his voice still calm. "He knows you owe five million in high-interest loans outside, with the interest compounding. He also knows your wife has her eye on that river-view apartment for twelve million. He even knows your son is going to study abroad next year, which is another significant sum."

Zhao Guofu's body began to shake violently.

"If you had spoken to Chairman Zhou about these things, would he have helped you?" Zheng Yong's tone was like casual conversation. "Tell me yourself, would he?"

"...Yes," Zhao Guofu's voice was as small as a mosquito's hum.

"Then why did you steal?"

Silence.

Zhao Guofu hung his head, his tears hitting the ground one by one, creating tiny pits in the dust.

Zheng Yong stood up and took a step back, his voice suddenly becoming devoid of any emotion. "Mr. Zhao, Chairman Zhou said that while the matters on the books are settled, the matters of personal sentiment are not. Betrayal must have a price."

As soon as he finished speaking, the rubber baton came down with a whistle.

The first blow landed on Zhao Guofu's left shoulder.

The collision of bone and rubber produced a dull thud, like someone hitting a bag of wet sand with a hammer.

Zhao Guofu let out a blood-curdling scream, his whole body tilting to the right as the chair shook, producing a harsh metallic grating sound.

"This one is for Chairman Zhou's trust."

The second blow hit his upper left arm.

Zhao Guofu's scream echoed through the empty warehouse, startling several unknown birds in the corners.

He could no longer lift his left hand; his entire arm felt as if it had been scorched by fire, the pain causing his vision to whiten in waves.

"This one is for Wantai's ten years of nurturing."