144: Chapter 144 The Five Great Families' Encirclement and Suppression, the Collapse of the Financial Empire

"I need to remind the Host that third-tier personal memory modification involves directly altering the memories of independent individuals who actually exist in the real world. The cost..."

"Quote the price." Zhang Yi interrupted it.

After a slight pause, the system reported the price: "300,000 emotion points."

"Because it involves third-tier modification, the level of intervention in the real world this time is far higher than the first two tiers, which only modified files and objects. Therefore, the price..."

"Paid."

The system fell silent again.

No haggling,

No "Why don't you just go rob someone?",

No "You don't have to fleece a rich guy like this,"

No "I'm just a homeless drifter; I just spent 12 million today, isn't 300,000 a bit too much now?"...

Nothing.

Just a clean and decisive "Paid."

The system didn't know what was wrong with the Host today, but it instinctively sensed something unusual.

In fact, Zhang Yi was still the same Zhang Yi,

but this time, he wanted to settle every account with UnitedHealth Group, starting from the time they deducted the insurance policy for his predecessor's mother's cancer,

and Solomon Crane, the ultimate controller of UnitedHealth Group, sitting in the study of the main mansion of the Crane Family estate, was about to be surrounded from the front by The Five Great Families in a few minutes.

Anything related to his mother's life left no room for haggling!

...

New York State, North Shore of Long Island, Gold Coast, Crane Family estate.

This estate, covering nearly twenty acres, was situated on a promontory slightly protruding into the sea on the south shore of the Long Island Sound.

The main mansion was a sandstone building in a pseudo-Tudor style,

with spires, high chimneys, and diamond-pane windows.

Seen from the front, it looked like an English country castle transplanted to the New World.

But at this moment, the person in the study lacked any aristocratic composure.

Solomon Crane stood behind the walnut desk he had used for nearly sixty years, his hands pressing hard against the desktop.

Outside the window, the circular driveway that used to be filled with bulletproof sedans of visiting dignitaries was now empty, and even the usual security patrol vehicles were nowhere to be seen.

He looked up at the black-and-white photograph on the wall of himself with three former presidents in the Oval Office.

When taking the photo, every president had leaned slightly toward him, smiling with extreme deference.

Then, Solomon withdrew his gaze and stared back at the row of encrypted phones on the desk that refused to connect no matter how many times he called.

From the moment the 200,000 Space Fleet appeared over the Hoover Dam, everything changed.

He had always believed that he was the true Deep State of the Lighthouse Country.

From the moment his father took him into that field tent in 1947 and he saw two cockroach-shaped Aliens corpses lying on a folding table with his own eyes, he had never doubted this.

The Crane Family monopolized the only real Alien specimens on Earth, controlled the campaign funding chain for every president of the White House, and possessed a global invisible power network consisting of 3,000 offshore accounts and 400 shell companies.

But that night, the silver-gray fleet that poured out of the spatial rift made him fully realize one fact:

Someone on this planet had been researching Alien technology earlier, deeper, and disproportionately stronger than him!

And he knew nothing about those people.

Immediately afterward, π = 3 smashed down from the sky, and the nation's top scientists collectively collapsed within a few short hours. What he had always assumed—"I have exclusive possession of Alien secrets"—was slapped into pieces by a series of blows.

But he truly realized his loss of power from the moment Madeleine and Sawyer stopped answering his calls.

The previously spineless puppet president suddenly seemed like a different person:

He had opinions, courage, and decisiveness. No one was dozing off and drooling in the Oval Office anymore, and no one needed an assistant to quietly wipe saliva from the corner of his mouth on the side.

And the two White House staffers who relayed orders for him, Madeleine and Sawyer, had not proactively reported any information to him since the Hoover Dam incident.

When he called, the other side would either not answer or pick up, exchange a few pleasantries, and then hang up in a hurry, as if dealing with a retired senior who was about to pass away.

He could not let this situation continue.

He had to grasp the supreme power of the White House back into his hands!

But when Solomon began to call other Jewish Financial Groups:

That old partner at Goldman Sachs, that Jewish chairman of the Manhattan Real Estate Fund, those old colleagues in the Federal Reserve who had accumulated gold reserves with him since the oil crisis of the 1970s...

Every call was a busy signal.

No one hung up, nor were they out of service; after ringing a few times, it automatically transferred to voicemail,

and then no one ever called back.

Everyone was avoiding him.

Everyone!

He put down the phone, picked up the private encrypted terminal on the desk that he never left his side, and pressed the emergency communication key for the estate's security commander.

Solomon adjusted his suit collar, walked out from behind the walnut desk, and walked along the private passage on the side of the study toward the estate's basement.

His pace was still steady, and there was no anger or despair on his face, but the muscles of his jaw were tighter than ever before.

...

East wing of the estate, heated pool area.

Solomon's only son, Jasper Crane, was lying on an inflatable float,

surrounded by a dozen supermodels from Eastern Europe and South America. In the champagne bucket by the pool were five unopened bottles of Dom Pérignon.

Jasper was twenty-eight this year and had inherited the Crane Family's signature high cheekbones and thin lips,

but in those eyes, there was none of the cold sharpness of his father,

only a mindless indulgence in alcohol, women, and everything that could be bought with money.

He was pulling a blonde model who had slipped off the inflatable float back into his arms, splashing water all over another dark-haired model next to them.

Just at this moment,

a manor security guard in a black suit stumbled into the pool area.

His face was as pale as the white tiles of the pool wall, and his soles slipped twice on the terrazzo floor before he barely managed to steady himself.

"Mr. Jasper!"

"The Rockefeller, Astor, DuPont, Rothschild, and Vanderbilt, The Five Great Families, have all arrived!"

"A large number of armed men have broken through the outer perimeter defense! They are now heading in..."

Before he could finish speaking, a burst of dense gunfire came from the distance,

followed by a muffled explosion,

and the crystal chandelier hanging above the pool water shook left and right from the shock.

The security guard used his last bit of professional training to squeeze out the rest of his words, trembling:

"They... they are killing everyone they see, like they've gone mad!"

"Mr. Solomon has ordered you to go to the estate basement immediately!!"