30: Chapter 30 Medellín Cartel! Corrupt Cops?

On the drive back, only Shaun, Madison, and Cordelia were still awake.

Madison leaned against the passenger seat, her eyes half-closed; it was unclear if she was truly sleepy or just pretending to sleep.

Yet her hand remained resting on Shaun's arm; she hadn't moved it since they got in the car.

It was a rather dangerous move, but as an experienced driver, Shaun wasn't much affected, so he didn't say anything.

Shaun glanced at the rearview mirror and locked eyes with Cordelia.

She was looking at him too.

Her gaze was calm, but Shaun knew what she was thinking.

What he had done at Hill Manor earlier wasn't something an ordinary person could accomplish, nor could it be explained away by a simple awakening of magical power.

Fortunately, Cordelia didn't ask anything.

Shaun was silent for a moment, thinking that today was a good opportunity, so he suddenly spoke up.

"Cordelia, there's something I want to ask you."

Cordelia nodded. "Go ahead."

"Frank Gallagher, the missing person I mentioned to Madison. Reddish-brown hair, in his fifties, the type who is full of hot air. Have you seen him?"

Cordelia thought for a moment and shook her head. "No, no strangers have come to the manor these past few days. If there had been, I would have known."

Shaun's heart sank.

He had still been holding onto a glimmer of hope.

Perhaps Frank had stumbled into the manor by accident, and some witch had either saved him or locked him up.

Although that didn't sound like a good thing, it was at least better than him being missing.

But now, Cordelia said she hadn't seen him.

Then where on earth had Frank gone?

Seeing how serious Shaun was, Cordelia felt that this Frank must be very important to him, so her expression became a little more serious as well.

She replied, "I will keep an eye out for you. If that person named Frank appears near the manor, or if there is any movement nearby, I will let you know."

Shaun looked at her through the rearview mirror. "Thank you."

Cordelia smiled.

"You're welcome. You helped Nell, and you helped us. This is the least I should do."

Unable to get any information about Frank from Cordelia, Shaun was naturally a bit down.

However, the thrill of surviving the ordeal quickly extinguished that feeling of disappointment.

...

Shaun had intended to go back and rest for a full day to process the battle that had taken place that night.

As it turned out, the moment Shaun parked the car under his apartment building, he saw a familiar black SUV parked across the roadside.

Ballard was leaning against the car door with her arms crossed, her face devoid of any expression.

Shaun had been a police officer for three months; he might not be an expert in other things, but he knew how to read facial expressions.

The look on Ballard's face meant: You're dead meat.

Madison leaned over from the passenger seat, took a look outside, and clicked her tongue. "Oh, your stone-faced partner has come looking for you. Her expression doesn't look too good. Didn't you report to her last night?"

Shaun ignored her and pushed the car door open to get out.

In the backseat, Nell was still asleep. Cordelia gently pressed down on her shoulder and nodded at Shaun.

"Go on, we'll head back ourselves."

Shaun closed the car door and walked toward Ballard.

After taking just two steps, Ballard spoke up. "Where did you go last night?"

Her voice was calm, but Shaun could hear what was underneath it...

Ballard's tone... it wasn't a question; it was an interrogation.

To be honest, given Ballard's brisk and decisive personality, it would be hard for anyone to get along with her.

Shaun had already been through a hell of a night, so he responded testily, "Working a case."

Unfortunately, Ballard was not one to back down, and she immediately asked, "What case?"

Shaun definitely couldn't talk about the Hill Manor incident.

So he lied straight to her face. "I had an informant contact me in the middle of the night."

Ballard narrowed her eyes.

"An informant."

"Yes."

"What kind of informant asks you out in the middle of the night, keeps you until dawn, and brings so many people along?"

Shaun couldn't answer that, so he simply didn't say anything.

Ballard stared at him for three seconds.

Then, seemingly realizing that Shaun had no intention of speaking, she looked away, opened the passenger door, took out a document, and tossed it to Shaun. "Get in."

Great!

Judging by this, there was no chance of sleep!

Helplessly, Shaun took the document, opened the back door, and sat inside.

Ballard sat in the driver's seat and started the engine.

The car drove out of the block.

Shaun flipped open the document.

The first page was a bank statement.

White's account.

He saw the source of the fifty-thousand-dollar deposit, but the sender for every transaction was a name Shaun had never heard of.

"Tropical Americas Import and Export Company"

Shaun looked up.

"What is this?"

"A shell company. It's registered in Miami, but the source of the funds is... Colombia."

Good grief!

They've even taken this international!

I knew this case wasn't simple at all!

Shaun muttered to himself, a vague sense of unease stirring in his heart.

He turned his head and asked, "Colombia? Could it be drug lords?"

Ballard glanced at him through the rearview mirror and replied, "It's more than just simple drug lords. The technical team traced the background of this company and discovered it has an indirect connection to the Medellín Cartel."

The Medellín Cartel!

This cartel was one of the largest drug-trafficking terrorist organizations in the world, which rose in Colombia during the 1970s and 1980s.

Led by Pablo Escobar, at its peak, it almost monopolized the global cocaine trade. Its power was so vast and its methods so brutal that even the American Mafia paled in comparison.

But the problem is...

This cartel should have been wiped out in the nineties, so why is this name still popping up?

But this thought flashed through Shaun's mind and then vanished. Come to think of it, with Frank and the witches now in the same worldview, it wasn't so strange for the Medellín Cartel to still exist.

But...

White, a police officer, receiving "funding" from the Medellín Cartel—does that make any sense?

So Shaun immediately asked, "What kind of relationship did White have with the Colombians?"

Ballard handed him a tablet.

On the screen was a screenshot of call logs.

Shaun glanced at it.

Over the past month, White's phone had been in contact with three Colombian numbers.

Each call was short, just a minute or two, but the frequency was high—almost once every two days.

"Those numbers," Ballard said, "the technical team checked them. They are all encrypted prepaid cards, so we can't trace the specific users. But what we can be sure of is that they were all called from Miami."

Miami?

The stronghold of the Colombian gangs!

"Fifty-thousand-dollar deposit."

"Jewelry."

"Motorcycle."

Shaun closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his mind racing:

If White really was a dirty cop...

Then his death wasn't just a simple "officer killed in the line of duty."

This White was likely working for the gangs!

And what he was doing... might even be related to the witches...