American comics: I am full of martial virtues and I love to be kind to others.

“Mom said Dad is a hero,” Emily whispered.

“Your mother is right,” Lynn said gently, “your father truly is a hero.”

Lynn spent the rest of the time with Morrisons and their daughter in the waiting area. He bought them coffee and juice and found some toys for Emily in the hospital's children's play area to distract her. Meanwhile, Chief Brady called several times to update them on the latest situation at the factory.

“All the workers have been evacuated,” Brady said. “Management has agreed to pay all outstanding wages this week. The state labor department is investigating the company and will hold them accountable if any illegal activities are found.”

“What about the security guard who fired the shot?” Lynn asked.

“He has been arrested,” Brady said. “He claims it was an accidental discharge, but we will investigate thoroughly. Regardless, he was illegally possessing a firearm in the workplace and caused serious injury.”

“Very good,” Lynn said. “Also, I need to investigate the whole story. Something’s not right.”

“What do you mean?” Brady asked.

“I’m not sure yet,” Lynn said, “but I’ll investigate further. Let’s wait for Jack Morrison’s surgery results; I’d like to speak with him.”

At 4:30 p.m., Dr. Thomas finally emerged from the operating room. He took off his mask, his face showing a tired but relieved expression.

Lynn and Mrs. Morrison immediately stood up to greet them.

“The surgery was a success,” Dr. Thomas said with a smile. “We repaired the liver damage, cleared the abdominal cavity, and stopped all bleeding. His vital signs are stable, and he is out of danger.”

Mrs. Morrison burst into tears instantly, this time tears of joy. "Thank you, thank you, doctor!"

“He’s in the recovery room now,” Dr. Thomas continued, “and will be transferred to the ICU in about an hour. You can go see him, but he might still be under anesthesia and won’t wake up.”

“It’s alright, as long as he’s alive,” Mrs. Morrison said.

Lynn also felt a sense of relief. Although he had witnessed many life-or-death situations, he felt a deep sense of satisfaction every time he saw a life being saved.

An hour later, Jack was transferred to a private room in the ICU. Lynn accompanied Morrison and her daughter to see him. Jack lay on the bed, pale-faced, connected to various monitoring devices and IV lines. His chest rose and fell rhythmically with his breathing—proof of life.

Mrs. Morrison held her husband's hand and spoke softly, though she knew he couldn't hear her, "Jack, I'm here. Emily is here too. Get well soon."

Little Emily stood by the bed, tiptoeing to look at her father. "Is Daddy sleeping?"

“Yes, darling,” Mrs. Morrison said, “he’s tired and needs to rest.”

Lynn stood in the doorway, giving the family some privacy. He looked at the heartwarming yet heartbreaking scene, and the image of Jack risking his life to protect everyone in the hallway flashed through his mind. This young man shouldn't be lying here; he shouldn't have had to go through all this.

Visiting hours at the hospital ended at eight o'clock in the evening. Lynn suggested that Mrs. Morrison go home to rest and come back tomorrow, but she insisted on staying.

“The hospital has a family lounge,” a nurse said. “You can rest there, and we will let you know immediately if there are any changes.”

“I’ll stay with you,” Lynn said to Mrs. Morrison. “You’re all alone, it’s too hard for you.”

“Thank you, Agent Holt,” Mrs. Morrison said gratefully, “but you’ve done enough. You should go back and rest.”

“I want to wait until Jack wakes up,” Lynn said. “I have some questions I need to ask him.”

Indeed, Lynn had some lingering questions. There were some oddities in the entire workers' riot. The most radical workers, especially the bearded one, seemed to have reacted too extremely. While anger and despair could explain it to some extent, Lynn's intuition told him that other factors might be at play.

It was 11 p.m., and Lynn sat on a chair outside the ICU, resting with his eyes closed. Suddenly, a nurse came out. "Agent Holt, the patient is awake. He's weak but conscious. He says he wants to see you."

Lynn immediately stood up. "Is he fit to speak now?"

“Only brief conversations are allowed,” the nurse instructed. “He needs rest.”

Lynn entered the ward. Jack had already opened his eyes, though his gaze was still somewhat unfocused, but he had regained consciousness. Upon seeing Lynn, he tried to move his lips.

"Don't move," Lynn said softly as she walked to the bedside. "You just had surgery and need to rest."

“Agent Holt,” Jack’s voice was weak and hoarse, “thank you for saving me.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Lynn said. “You’re the real hero. You were trying to protect everyone in that chaos.”

Jack gave a wry smile, then frowned as the movement aggravated his wound. "I...I have something to tell you. It's important."

“Not now,” Lynn said. “You need to rest. We’ll talk again when you’ve recovered a bit.”

“No,” Jack said stubbornly, his voice urgent, “it has to be said now. This can’t wait.”

Lynn looked into Jack's determined eyes and realized that the young man really had something important to say. "Okay, but if you feel unwell, tell me right away."

Jack nodded, took a deep breath, and began to speak, "This riot didn't happen spontaneously. Someone was instigating it."

Lynn's attention immediately focused. "You mean someone is deliberately inciting the workers?"

“Yes,” Jack said. “About two weeks ago, after the news of the factory's closure broke, we were all furious, but most of us wanted to resolve the issue through normal channels—the union, the Department of Labor, and even preparing to sue the company.”

"Then what?"

“Then a few people showed up,” Jack continued. “They weren’t workers at our factory, but claimed to be members of a workers’ rights organization, saying they were there to help us. The one leading them was called Mark Darwin, in his thirties, and a very smooth talker.”

Lynn wrote down the name. "What did they do?"

“They’re spreading all sorts of radical ideas among the workers,” Jack said, each word sounding strained. “They’re saying that resolving things through normal channels is too slow, and by the time the Labor Department finishes its investigation, the company will have already transferred the money. They’re saying we should take more direct action, take over the factory, and force the management to compromise.”

“That doesn’t sound too outrageous,” Lynn said. “After all, there’s precedent for occupying factories in the history of labor movements.”

“But they didn’t stop there,” Jack said with difficulty. “They also hinted that weapons should be used, that hostages should be taken. They said only then would the company take us seriously.” Lynn frowned. “Do you have any evidence?”

“Yes,” Jack said, “I felt something was off, so I secretly recorded their conversations a few times. And…and I screenshotted and saved all the posts they made on our workers’ forum.”

Where is this evidence?

“It’s on my computer at home,” Jack said. “And some on my phone, but the phone was lost in the riots and should still be at the factory.”

"Why didn't you stop them then?" Lynn asked.

“I tried,” Jack said painfully, “but people were too angry, too desperate. When you’re owed two months’ paycheck, when you watch your savings dwindle, when you’re worried about not being able to pay your mortgage, you’re willing to believe anyone who promises to solve everything.”

Lynn understood this psychology. Despair can cloud rational judgment and drive people to grasp at any straw of hope, even if that straw itself might be dangerous.

“This morning, things got out of control,” Jack continued. “We originally just planned to demonstrate at the factory gate and demand that management come out and talk to us. But Mark and a few of his men suddenly started inciting everyone to rush in. And that bearded guy, Ray Thompson, who’s always had a bad temper, was the one Mark swayed the most this time.”

"Do you think the whole riot was planned?" Lynn asked directly.

Jack nodded. "I don't know their specific purpose, but I'm sure it's not a coincidence. They're too organized, too adept at provoking crowds. And..."

Jack paused, seemingly considering whether to continue.

“And what?” Lynn encouraged.

“And I saw a file folder in Mark’s car,” Jack said. “It had the logo of an investment firm on it—'Greystone Capital.' I was curious and asked him what it was, and he immediately put it away, saying it was personal property.”

“Greystone Capital,” Lynn noted the name down. “Do you know this company?”

“I wasn’t entirely sure, but I looked it up online later,” Jack said. “It’s an investment firm that specializes in corporate acquisitions and restructuring. I don’t understand why an activist who claims to help workers would be associated with an investment firm.”

Lynn began to piece together a possible scenario in his mind. If an investment firm was involved, then the whole incident would be more than just a simple labor dispute. It could involve more complex business operations.

“Jack, you did a great job,” Lynn said. “This information is very important.”

“Agent Holt,” Jack’s voice grew weaker, but his eyes were resolute, “I know the workers made a mistake, and we shouldn’t have resorted to violence. But please believe me, most of them are good people; they’ve just been manipulated.”

“I believe you,” Lynn said sincerely, “I will investigate thoroughly. If someone is indeed manipulating things behind the scenes, I will make them pay the price.”

“There’s one more thing,” Jack said. “Mark and his men disappeared after the riot started. They incited us to storm the factory, but they didn’t go in themselves. I was distracted by the chaos and only realized it later.”

This detail is crucial. True instigators often withdraw quickly after achieving their goals to avoid taking responsibility.

“I will find them,” Lynn assured him. “You need to rest now. Once you’ve recovered, I may need your formal testimony.”

“I will cooperate,” Jack said. “I want to end this farce. I want those who are truly responsible to be punished, not for those desperate workers to bear all the blame alone.”

Just then, the nurse came in. "I'm sorry, but the patient needs to rest."

“Okay,” Lynn stood up. “Jack, take good care of yourself. I’ll come to your house to retrieve the evidence, but I need your wife’s permission.”

“I told her,” Jack said, “the key is with her. The computer is in the study, and the password is Emily’s birthday, 0527.”

Lynn nodded and gently patted Jack on the shoulder. "You're a brave man, Jack. Not only because of what you did today, but also because you've chosen to speak the truth."

“I just don’t want any more people to get hurt,” Jack said softly, then closed his eyes, clearly exhausted.

Lynn left the ward and found Mrs. Morrison in the lounge. Emily was already asleep in her arms.

“He’s awake and in good spirits,” Lynn said softly so as not to wake the child, “but he needs to rest.”

"Thank God," Mrs. Morrison breathed a sigh of relief.

“Mrs. Morrison, I need your help,” Lynn said. “Jack told me that his computer contains some crucial evidence about this incident. I need to retrieve that evidence, but I need your permission.”

Mrs. Morrison looked at Lynn. "What did Jack say?"

“He said there might be someone manipulating this riot,” Lynn explained briefly. “If that’s true, then the workers shouldn’t bear all the responsibility. But I need evidence to prove that.”

Mrs. Morrison thought for a moment, then took a key from her bag. "This is the house key. Please take it if it helps Jack and the other workers."

“Thank you,” Lynn said, taking the keys. “I’ll handle it carefully. Also, if possible, I’d like you to take a look at the documents to confirm that what I took was indeed what Jack wanted to give me.”

“But Emily…” Mrs. Morrison looked at her daughter in her arms.

“I can arrange for a female police officer to accompany Emily,” Lynn said. “This is important, Mrs. Morrison. I need to ensure the integrity of the chain of evidence, and your presence as a witness will make the process more legitimate.”

Mrs. Morrison nodded. "Alright, when shall we go?"

“Now,” Lynn said, “the sooner the better.”

Twenty minutes later, a policewoman arrived at the hospital to care for the sleeping Emily. Lynn and Mrs. Morrison drove to Jack's house. It was a small detached house on the outskirts of town, with a small yard, and it looked cozy and tidy.

“We bought this house five years ago,” Mrs. Morrison said, opening the door. “Jack had just been promoted to a permanent position at the factory, and we thought we finally had a stable life. Who knew…”

Her voice choked with emotion, and Lynn nodded understandingly.

The house was simply but warmly furnished, with a family photo of the three of them hanging on the living room wall, all smiling brightly. Seeing these photos, Lynn felt once again that this family shouldn't have had to go through all this.

“The study is here,” Mrs. Morrison led Lynn to a small room. The room contained a desk, a desktop computer, and some bookshelves. (End of Chapter)