Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 136 You Can’t Check Everything
Alisa Randall stood at the entrance of an unassuming office building.

She looked up to confirm the house number, then looked down at the address in her hand.

That's right, it's here.

Pushing open the door, a blast of cold air hits you, carrying the smell of cheap cleaning agents.

The receptionist was a white woman in her thirties with outdated brown highlights, looking down at her phone.

Alisa walked over and showed her police badge and work ID.

“Hello, I’m Officer Randall from the NYPD.” She smiled politely. “I’m here to inquire about Mr. Wilson Grant.”

Upon hearing this name, a formulaic look of regret appeared on the receptionist's face.

"Oh, how unfortunate."

She paused, as if gathering her emotions: "Mr. Wilson... was in a car accident a few days ago and passed away suddenly."

Alisa instinctively became alert.

What a coincidence.

It's so coincidental it's creepy.

"I'm sorry to hear this news."

She maintained her composure, forcing a look of mourning, and asked:
"But I need to conduct some procedural investigations here. Did he leave any documents or records behind?"

Upon hearing this, the receptionist frowned instantly:
"I'm sorry, we cannot provide internal information without a search warrant."

Seeing this, Alisa could only put on an understanding expression: "Of course I understand the rules."

As she spoke, she leaned forward slightly, as if unintentionally placing a folded banknote on the corner of the table.

"I just hope you can be lenient. Don't worry, I won't take anything with me."

The woman at the front desk glanced down at her face, her eyes beginning to flicker.

After a moment, he shook his head and refused: "I'm sorry, it's the law firm's policy."

Alisa sighed, "It's okay, I understand."

She straightened up and said softly:

"But sometimes, life inevitably throws curveballs."

"Maybe one day you or your friend will need help—for example, a minor problem like a traffic ticket."

"Knowing someone in the bureau always opens up more options."

The receptionist didn't speak immediately, but instead looked down and fiddled with the pen holder on the table.

Alisa didn't urge her, patiently waiting for her to weigh the options.

Finally, the woman made up her mind and whispered:
"His office is on the third floor, the third one on the left, and the door might not be locked."

Alisa secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

The woman glanced at her again, then slowly picked up her bag: "Perfect timing. I have to go out and take care of something, about fifteen minutes."

"but--"

"During this time, it is best not to enter non-public areas without permission."

"Otherwise, I would have to call the police."

“I understand.” Alisa nodded, took out a business card, and tucked it under the visitor registration form.

“You have my private phone number. If you have any leads about Mr. Grant, please be sure to call me.”

The woman didn't say anything more, and simply opened the door and walked out.

Alisa paused for a few more seconds, and after confirming that no one else was nearby, she quickly ran towards the stairs.

The office is easy to find.

The metal nameplate nailed to the side hadn't been replaced yet.

Alisa took a deep breath and gently pushed open the wooden door—

empty.

It was almost completely cleaned up.

There was nothing on the desk except for a few stacks of unimportant legal magazines.

Alisa's heart sank.

She looked around again and found that even the filing cabinets along the wall had been emptied.

The drawer was open, revealing empty compartments.

Alisa stood there, hesitating for a few seconds.

She was certain that a normal search would not yield anything useful.

My gaze swept across the windowsill and finally settled on the corner.

There was an old paper shredder on the table, its exterior covered with a thin layer of dust.

With her last hope, Alisa walked over and crouched down to examine the area closely.

The collection bucket below was filled with only black and white residue.

Alisa frowned, but still carefully pulled it out.

As expected, nothing was gained.

They were all scraps that were so finely broken they couldn't be broken into smaller pieces.

Just as she was about to push it back in disappointment, she suddenly noticed that there seemed to be a piece of paper stuck at the exit that hadn't been completely twisted in.

Alisa reached out and carefully tugged at it.

The paper snapped with a crack.

The upper half landed in the palm of the hand. Unfortunately, apart from the two letters "Mc", nothing else could be seen.

Just then, my phone vibrated in my pocket.

She stood up and took out her phone.

The screen was still lit, and a new email appeared in the notification bar.

The sender is Jason.

Upon opening the message, a few short lines of text came into view:
"Hey, I have some leads now regarding the thing you asked me to do a few days ago."

—“The major shareholder of GLM Holding Services is the McCormick Trust.”

—"Registered in Delaware."

"I also looked at some other things, which seem to have some connection with the Castelli family as well."

"Buy me a drink later, consider it a debt you owe me :)"

When her gaze fell on the "McCormick Trust," Alisa's heart nearly stopped for half a second.

McCormick Trust Fund

She looked down at the fragment in her hand.

“Mc”.

In an instant, joy welled up in my heart.

We're on the right track.

Solving the case is only a matter of time.

She held her breath and continued reading—

The Castelli family

Ok?
It sounds familiar.

Have you seen this somewhere before?

Alisa thought for a moment, then put the note into her wallet and typed the name into her browser.

A few seconds later, the screen flashed and a large number of news articles popped up.

Headlines appeared one after another, all of them recent reports:

— Florida Congressman Mike Castelli died of sudden cardiac arrest at the age of 62.

—His son, Benjamin Castelli, was found dead in his home in Tampa. Preliminary autopsy results indicated that the cause of death was related to a drug overdose.

Alisa was stunned, as if struck by lightning, frozen in place.

death.

death.

Or death.

A chill ran down my spine and down my limbs, and my hands and feet started to go numb.

She was barely aware that she was moving backward.

He barely managed to stop staggering when his back slammed against the cold wall.

The phone was still lit, making her face appear even paler.

Alisa stared at the articles, and all the words gradually blurred.

Her heart was pounding wildly, each beat making it hard for her to breathe.

This is impossible.

Absolutely not.

Linda, Grant, Mike Castelli, Benjamin Castelli
Member of Parliament.

National security.

death.

"Oh my god."

Alisa forced herself to take deep breaths, trying to calm down.

To no avail.

She shoved her phone into her pocket with trembling hands, then rushed out of the office and downstairs.

"Hurry, hurry, hurry—"

She screamed inwardly as she pushed open the door and rushed into the sweltering street.

The streetlights next to the parking lot came on.

A sunset glow appeared on the horizon, its color as red as blood.

Alisa opened the car door and quickly climbed into the driver's seat.

My hands were shaking, and I almost dropped the key. It took a lot of effort to insert it into the ignition hole.

She slammed on the gas pedal and sped off.

The streetlights, traffic, and pedestrians in front of me all became blurry streaks of light.

I was breathing rapidly, my palms were covered in cold sweat, and I almost slipped on the steering wheel several times.

Alisa forced herself to calm down, blinked hard, and focused her gaze.

When she reached the entrance of a secluded alley, she slammed on the brakes and pulled over to the side of the road.

(End of this chapter)