Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 322 You don't even deserve the surname _?

2 a.m., police station.

The lights in the lobby were too bright, almost blindingly white.

Andrew was assigned to an office with glass doors.

At this moment, he changed into clean clothes and sat in a chair, his posture stiff.

There were more than just local police officers in the room.

Two Americans in dark suits sat against the wall, wearing star and stripe badges on their chests.

In addition, there was a gray-haired man who introduced himself very slowly.

The US consular representative in Nice was present as the nearest available location.

The duty consul at the Consulate General in Marseille will join the conference call in ten minutes.

Colleagues from the political section of the Paris embassy will also be connected.

The officer in charge of taking the statement was a police officer, with a recorder sitting next to him.

The man pushed the printed preliminary survey form over.

"The driver of the vehicle involved in the accident was seriously injured at the scene and was rushed to the hospital, where he is still receiving treatment."

"Blood test results showed that the blood alcohol concentration exceeded the legal standard by three times."

"Based on the on-site investigation and witness testimonies, we have determined that this was a drunk driving accident."

"There are currently no signs of premeditation or homicide."

Please translate it again.

The American official opposite him nodded knowingly.

“Mr. Calhoun, you have heard the official assessment, and the nature of this matter is very clear.”

His voice was soft, carrying a strong sense of reassurance.

"You do not need to answer any questions or make any further statements at this moment."

"Your safety and legal rights will be fully protected by the U.S. government."

He paused deliberately for a few seconds, turned his head to look at the Monaco police officer, and then continued:
"Rest assured, we will send the investigation report to Washington."

Andrew didn't look up; his vision was only of that white sheet of paper, and staring at it for too long made his eyes sting.

Bold headings, grid lines, numbering, and signature area.

When the pen was handed to him, he tried to write, but his handwriting was crooked and messy.

The local recorder opened his mouth, about to offer a reminder, but the US legal counsel immediately raised his hand and pressed down on the document.

"The signature is valid and does not need to be repeated."

The recorder gave an awkward smile and swallowed his next words.

At this point, the Nice consular agent put the phone on speakerphone.

It was a call from the Consulate General in Marseille.

"We have already notified the Monaco Justice Authority about this case."

"The nature of the case has been confirmed; all subsequent materials will be kept in a special channel."

The translator repeated the procedure as usual.

The gray-haired consular officer listened and took notes.

Finally, he picked up the slip of paper on the table and checked each item one by one.

"Passport number, address, and contact information have all been verified," he said.

"You can rest assured to leave all subsequent procedures to us."

"Do you need some water?" The young assistant pushed a paper cup toward him.

Andrew stared at the water, motionless.

He seemed to be waiting for something that shouldn't have come.

When it suddenly appears, it breaks through the obstacles and delivers a fatal blow.

But nothing appeared.

Only with the right words, the right people, and the right procedures.

It seems someone passed by the door.

The leather shoes wiped the floor tiles, and the marks disappeared quickly.

The man on the other end of the phone asked some procedural questions.

Which party will be responsible for the initial care of the body?

"Has the temporary storage location been locked?"

When family members arrive, is there a dedicated police car to guide them along the route?

The consular representative in Nice repeated himself slowly, trying to make sure he understood.

"The body has been transferred to the forensic center."

“The care is provided by the local police, with two officers on duty at night.”

The temperature here isn't low.

However, Andrew suddenly realized something small: he was shivering. Not from the cold, but because he was completely submerged in water.

The water didn't move, and neither did he.

There are very bright lights on the surface of the water. There is nothing in the water.

"Mr. Calhoun?"

In a daze, Andrew heard someone calling him.

He looked blankly in the direction from which the sound came.

The gray-haired man's lips were moving.

"We will report all procedures to headquarters simultaneously."

"You don't need to handle any of the procedures on your own."

"We suggest that we arrange a place to rest tonight, and then decide on the return trip tomorrow morning."

“Okay,” Andrew heard himself say.

The person in Paris added a few more words, still sounding concerned.

Finally, the deputy director of Monaco stood up, closed his folder, and shook hands with each of the American personnel.

"Thank you for your understanding," he said.

"We will have all the materials organized before dawn."

"We will remain open and cooperative if you have any additional needs."

"Monaco has always valued cooperation with the United States in law enforcement and judicial matters."

"We are willing to provide all necessary support on the issue of citizen safety."

Wishing you all the best.

With the locals leaving, the room suddenly became empty.

The gray-haired consul sighed and pushed the paper cup on the table closer:
"Drink some warm water now, it will make you feel better, I promise."

This time, Andrew didn't refuse. He reached out and picked up the paper cup, feeling its slight warmth.

"Thank you," he said, forcing himself to speak.

"Thank you all for everything you did for me tonight."

The liquid slid down his throat, temporarily bringing him back to a state of "still functioning".

Only now did the suffocation in my chest ease a little.

Just as Andrew was about to say something, he heard a soft sound coming from the door.

Immediately afterwards, a telephone was handed to me.

"I just received it," the person said. "It's from your father."

The consular representative stood up naturally and led the others out.

"We'll be at the door if you need anything."

The telephone was on the table.

Andrew paused for a moment, then pressed the answer button.

"Are you hurt?"

It's not a greeting.

The voice was very calm.

It seems they already know all the details and are just going through the necessary questioning process.

Andrew held his breath, countless thoughts surging through his mind like a flood.

This wasn't an accident; someone was behind it. It was a conspiracy, a case, a trial, that Asian man—he brought this disaster.
He wanted to tell everything, to warn, to cry out, to make his father understand his fear.

"I"

Andrew opened his mouth hesitantly, only to realize that his father might have known all along.

My survival, even unharmed, was not due to luck at all.

“I’m not hurt,” he said. “I’m fine. It’s just… just Kate.”

"I know."

Upon hearing this, Andrew paused slightly and instinctively gripped the phone tighter.

After a long pause, driven by fear, he finally asked the question:
Will this kind of thing happen again?

The other end of the line was eerily quiet.

Andrew could even hear his own heartbeat.

Then, the deep voice rang out again, clear and firm:
"No, son. It's all over. You're safe now."

"Go home as soon as possible, don't let your mother worry."

Upon hearing this assurance, Andrew finally breathed a sigh of relief and closed his eyes.

".good."

(End of this chapter)