Reborn in America, I am a legendary short seller on Wall Street.

Chapter 242 The First Killing

On an ordinary Sunday morning in 1892, the Waldorf Astoria Hotel stood like a gilded behemoth in the heart of Manhattan.

It appears peaceful and luxurious, but undercurrents are surging beneath the surface.

Larry stood in the shadows of the building across the street, his fingertips tracing a list of four locations marked with red circles: the boiler room, the east wing storage room, the main banquet hall ceiling maintenance area, and Mr. Porter's seemingly secure office, the hotel manager.

Three shadows stood behind Larry. On the left was Mr. Dunbar, whose eyes were as cold as ice and whose automatic pistol was polished to a gleaming shine.

On the right is Mr. K, who is now as silent as a mountain, with an additional Winchester lever-action rifle slung across his back.

In the middle is Matthew Browning, still with that serious, tech-savvy look, his jacket open to reveal a hidden holster.

"Is everything clear?" Larry's voice was calm, yet carried an undeniable, metallic edge.

"Understood, boss," the three replied in low but firm voices.

“Okay!” Larry looked down and opened his gold-cased pocket watch. The hour and minute hands showed that it was now 10 o’clock.

Larry looked up at the three of them, smiled warmly, and then ordered, "Move out!"

Meanwhile, in the ballroom of the Waldorf Astoria Hotel, George Porter was calmly explaining to numerous security personnel, waiters, and other special "outsourced staff" the importance of the dinner and how to handle this very important dinner gathering of New York's wealthy elite that evening.

Among the crowd, a tall, muscular man in a tuxedo looked around at the people around him, then focused his gaze back on Mr. George Potter's face.

"...This is the first time our Waldorf Hotel has seriously opened its doors to guests, and the guests are all prominent figures in New York. We cannot tarnish the prestige of the Astor family. Gentlemen, if we close this deal, you will all win an extra $15 bonus!"

After George Porter finished speaking, his men cheered with excitement.

The burly man in the tuxedo wore a disdainful expression. He turned to someone beside him and whispered, "Is there any problem with her daughter?"

“No problem! Aunt Mary is taking care of her,” the other person replied.

The burly man nodded, his eyes still fixed on George Porter, a disdainful smile on his face. "Damn it, $15? Are you trying to fob us off? If we do this job well, we'll each get a whopping $5000!"

“...But we’ll definitely be wanted by the New York Police Department,” the other person muttered under their breath.

The burly man looked at him and cursed, "You're a complete idiot. After this is over, we'll definitely leave America, either for Europe or Brazil or Argentina. There are more wealthy people there who are willing to do business like this."

The other person nodded.

Just then, a commotion broke out in the Waldorf Hotel as Larry, accompanied by Mr. Dunbar, entered the hotel, praising it as if they were tourists.

The meeting was interrupted as George Porter frowned at a group of uninvited guests in the distance.

"Hello Mr. Potter, we're here now to conduct a security check for the banquet and arrange subsequent security measures." Larry smiled and took a few steps forward to shake hands with George Potter.

George Porter regained his composure, nodded in understanding, shook hands perfunctorily, and then explained, "We are currently in a meeting. After the meeting concludes, you and your inspection and security personnel can move in."

Larry nodded, smiled, and stepped aside. Behind him, apart from Mr. Dunbar carrying a pistol, a dozen other men dressed in splendid suits and dressed as servants of wealthy men stood unarmed behind them.

Larry's arrival caused the tall, burly man to frown slightly, but this was part of the plan. He turned to look at his companion beside him and muttered to himself,

"Are our people all stationed at key positions?"

"Yes, boss."

The burly man nodded with a smirk and said, "Alright, after the meeting, go and tell them not to come out unless necessary. I'll give them instructions after the banquet starts."

The other party nodded again.

Shortly afterward, Mr. George Potter completed this meticulous arrangement and then adjourned the meeting.

Security personnel and service staff dispersed and, following the general manager's instructions, began busy and orderly preparations under the leadership of their supervisors.

"Connor, wait a minute!" George Potter suddenly raised his voice and shouted at the burly man.

The burly man frowned slightly, but still managed to politely reply, "Yes, sir!"

He glanced at his companion, who, understanding the situation, quickly left.

After the crowd gradually dispersed, Larry began instructing his men to conduct hygiene and security checks.

George Porter then said to the burly man, "Come to my office... I have something to ask you."

The burly man named Connor kept glancing at Larry and his men before finally replying, "Yes, sir, I'll be right to your office."

Before long, the two arrived at George Potter's office one after the other.

As soon as Connor entered, George Potter carefully closed the office door and turned to him, saying, "I've done everything you asked, but where is my daughter?"

The burly man sat down on the sofa and grinned, "What's the rush, Mr. Potter? Your daughter is visiting us right now."

George Potter showed a hint of anger on his face, but he suppressed his rage and said to Connor, "You have to keep your promise. I want to see my daughter today."

Connor crossed his legs on the sofa and said dismissively, "I told you, after the explosion, your daughter will naturally return to your arms. That should be tomorrow, right?"

“No, I need to see him by noon today. I need to make sure she’s safe first. If you don’t let me have this request, I’d rather report you to the police!” George Porter’s face was contorted with rage.

"Whatever!" the burly man laughed, his facial muscles twitching, and continued, "Then we'll detonate the bomb ahead of time. What we want is news of the Astor family's most prized asset being destroyed!"

“I want to see my daughter!” George Potter’s face turned angry. “Don’t get agitated, Mr. Potter. I hope you understand your situation. Don’t do anything irrational, because it’s not befitting your role as manager of the Waldorf Hotel.” The burly man had a smile on his face.

Just then, there was a knock on George Potter's office door. The burly man startled, glancing warily at the door. Mr. Potter composed himself, his face regaining its composure, before saying, "Come in!"

When the heavy oak door was pushed open again, Larry walked in with the scrawny old security guard behind him.

“Mr. Potter, I have some questions to ask…” Larry greeted Mr. Potter with a smile, then noticed the burly man sitting on the sofa, raised an eyebrow and said, “Am I coming at the wrong time?”

The burly man named Connor seized the opportunity to stand up, respectfully bid farewell to Mr. Potter, and then walked past Larry, intending to leave through the door.

"Click!" The door had been closed by Dunbar.

Connor's gaze suddenly locked onto Dunbar, his pupils contracting slightly. He was an experienced man; he sensed a trap.

“Mr. Potter?” Connor’s voice deepened as he turned to look at Mr. Potter, his hand seemingly casually sliding towards the lining of his suit.

“He has nothing more to say,” Larry replied. “But my man has something to ask you.”

The words have not yet been spoken!

Connor moved without warning! He reached through the gap in his clothes, just about to touch the holster under his arm... when he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his back, and his hand reaching for the holster could no longer exert any force.

"........."

Connor's seemingly robust body began to tremble, his eyes widened, and he tried to touch the wound on his back with one hand, but he couldn't.

Mr. Dunbar said coldly, "Don't move! If you move again, it won't just be a pneumothorax problem..."

Larry calmly stepped back two paces, gun in hand, and stood next to George Potter, looking at Mr. Dunbar's masterpiece.

Mr. Dunbar had just plunged an Indian hunting knife into the strong man's back.

He didn't thrust straight in, but rather from an extremely tricky, bottom-up angle, precisely piercing Connor's right back, about two inches below his shoulder blade.

Deep beneath this location lies the right lobe of the lung. A knife piercing this area would instantly penetrate the lung, causing a pneumothorax.

Connor, a seemingly muscular and burly man, immediately felt a suffocating pain and was unable to breathe. All his breath was instantly drained, leaving him powerless to shout and only able to make a very faint "hoarse" sound.

This strike will simultaneously damage the major muscle groups controlling the right arm, such as the latissimus dorsi and rhomboid muscles, causing the entire right arm to become paralyzed instantly, making it impossible to effectively counterattack or draw a gun.

Seeing that Larry's men had taken control of Connor, George Porter hurriedly stepped forward and asked urgently, "Where is my daughter? Tell me where she is, or he won't let you off the hook."

Connor was unable to speak, suffocating fear weighing on him, but he still glared with malice and shook his head with difficulty to express his refusal.

"Is he the leader?" Larry asked.

“One of the leaders,” Mr. Porter turned to Larry and continued, “is often sent to communicate with me; the real leaders are hidden among those groups…”

“Then he’s worthless!” Larry said, nodding to Dunbar.

Dunbar freed his left hand and used his eagle-claw-like fingers to grip the junction of Connor's jawbone and cheek, while his thumb pressed hard on the vagus nerve plexus behind Connor's ear.

The intense pressure triggered an instantaneous nerve shock and dizziness, further inhibiting Connor's vocalization and reaction abilities.

After the blade pierced in, it was not pulled out. Dunbar twisted his wrist inward very slightly and then pressed it down a little.

This tiny movement maximizes the internal wound, destroys more tissue, ensures instantaneous and complete incapacitation, and allows the blade to be temporarily "bitten" by muscle tissue, preventing blood from splattering or making a sound when the knife is pulled out.

Connor's body stiffened abruptly, his eyes widening in agony and suffocation, his pupils dilating instantly.

All his strength and voice were locked inside him by the devastating pain and lack of oxygen in his lungs. With his last ounce of strength, he let out an extremely faint, sigh-like "Ugh..."

Connor tried to struggle, but his right arm was useless, and the strength of his left arm was insignificant in the face of the massive internal trauma. His legs were weak from nerve shock.

Mr. Dunbar had used the wound as a fulcrum to knock him down to the floor.

Connor began to shake violently, but after a short while he stopped.

Dunbar didn't draw his hunting knife so that there would be no blood.

George Potter stared at all this in astonishment, unsure of what to say.

Dunbar stood up, stepped over the corpse, and glanced down from the second floor.

There were no pedestrians in the narrow alley below.

Immediately, Dunbar reached for a glass engraved with the Waldorf Hotel's emblem on the desk, opened the window, and threw it out.

"Bang!"

The crisp sound of shattering glass echoed through the street.

Not far from the Waldorf Hotel, in a black carriage without a police badge sat Charles Baker, the detective considered "troublesome" by the New York City Police Department but incredibly efficient.

He chewed on his tobacco and muttered to his two equally casually dressed, menacing-looking henchmen, "Damn it, the rich guys' mess... Let's go, boys, let's go 'register' those clueless bastards!"

After saying that, he kicked open the car door, picked up a shotgun with its barrel sawed off, and strode towards the hotel's back-of-house corridor.

(End of this chapter)