What the hell is the "kill line" when you're in America?

Inside the safe house, Li Ang was reviewing all the recent events.

On the table in front of him was a map of Seattle.

There are several circles drawn on it with a red marker.

Ninth Street, Fifteenth Street, Sacred Heart Charity Home, Campbell Arts Center.

Thin black lines connect these locations, forming a preliminary network.

The assassination attempt on Martin Campbell, his contact with Isabella, and the expansion of his own power.

Everything was like scattered chess pieces, which he then put back on the chessboard.

Churches, conglomerates, politicians, gangs.

These forces are deeply intertwined and interdependent, forming an invisible web.

He is now just a small spider on this web.

To avoid being devoured, or even to turn around and devour the net, his own strength alone is far from enough.

Detective Gordon.

The name came to mind.

But now, he's stuck.

The incomplete report about the missing homeless man only led him to focus his attention on the Sacred Heart Charity.

And the old memory card isn't enough.

Li Ang picked up the phone on the table and dialed Victor's number.

The call was answered almost instantly.

"Boss."

Victor's respectful voice came through the receiver, tinged with an undeniable weariness.

"come to me."

Li Ang hung up the phone.

Less than ten minutes later, Victor appeared at the door, panting heavily.

He looked even thinner, with sunken eyes and bloodshot eyes.

"Boss, you wanted to see me?"

"Are those documents still there?" Li Ang asked.

"Yes, yes," Victor nodded quickly. "They're all locked in the safe; nobody knows."

"very good."

Li Ang stood up and walked to the map.

He pointed with his finger to the location of the Sacred Heart Charity Home.

Then, his finger moved slowly and landed on another marked location on the map.

Seattle City Hall.

"Find another copy from that batch of documents."

Li Ang's voice was very flat.

"A record of a bribery deal between the Sacred Heart Charity and City Councilor Hall."

Victor's face turned deathly pale instantly.

His lips trembled, and he could barely stand.

"Boss... this... this..."

Congressman Hall, of course he knew.

He was a star figure in Seattle politics, known for his tough style and happy family life.

He is one of the church's staunchest supporters.

Leaking this information is tantamount to declaring war on Seattle's political circles.

This isn't just dancing on a knife's edge; it's like carrying a bundle of explosives into a powder keg.

"Are you having trouble?" Li Ang turned his head and looked at him.

"No...no...no."

When Victor was met with Li Ang's gaze, he felt a chill run down his spine.

He quickly lowered his head.

"Once you find it, take care of it."

Li Ang continued giving instructions, as if he were talking about something perfectly ordinary.

"Find the one that looks the oldest."

"Use sandpaper to roughen the edges of the paper."

"Use a lighter to carefully burn off a corner, being careful not to burn the key content, but burn off part of the signature."

"Then, use diluted sulfuric acid or car battery fluid, and drip a few drops onto the paper."

"Let it show signs of chemical corrosion."

Li Ang's instructions were clear and specific.

"In short, it needs to look like a piece of debris that miraculously survived from a fire, like the fire at the cannery."

"Do you understand?"

"I...I understand." Victor swallowed hard.

His brain had given up thinking and could only mechanically record every word Li Ang spoke.

"Go and do it."

Li Ang waved his hand.

Victor felt as if he had been granted a pardon and left.

Li Ang sat back down at the table, looking at the intricate network on the map.

The first "gift" made Gordon smell blood.

But this second "gift" will directly break the last rope binding his neck.

He not only wanted Gordon to investigate the church.

Furthermore, he should be tasked with investigating the sanctimonious political protectors behind the church.

……

It took Victor an entire night to find what Leon needed from that pile of documents that reeked of death.

That was an appendix to a donation agreement.

The document clearly shows that Representative Hall received a "political donation" of up to $500,000 from the Sacred Heart Charity's overseas account through a shell company.

In return, he needs to use his influence to push through the "East District Redevelopment Plan" bill.

Victor stared at the document, his hands trembling like leaves in the autumn wind.

Following Li Ang's instructions, he put on gloves and, like a mediocre antique forger, began to "age" the document.

He first carefully sanded it with sandpaper.

Then, using tweezers, it was heated over an alcohol lamp.

Finally, he took some battery fluid from the battery of a wrecked car and dripped it onto the spot where he would sign his name.

With a "sizzle" sound.

A puff of white smoke rose from the paper, emitting a pungent smell.

The signature had become blurred, but the surname "Hall" was still faintly discernible.

Looking at the "unearthed artifact" in front of him, Victor breathed a long sigh of relief.

He felt as if he had completed a work of art.

A work of art capable of dragging countless people into hell.

Next, it's time to find the messenger.

This is much more difficult than forging documents.

This person must be absolutely reliable.

It must also be absolutely controllable.

Vidocq paced back and forth in his office.

Countless faces flashed through his mind.

Ultimately, he narrowed it down to one person.

Frank.

A former postman had his leg broken by casino employees because he owed a huge gambling debt.

His wife and daughter are still under Victor's control.

Victor took out his phone and dialed a number.

Half an hour later.

A middle-aged man with a limp and a dejected look was brought before Victor.

"Mr. Victor..."

When Frank saw Victor, he trembled like a mouse before a cat.

"I...I've already handed over my share of the profits for this month..."

Victor remained silent.

He simply took an envelope from the drawer and pushed it in front of Frank.

The envelope was very thick.

Frank opened it and his eyes widened instantly.

Inside was a full stack of brand-new hundred-dollar bills.

At least 20,000 yuan.

"This...this is..."

"This is the deposit," Victor said.

Then he took out another item.

a cell phone.

He tapped his phone screen, which displayed a video.

In the video, a young girl is sitting in a dimly lit room, hugging her knees and crying.

That's Frank's daughter.

Frank's breathing became rapid instantly.

"What...what do you want to do?"

"Send a letter."

Victor placed the prepared yellow file folder on the table.

"Deliver it to Detective Gordon's mailbox."

"Gordon...Detective?"

Frank felt his leg start to hurt again.

"Deliver it to the mailbox downstairs in his apartment building."

Victor added.

"You used to be a postman, so you should be very clear about the blind spots in the city's surveillance."

"Find an absolutely safe time, and use an absolutely safe method."

"Disguise it as a regular Google email and drop it in."

Victor stood up and walked over to Frank.

He patted Frank on the shoulder.

"It's done. Here's 30,000 yuan."

"Your daughter will return to your wife safely."

"And that debt you owe me is now wiped clean."

Victor's voice carried a cold allure.

"if......"

He paused.

"If you mess it up, or if you mention it to anyone..."

He didn't finish his sentence.

But Frank had already seen his daughter's fate reflected in his eyes.

"I...I'll do it!"

Frank grabbed the envelopes and file folders on the table as if they were his last straw.

"I guarantee it will be foolproof!"

……

It's 11:30 p.m.

James Gordon dragged his tired body back to his apartment building.

He had not slept for more than forty-eight hours.

My mind was filled with that document about the "East End Redevelopment Plan" and the hypocritical face of Councilor Hall in the video.

He felt like someone who had sunk into a swamp, and the more he struggled, the deeper he sank.

He opened the mailbox and, as usual, took out a pile of letters.

Bills, GG, community notifications...

He yawned as he flipped through the pages.

A rather inconspicuous yellow file folder was tucked inside.

There was no stamp or sender's address on it.

It looks like a piece of junk that was just thrown in haphazardly.

He intended to casually toss it into the nearby trash can along with the pizza coupons.

But for some reason, his hand stopped at the last moment.

He looked at the file folder, and a strange intuition made him frown.