America: Starting from collecting corpses, leveling up to godhood

"Furthermore, you need to tell me, how far has that female journalist named Michelle gotten in terms of evidence?"

"Did she take a picture of your face, or did she obtain concrete evidence of the transaction?"

Evans was intimidated by Chen Ming's imposing presence and subconsciously began to recall.

"There should be photos, but they are probably taken at night in the distance and are very blurry. You can only make out that an old man who looks like me is talking to a few tattooed men. These kinds of things can't be used as evidence in court. At most, they can be used to write some gossip based on rumors."

"Most of the accounts are here," Evans said, patting the box.

"Unless she obtains more evidence, as long as I don't admit it, it's all just a piece of paper."

"That means the key lies in the recording."

Chen Ming tapped his fingers on the table.

What was the content of the recording?

"It must have been recorded when I was arguing with 'Scarface,' he's a small-time gang leader on 18th Street," Evans recalled, his face turning grim.

"I was furious at the time and said some things about the price of the corpses and the discrepancy between the goods and the description. Although I didn't directly mention illegal transactions, if it were broadcast in a specific context, coupled with the reporter's guidance..."

"That would be enough to nail you to the pillar of shame and make you one of the most popular conspiracy theories of the year," Chen Ming finished the sentence for him.

Once such recordings are made public, the public's imagination and the media's embellishment will automatically fill in all the gaps, and the more gaps there are, the more outrageous the final rumors will become...

A highly respected medical school professor haggling with gangsters over the price of a corpse late at night, like a market vendor—this image is so vivid that it could ruin Evans' life and drag the entire medical school down with him.

Even if they can't find anything more substantial, USC will choose to sacrifice Evans to protect the king.

"Is there a backup of this audio file?"

Chen Ming did not dwell on this terrible problem for long, but quickly moved on to the next key point.

"I'm not sure... but probably not." Evans's hand holding the wine glass trembled violently, the liquid swirling in ripples on the glass.

"He said that as long as I brought money, he would delete the original files from my phone in front of me... This guy is a typical illiterate, he probably wouldn't do anything like uploading files to the cloud."

"That would be best." Chen Ming snorted coldly.

"Professor, this is the last question, and it's crucial."

"Was this ordered by higher-ups in the 18th Street gang, or is it Scarface's side job?"

Evans shrank back, clearly not quite understanding the difference between the two.

"Does it make a difference? They're all just helping tattooed lunatics anyway..."

"The difference is huge, Professor."

Chen Ming sighed silently to himself.

For an ivory tower scholar like Evans, gangsters might just be a vague symbol of terror, but for Chen Ming, different situations represent completely different levels of risk.

The 18th Street Gang is not some third-rate organization that only collects protection money.

This Latino gang, which originated in the Lampard district of Los Angeles, has grown into a behemoth spanning across the Americas after decades of rampant expansion.

They are one of the largest gangs in the Americas, with tens of thousands of members, a tight organizational structure, a brutal initiation ceremony, and a child army that even the FBI finds troublesome. They are extremely ruthless and have a huge influence in many Central American countries...

If this extortion was orchestrated by high-ranking members of the gang who were remotely directing operations from prison, then the trouble is serious.

"It's...it's private."

Evans' voice was dry.

"Scarface complained to me before that he used his own savings to pay for those rotting corpses. Because I didn't pay him, he didn't have money to explain to his boss and almost got his fingers chopped off..."

"Then this matter can be resolved." Chen Ming breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing this.

Since it was to cover up private debts, it means that even "Scarface" dared not make a fuss about it. In a strictly hierarchical gang, extorting money from clients and ruining the business is a major taboo.

Once his superiors find out that he destroyed the entire medical school's long-term corpse collection channel for a few tens of thousands of yuan... he will most likely be buried in a cement pile to fill the sea.

"Listen, Professor, since this is just Scarface's personal side job, we have room to maneuver."

Chen Ming held up three fingers, speaking steadily and forcefully.

I have three suggestions for you.

"First, keep him calm. Call him and tell him you agree to pay, and that you won't shortchange him a single penny."

"But you should emphasize that 50,000 in cash is not a small amount and that you need time to raise it, and ask him to give you a few more days."

"Will he agree?" Evans asked hesitantly.

"He sounded very agitated on the phone, like a mad dog."

"Greedy people are always the most patient; you just need to convince them that the money is on its way."

"Okay... I can try to stall for time." Evans nodded.

"And what about the second one?"

"Secondly, keep your mouth shut. Until the matter is resolved, refuse to contact anyone, whether it's that female reporter Michelle or anyone else trying to get information out of you. Remain silent."

"Third, and most importantly."

Chen Ming's gaze became meaningful.

"Professor, I've only been working for you for a little over a month, but you must have been doing this business for a long time before me, right?"

"What...what does this have to do with what's happening now?"

"It's very important."

Chen Ming did not give Evans a chance to avoid the question.

"If this ship sinks, it won't just be you and me drowning; everyone who worked for you in this position will also be at risk, won't they?"

"I need some help."

Evans fell into a long silence.

A full minute later, his sense of morality finally gave way to his survival instinct.

"There is a person..."

Evans sighed and pulled a yellowed address book from the depths of a drawer.

"His name is Sean, and he was also one of my students, three years ahead of you."

The old professor pushed a sticky note with a number on it to Chen Ming, his expression complicated.

"He's from Ohio, and he did dirty work for me for two whole years to pay for my tuition... He's tight-lipped, skilled, and knows how to use a gun."

"Where is he now?" Chen Ming memorized the number.

"Working as an anesthesiologist at a private plastic surgery clinic near Beverly Hills—that's the official story."

"Actually, that clinic often takes on gunshot wounds or private surgeries that can't be done in public hospitals, like those for celebrities... He should be able to help you."

"Very good, it seems my senior brother is doing quite well."

Chen Ming put away the note, stood up, and straightened his collar.

"Cheer up, Professor. Call Scarface and tell him you're selling stocks and bonds to raise money... Leave the rest to me."