America? No, it's the warp!

This is an office. By the window is an ebony desk with a gilded ashtray, a pen with a diamond-encrusted cap, and a lockbox on it.

The Italian leather chairs were spotless, and a bookshelf full of exquisite items was placed to the side.

Opposite the desk was a deep red velvet sofa, next to which stood a glass cabinet filled with champagne and whiskey.

Several large-scale oil paintings are hanging on the wall.

The air was filled with the creamy, caramelized aroma of expensive cigars, similar to the ones Eddie had given him.

Logan put on gloves and tried not to leave fingerprints during the search, otherwise it would be difficult for the police to handle.

First, the desk drawers:

A few packets of leaves, a box of cigars, a stack of photos of women, and a brass key.

There wasn't anything important, just documents and ledgers; I guess Teren had already taken them beforehand.

Logan picked up a gold-plated flip-top lighter and stuffed it into his trench coat pocket; no one would notice such a small item.

Next were the items on his desk: an ashtray and a fountain pen that were too ostentatious. Teren was afraid that people who came to talk business with him wouldn't know he was very rich.

But this is strange. Terren is already so rich, why would he still want to keep his veteran's pension and house?

With his questions unresolved for the time being, Logan turned his attention to the lockbox.

The same ebony wood material is firmly imprisoned by a vintage brass lock.

With a try-it-out mentality, he picked up the key from the drawer and inserted it into the lock.

"Click!"

The lock was unlocked, the box was opened, and inside lay a black revolver with a blue sheen, its walnut handle inlaid with a gold Colt horse emblem.

The Colt Python is the Rolls-Royce of revolvers.

Logan had seen similar ones in gun shops, which sold for $1499, but this one looked almost brand new and would probably cost even more.

He gripped the revolver; its heavy weight was completely different from the Colt 1911, which, by comparison, felt like a toy.

Pulling the cylinder button, the chamber, now stopped, is empty of bullets.

Logan confidently stuffed the revolver into his trench coat pocket; Teren no longer needed it.

A real man should use a revolver.

The sofa and wine cabinet opposite were very tempting. If it weren't for the occasional sounds of the black man carrying things outside, he would have taken out a bottle of champagne, lay on the sofa, and enjoyed a drink.

The oil paintings hanging on the sofa are quite eye-catching. There are five such paintings in the room. I really don't know if Teren is here to do business or to open a silver shop.

Logan tapped on each painting in turn, hoping that there might be some kind of safe hidden inside.

Sure enough, a faint metallic vibration could be heard coming from behind a painting of naked people bathing.

He gripped the picture frame with both hands, pulled hard, and the safe behind it was immediately exposed.

A password was required, but Logan didn't need to search for the answer in the room; he chose to use his cheat code directly, employing [Hallucination Precognition].

"Left 17, right 34, left 69."

Based on the information conveyed by the hallucination, he quickly broke down the security of the safe.

As the box was opened, a faint smell of leaves wafted out, and the stacks of banknotes inside were undoubtedly stolen money.

On top of the pile of banknotes was a notebook with a gold-embossed cover. When opened, it contained the origins of each of the lame women.

There were undocumented Latinos and Asians, college students unable to repay their student loans, and former actors homeless...

The entire notebook was filled with writing.

Logan closed the notebook and put it back in its place; these things were already strong evidence.

Once the box door is closed, the oil painting returns to its original position, looking exactly the same as before.

He only needed to confirm whether the search was necessary. Now that the stolen money had been found and there had been additional gains, the mission could be considered a complete success.

But a catalyst is still needed.

He needed to give Stephen a reason to ignore the search warrant.

He needs to wait a bit; the black guys in the villa haven't come here to move the safe yet. Logan has some time.

The last place worth searching is the bookshelf.

Inside the glass door, there were all sorts of books and works of art.

Ancient Greek-style bronze human figure, crystal horse head paperweight, antique pistol, silver trophy...

If you didn't see these things in this room, you could really be fooled.

The Bible has a genuine leather cover, with Teren's name written on the title page. There are many bookmarks inside, but they don't seem like the kind of writing he would use.

The biographies of Kennedy and Rockefeller, with gold-embossed spines, show no signs of having been opened.

Some art books are the same size as the oil paintings on the wall, but the corners of the books are curled up.

Several of them were bulging, filled with photos of women, but unlike the ones in the office desk.

These photos are nude and bloody, and Terren's morbid fetishes are disgusting.

Logan put the sketchbook back, catching the approaching footsteps and the conversation between two black men:

"And the safe in the boss's office, right? I heard it contains cash stolen from the Blood Gang's Leaf Specialty Store."

"That's right. The boss probably wanted to wait until things calmed down before taking it to another state to deal with it. He didn't expect the police to be so efficient. They arrested all the brothers who went there in less than a week. They haven't even received the boss's reward yet."

"Sigh, even if I hadn't been caught, I probably wouldn't have gotten much..."

"...You're right. By the way, what was the boss rushing off to just now?"

"I don't really know. He answered a phone call and then left with a serious expression."

Logan slowed his movements and moved behind the desk before they got close.

"Squeak..."

Two Black men walked in. Everything in the office seemed normal; the lockbox on the desk was still locked, and the windows were closed.

They went to the painting, took it down, and one of the Black men bent down and struggled to reach into the safe, but there wasn't enough space, so the other could only watch.

Logan flipped off the table, took a giant step away from the two-step distance, and slapped the man near the neck with his palm—a technique the army had taught them to quickly knock someone unconscious.

The sound of him falling to the ground caught the attention of the black man fiddling with the safe, but before he could even lift his head, he was knocked unconscious by the same heavy blow.

Using the same method, Logan knocked out the other four black men who were moving things in the other rooms.

The man who was guarding the car at the entrance of the villa was knocked unconscious when he came in to check because no one had brought anything in for a long time.

All the crippled gang members had been subdued. Logan took out his phone and, instead of calling Stephen, dialed 911.

"911, what's the emergency?"

"Hello, I need to report a crime. I'm in the Queen Anne neighborhood, and there are a few black men stealing valuables from a mansion. It seems they're fighting amongst themselves."

"Okay, sir, please provide the address in detail. The police will be there soon."

A dozen minutes later, several speeding police cars arrived, and a familiar face got out of the lead car.