I am a necromancer, and I absolutely love America.

Chapter 128 Leon in Terror (5K long chapter, please vote and subscribe)

Lyon drove Lisa home: "Aren't you staying at my place tonight?"

Lisa rolled her eyes: "Are you just waiting for me to leave? Your bunch of cronies are already waiting for you, aren't they?"

"We're just figuring out how to catch a big tuna!" Leon said with a forced smile.

The way he and his friends studied fishing gear was usually to lay it out on the table and then open a few bottles of whiskey.

Lisa was fully aware of this, but never pursued the matter.

She was scrolling through her phone in the passenger seat when she suddenly frowned:

The screen showed a short video of Debbie holding the black cat, which was draped in a purple scarf.

The background music is upbeat, and the caption reads, "Isn't my kitten cute?"

It received over 100,000 likes.

"Isn't what Your Highness is doing a bit blasphemous?" She turned her phone to the side. "She said it's the same model she bought online."

As a devout believer, she found Debbie's behavior somewhat unacceptable.

Leon glanced at it: "Who knows?"

He was truly moved when the veil fell on Debbie's head at the Princeton memorial service.

But he went to church less often than he went fishing at sea.

Easter and Christmas, and occasionally the anniversary of a mother's death.

He shrugged and offered no comment.

In Lyon's belief system, God is much like a weather forecast: you glance at it when you need it, and turn it off when you don't.

Twenty minutes later, the car stopped downstairs at Lisa's apartment building.

The two kissed goodbye, and Lisa got out of the car and walked into the lobby.

Lyon didn't leave.

He didn't start the engine again until the light in Lisa's room came on, ready to check on how his precious boat was being repaired. Suddenly, he noticed a car parked on the side of the road.

An inconspicuous gray sedan was parked about thirty meters behind on the side of the road.

License plate number JLY-4817.

Lyon frowned.

He has a very good memory.

He recognized the license plate number; it had been there a few days ago, right downstairs from his apartment building.

He didn't notice at the time.

But now I see it downstairs in Lisa's apartment building. Lisa's apartment rents for nearly 10,000 yuan a month, which is unaffordable for someone who drives this kind of car.

Maybe I remembered it wrong.

Lyon didn't think much of it and slowly drove off the road.

There are countless gray cars in New York, and countless license plates starting with JLY. Although the combination 4817 looks familiar, I may have misremembered it.

Around 9 p.m., Lyon left his friend's private club.

They drank a few glasses of whiskey in the private room and talked all night about the migration routes of Atlantic cod, analyzing every detail like a pre-war simulation, including water temperature, salinity, and ocean currents.

A group of friends are preparing to go out to sea in a week. This time they're going to take four boats and pull off a big heist!

Leon shamelessly claimed the bluefin tuna that Richard had caught as his own.

This big fish deeply aroused these air force personnel who liked to compare themselves to others.

Lyon, having enjoyed a night of envy and curses from his friends, left the club satisfied and started his car to go home.

He casually glanced at the license plates on the roadside.

JLY—4817!

The car was parked quietly among a row of cars on the side of the road, its lights off, the windshield reflecting a dim light under the streetlights.

Lyon's drunkenness vanished instantly!

The alcohol instantly recedes from the brain, washed away completely by adrenaline in a second.

Lyon's fingers tightened, and his heart felt like it had been squeezed tightly.

Who's following me?

Who's following me?!

Lyon broke out in a cold sweat and instinctively wanted to hide back at the club, but then he thought that would easily alert the other side to his presence and embolden them to take a risk.

Lyon forced himself to calm down, stepped on the gas, and the engine slowly started.

He turned onto the state road, not heading home, but towards the shipyard.

I went to the shipyard at nine o'clock at night to see my precious ship.

No normal person would do that, but Leon was never normal. He was the kind of person who would call the shipyard at 2 a.m. to discuss the propeller angle.

The shipyard lights were still on.

The Chasing Waves was docked in a dry dock, with several light gray scratches on its hull.

Frank walked out of the repair shop and wiped the oil off his hands with a rag.

He has worked at this shipyard for over twenty years, serving as Lyon's personal technician since Lyon first bought the ship.

He knew Lyon's boats better than his own cars.

"You're checking up on me again tonight?" Frank grinned.

His teeth were stained a pale yellow from years of drinking coffee, but his smile was genuine.

Lyon was his best customer; he never delayed payments, never haggled over prices, and even made constant ship modifications, sparing no expense.

"Can't sleep." Leon put his hands in his pockets, feigning nonchalance. "How's the ship?"

Frank patted the sensors on the hull.

"It's basically done. However..." He paused for a moment, "I found a problem when I disassembled the servo. The cable controlling the servo didn't break naturally. There were signs of it being pulled apart at both ends, and then it was manually reconnected. The cross-section is new, with no rust or wear; it's a recent development."

Leon felt his heart racing.

Last time near Hart Island, the servo jammed, and the direction happened to be directly facing Hart Island.

He initially thought it was a mechanical malfunction.

It's not a malfunction.

Someone sabotaged his voyage before he set sail!

"Are you sure it was torn off by hand?" His voice remained steady. "Could a person pull it?"

"It was just a signal cable, very thin, just broken." Frank shrugged and draped a rag over his shoulder.

"We've been working together for so many years, don't you know my skills? A naturally fractured surface has fatigue lines, and a rat bite doesn't look like that. It was definitely torn off by hand. I guess the water police's maintenance worker accidentally broke it during an inspection and then casually tied it to you."

Lyon's heart pounded, but he still managed a snort through his nose: "Those damn water police. They're like rough bears when they check on you. My baby's been through a lot!"

"You bet," Frank scoffed. "Last time they came to inspect, I saw one guy tapping the sensors with a wrench, tapping the sensors! Those old men don't care about other people's boats at all."

"There are a lot of things they don't care about," Lyon added, cursing the water police.

But his heart was beating faster and faster.

That wasn't a rough examination at all!

Someone must have tampered with his boat before his last voyage, otherwise the rudder wouldn't have broken down.

The other party must have deliberately kept the cable in a state of intermittent disconnection, which could break at any time. But he was lucky to be alive. Fortunately, Connor was injured and returned in time. Otherwise, if the rudder had gone out of control in the ocean, it would have been a fatal thing.

Later, after stopping for a while on Hart Island, the swaying cables inexplicably tangled together again, and I managed to drive back to the port with great difficulty.

Immediately afterwards, he was inspected by the marine police, who forcibly towed the boat back to the marine police shipyard for inspection without explanation.

At the time, he thought the other party was heartless, but in reality, the other party was secretly fixing the cable!

Those bastards even told themselves "no problem found"!

FXXK!

These bastards want me dead!

Lyon's forehead was covered in cold sweat, and it was already 2 a.m. when he returned to his apartment.

He nervously locked the door twice, turned off all the lights in the living room, and then walked to the window.

Lyon stood sideways behind the curtains, pinching the edge of the fabric with his fingers, and glanced outside.

The gray sedan slowly drove across the street below and stopped about twenty meters away.

He couldn't see the license plate; it was too dark at night, but the car's outline was exactly the same!

Leon took a step back in alarm, even though he knew the other person couldn't see inside, he was still very nervous.

The car drove off again, its taillights flashing briefly at the street corner before disappearing.

FXXK!

Lyon's knuckles turned white.

Who's watching me?

I'm just a rich second-generation heir who doesn't care about worldly affairs!

In the gray sedan.

The driver said, "He seems to have noticed something's wrong. He never used to draw the curtains."

"Who knows? Maybe he's masturbating in his room."

"Lyon's a rich kid, he doesn't need to solve this himself. He's got plenty of money!"

"Maybe his girlfriend is having trouble these days? Try a different car."

"it is good."

The most likely person Lyon could think of was his older brother, Elton.

During this period, my father's health deteriorated.

Halfway through last month's board meeting, the old man suddenly leaned back in his chair, sweating profusely, and had to rest for an hour before he could continue.

Later, his brother Elton took over the chairmanship of the meeting.

Lyon wasn't a board member and couldn't attend board meetings; he only heard about it a week later from other people.

Elton is the executive vice president of Monroe Media Group. His father had long ago arranged for Elton to take over the reins, and usually only gave Lyon pocket money and some other resources, never letting him touch the family's core Monroe Media Group.

Elton is seven years older than Lyon. After graduating from Harvard Business School, he worked in the group and climbed his way up from the bottom to his current position.

He was his father’s proud son, the board’s trusted successor, and the face that every business magazine would put on the cover when writing about the Monroe family.

Lyon is different.

Lyon doesn't even have a seat on the board of directors.

He never wears a suit, attends banquets, or appears in any business settings.

His life revolved around yachts, fishing rods, and Lisa.

He has no ambition, nor can he have one, and he doesn't usually want to get involved in those messy things.

But that doesn't mean he's stupid.

He's just too lazy to deal with company affairs, and his father wouldn't agree, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want money.

Why did the Monroe family, with billions in assets, end up with only tens of millions in their own hands?

Although tens of millions is a lot of money, enough for him to buy a boat and go out to sea, Lyon still felt unsatisfied.

This resentment wasn't fueled by anger, but by a sense of unfairness: Why?

Just because his brother was born seven years earlier than him?

But should we let him compete with Elton?

To manage that massive media empire with thousands of employees?

He was even less willing.

He doesn't know how to manage a company, and he doesn't want to know.

He didn't want to look at financial reports, didn't want to hold board meetings, and didn't want to hear his subordinates report on GG's revenue and ratings.

He just wanted to go out to sea on the weekend and catch a cod that was bigger than the last one.

But things are different now; Elton no longer agrees to let himself live!

Lyon recalled Elton's usually kind and gentle face, and how he was now so sinister and ruthless; his fingers trembled slightly.

We're brothers!

We're brothers!

I'm already so far away from the Monroe Group, and you're still not satisfied!

But let Lyon challenge Elton?

That's impossible; Elton has far more resources at his disposal.

A direct confrontation would be certain death.

Then the only option is to run away...

In a fit of anger, Lyon snapped.

He sadly discovered that he had been spoiled by his father, and when his older brother was about to take action, he could only wag his tail and beg for mercy like a dog.

"We're brothers!" Lyon exclaimed, filled with grief and indignation.

The biggest question now is: Where to go?

Elton's influence extends beyond North America; the Monroe family also has media branches in Europe.

If he escapes to London or Paris, Elton's men will find him quickly.

Europe is unsafe, and so is the United States.

We can't go to Europe or America.

That leaves only Asia.

Japan and South Korea, the influence of the United States is still too great, and Elton might extend his reach there.

The Yue Monkey and the Buddhist Kingdom?

That's a place only poor white people go.

Those places were too chaotic, and by his standards, they weren't safe enough. He didn't want to have a drink at a bar and wake up to find himself lying on an operating table at a shady clinic.

So... what about the University of Tokyo?

Some people online say that the University of Tokyo is very safe, and you can walk alone on the street late at night without worrying about being robbed.

Some people say that Dongda University is just a larger version of North Korea, where poor people can't afford to eat, people are thin and short, and there is constant internal strife. However, based on his interactions with Dongda University students, it doesn't seem to be like that.

But can you trust what you read online?

He needs to ask someone reliable.

Lyon thought of Richard.

"Hey bro, how have you been lately?"

After exchanging a few words, Leon began to cautiously probe.

He leaned back on the sofa, put his feet on the coffee table, and deliberately spoke in a very nonchalant tone.

"I've heard that the area around the University of Tokyo is very safe. Is that true?"

"Why did you suddenly want to ask about this?" Richard's voice paused for a moment.

"I want to try living in a different country. I'm tired of New York and want to study at the University of Tokyo."

"Why the sudden urge to study abroad?" Richard's voice held a hint of doubt. "And... is safety your primary concern?"

Lyon bared his teeth.

He knew his request sounded strange. A rich American kid who grew up in New York suddenly saying he wanted to study at the University of Tokyo would seem odd to any normal person.

Lyon carefully recalled every interaction he had with Richard.

Richard's background has always been somewhat unclear, but he saved Brian's life, Lisa respected him greatly, and even someone like Christina Shepard was willing to take him on as her academic successor.

It's impossible for someone like Richard to have any connection with Elton, and his family has a powerful influence at East University!

Perhaps getting to know Richard after arriving at the University of Tokyo will make his life a little easier.

Leon lowered his voice, no longer hiding his intentions: "Richard, I suspect my brother is following me!"

He talked about the gray sedan, about seeing that license plate number again on the roadside tonight, JLY-4817, and about every detail of how he deliberately took a detour, drew the curtains, and went to the shipyard in the early morning.

He spoke incoherently and without any logical structure.

"I didn't tell anyone about this—not Lisa, not my father, not even the police. The marine police are in cahoots with them!"

Leon was terrified, not knowing just how far Elton's reach had gone.

He dared not gamble.

"Richard, you're definitely not one of Elton's men! We were all on the ship at the time; if the helm had gone out of control, you would have died too. So you couldn't have done this. Help me! After all, Elton almost killed you too!"

Richard fell silent.

This kid is outsmarting thin air!

Richard understood immediately that the person following Leon was either Dali or an arms dealer, working with the two surveillance cameras across from his YC apartment.

The two monitors had been in that building for quite some time.

Richard originally thought they were only targeting him, but now it seems that he's not the only one being watched.

Lyon has also been targeted.

Elton couldn't have used that method.

In family succession disputes, whether through poisoning or assassination, the quickest method is to eliminate the target directly.

Tracking is too inefficient, too uncertain, and too costly.

What can you do by following Leon?

Have you found any dirt on him?

This kind of fighting tactic is almost ineffective in family infighting. For parents, even if their son indulges in drinking, gambling, prostitution, and drug use, he is still a good child.

As long as the parents love their son, they can forgive him for anything.

So if Elton really wanted to take action against Leon, he could simply hire an assassin or stage an accident.

There's absolutely no need to send two people to follow cars on the road in the middle of the night or to hide under apartment buildings in the cold wind.

"Is Dongda University safe or not?" Lyon asked again, this time without any joking tone in his voice.

Richard thought about it.

He needed to let Lyon take the lead, to test the waters for him, and see how the stalker would handle the situation.

"It's very safe." Richard's voice was calm: "At Dongda University, the probability of you being killed by an assassin is lower than winning the lottery."

Lyon finally breathed a sigh of relief: "So where do you suggest I go? Which city is the safest?"

"Actually, they're all pretty much the same. First-tier cities and new first-tier cities, you can just pick one, depending on whether you prefer the south or the north, or whatever other conditions you have. In short, once you set foot on that land, you're safe."

"OK, thank you, I'll think it over carefully." Leon hung up the phone, deep in thought.

Richard hung up the phone and opened the curtains a crack.

A new fly took off from the metal box and flew into the room of the watcher in the building across the street.

A short while later, another fly flew back. It had been staking out the building for 12 hours and was about to die.

Twelve hours of memories flooded into Richard's brain.

The two people kept watching the surveillance equipment, drinking water and eating, without leaving the room or communicating with outsiders.

No phone calls came in, and no one came to ask them to change shifts.

Their operational pattern is like that of a machine, rotating positions every hour and checking equipment every two hours.

There was no conversation with the employer during this period, and no information worth following.

They simply exist, existing continuously and quietly.

Richard put the metal box back into his pocket.

In that case, let Lyon test it.

If he really intends to leave New York, his stalkers will likely take action.

By then, he will be able to see who is spying on him.

Richard got up, changed his coat, and went to his part-time job drawing blood.

Twenty minutes later, Richard parked his car in a paid parking lot two blocks away.

He still vividly remembered being surrounded by a group of black people in Brooklyn, and he didn't want to test the tolerance of street thugs for nice cars again.

Car repairs are quite expensive.

Richard's part-time job was at a branch of the BI0 chain plasma center, located on the ground floor of an old commercial building in Queens, next to a laundry shop that always had discounts.

Richard walked through the steaming vents at the entrance of the laundromat and pushed open the glass door of the blood plasma station.

A mixture of disinfectant and bleach odor wafted out.

On the mottled wall, there is a poster reminding people to donate a maximum of twice a week.

The corners of the poster are curled up, and it's unclear how many years it's been up there.