I am a necromancer, and I absolutely love America.

Chapter 144 God of War Poppy (10K long chapter, please vote and subscribe)

Isabella calmly pulled a crumpled piece of white paper from her pocket.

It was that piece of white paper that was in the safe.

"When I was suspended, I knew you were going to get me. How could I possibly leave things where you could find them?"

Henry took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down: "So, what do you want to do now?"

Isabella's smile widened.

His face was pale with exhaustion and blood loss, and his lips were even cracked.

But her eyes were like two torches, and she laughed, "I want to sit in this position. You should resign."

"You're dreaming!" Henry's voice turned cold.

He had figured it out. The situation hadn't worsened much; it was just that Isabella knew about his hostility, and Samuel's resignation had caused him to lose face: "If that video is released, you're finished too. Isabella, don't use this to threaten me. You might go even further now, and I don't believe you'd want to lose to me."

1

"You're right, of course I won't fight you to the death." Isabella surprisingly didn't refute.

She took out a voice recorder, placed it on the table, and pressed the play button.

"What? You want to come again? Then come on."

"What are you doing, you bitch!"

"Being a thief is not the mark of a good police chief."

"Samuel is my chosen successor as Commissioner of Police! What are you doing? You're ruining him! If two consecutive Commissioners of Police are removed from their posts, I, as the Commissioner, will lose all face!"

"That's it, understand, bitch? No more investigation of Samuel! No!"

"Did this guy do something shady?"

"Everyone's doing something shady! Are you going to arrest them all?"

"Just because he did it, doesn't mean I can't investigate?"

Henry's face turned completely pale.

He remembered that these were the words Isabella had said after he had slept with her at her house the last time, when he discovered that she was investigating Samuel.

This material is enough to prove that Henry was protecting Samuel, and given that Samuel had just been arrested, this recording is comparable to a nuclear bomb.

"You—" Henry's lips trembled as he looked at Isabella as if she were the most wicked witch: "Did you deliberately let me see that investigation document that day?"

He finally understood, but it was too late.

Isabella picked up the recorder and twirled it between her fingers: "You can choose to tough it out, and then I'll hand this over to the prosecutor or an agency like the DIO. They'll be happy to take down the NYPD chief, and you'll end up in federal jail, or at least lose your pension. As for me, I'll make a big contribution and then compete with some jerk for the chief's position."

"Or..." Isabella stood up and whispered in Henry's ear, "Or you could choose to resign and recommend me for the position of director, and you can enjoy your retirement with your pension. Dear Director Carter, choose one."

Henry looked at her as if he were watching a knife slowly being pressed against his throat.

After a long while, he completely collapsed, as if he had aged 20 years in an instant. After a long while, he slowly raised his head and said, "You are indeed more suitable to be the director of the NYPD than I am."

Henry Carter's voice was devoid of any emotion—not anger, not sorrow, just utter exhaustion.

Isabella laughed and threw the crumpled piece of paper on the table: "Since you agree, then write your resignation on this paper."

Henry stared at the blank paper, his fingers trembling.

Just then, his phone rang.

Isabella glanced at the screen and raised an eyebrow: "It's the mayor. Answer it."

Henry picked up his phone and pressed the answer button.

Menterson's roar exploded from the receiver, loud enough to be heard throughout the room without needing speakerphone: "Henry! Look what you've done! I just publicly endorsed Samuel for Commissioner General, and he's been arrested!"

Damn it! You've disappointed me terribly!! Get your ass over here right now! Fk!

Mentorson, as always, shifted blame whenever something went wrong. It was as if he hadn't reviewed the situation before approving it. Henry was silent for a few seconds, then spoke: "Mayor, due to personal health issues, I am resigning and recommending Isabella-Rose as the Director of the NYPD."

.

There was a full three seconds of silence on the other end of the phone.

Then Menterson roared in exasperation, "That bitch's causing trouble again, isn't she?! Get Isabella to see me!"

Isabella leaned back in her chair and laughed unrestrainedly.

The laughter didn't stop at all, and they didn't care whether the person on the other end of the phone could hear it.

"Damn it!" Menterson was so angry that he hung up the phone immediately.

Henry hung up the phone, placed it on the table, quietly finished writing his resignation letter, put away his pen, and returned it to the pen holder.

He glanced at the desk again.

The files on the desktop are somewhat cluttered.

He tidies up his desk every day after get off work because he will be back the next day.

But not today.

Isabella wasn't in a hurry at all.

Henry Carter touched the desk again, then got up and opened the door.

Before leaving, he looked back one last time.

The cup of coffee on his desk was still steaming, but he would never sit in that chair again in his life.

Henry turned and walked to the public office area.

Everyone looked at Henry with curiosity.

His face was ashen, like a patient who had just undergone major surgery.

Isabella followed behind him, standing beside him, as eager as a new king about to inherit the throne.

"Everyone, please be quiet." Henry's voice was hoarse. "My heart condition is getting worse. Due to health reasons, I will formally submit my resignation to the mayor and recommend Isabella Rose as the next director. Until the mayor makes a decision on the new director, Isabella will temporarily act as the head of the NYPD."

The corridor was silent.

Everyone stared at Isabella in astonishment.

This news came as a complete surprise!

Then, Henry glanced at everyone and added, "Chief Superintendent Samuel because—in any case, I will ultimately recommend O'Connor for the position of Chief Superintendent."

He gave a wry smile after saying those last words.

Samuel was someone he personally pushed into the position, and now he wants to replace Samuel with someone else.

Amidst the complex gazes of the crowd, Henry turned and left.

Isabella said with a smile, "I'll see our former director off."

Former director... Henry narrowed his eyes, didn't turn around, and walked somewhat hunched over through the office area corridor, out of the revolving door, and into the sunlight outside.

The sunlight shone on his face, and he squinted.

He hadn't left the police station at this time in a long time.

Perhaps it's not such a bad thing...

Henry looked at Isabella: "Now, are you satisfied?"

"Satisfied?" Isabella licked her red lips. "No! That's far from enough!"

Henry sensed Isabella's relentless lust for power and gave her a deep look. "Well, good luck. Hopefully, I won't have to visit you in federal prison in the future. Now you should be inside trying to appease everyone."

Isabella replied, "No, I need to calm the mayor down and also sort out my acting bureau chief issue."

Any meat that comes into your mouth must be eaten immediately.

Not a second can be wasted.

Menterson was very careful; she never recorded any videos in his home or office.

Only once did she seduce Menterson in his car, leaving behind a short video.

It was very short, less than a minute.

But it's enough!

The tireless Isabella drove away.

Henry watched her car drive away, then picked up his phone one last time: "Chief Marlowe, one of your employees, Owen Morris, filed a formal complaint accusing OCME of illegally selling corpses. I've suppressed it for you; please handle it as soon as possible."

Marlowe's exclamation came through the phone: "WTF?! That damn traitor!"

Marlowe was furious.

"Thank you, Henry! I owe you one."

Henry put down his phone.

This news is useless to him now, so he might as well do Marlowe one last favor; it might come in handy later.

The following morning, the NYPD website updated with three personnel transfer notices.

Following Samuel's arrest, O'Connor assumed the role of acting superintendent of police.

Henry Carter resigned due to personal health reasons.

Isabella – appointed acting commissioner of the NYPD.

The title of the notice used a standard internal format, without any unnecessary embellishments or sentimental words, just like a pre-prepared alternative plan.

Doug stood in the hallway, clutching a police briefing in his hand.

Doug was Brian's most trusted assistant, having followed him for over a thousand years.

Doug had seen Brian win and lose, witnessed his ruthless counterattack against his political opponents in Congress, and also seen his pathetic state when besieged by the media.

Doug thought he had figured out everything about Brian, until today.

He had absolutely no idea how Brian won.

Gunfire erupted on Hart Island.

Overnight, Samuel was arrested, and O'Connor became the Superintendent General.

Henry resigned, and Isabella took over as director.

Doug was absolutely certain that these two men were Brian's men.

The three of them had recently conspired on some things.

He knew every call Brian made, every schedule he took, and every meeting he attended every day, and he couldn't understand how Brian had managed to do it.

Six people ambushed 23!

Despite being outgunned, O'Connor led five men against 23 armed bandits, killing 22 and capturing the bandit leader.

Is this part of a movie plot?

O'Connor and two others survived!

Even O'Connor himself was unharmed.

Brian, however, seemed to have believed from the very beginning that O'Connor would win!

Doug shook his head slightly, walked into the office, and handed the briefing to Brian: "Mr. Anderson, you might want to take a look at this briefing."

Brian glanced at it quickly, then tapped the table with satisfaction.

It's exactly the same information my master gave me!

It's not scary that the master commits murder; what's scary is that no one knows who did it.

Keep in mind that O'Connor was there the whole time!

In any case, after eighteen years, the NYPD has finally returned to his hands, and the commissioner and the superintendent are both his men!

His power in the NYPD has almost returned to its peak!

Brian closed his eyes and recalled that afternoon 18 years ago when he left the police station.

You bunch of bastards, you didn't expect me to come back, did you?

Then, he slowly opened his eyes: "These useless people in New York have absolutely no idea how to use the NYPD!"

As a veteran officer who came from the NYPD, every cell in his body was used to wielding the NYPD's mighty blade.

After leaving the NYPD, he did not have a smooth time in his position as a congressman.

He persevered in the same spot for 18 years, but failed to take another step forward.

After 18 years of struggle, Brian finally understood that some people are adept at using deals and words to maneuver in Parliament.

Some people are adept at using certain administrative powers to achieve their own goals.

Brian excels at the latter.

If given the opportunity in the future, I should perhaps step down from my position as a member of the House of Representatives and compete for a higher administrative position.

For example, the mayor of New York City, or the director of the FBI?

That's all in the future.

In fact, back when he was the director of the NYPD, Brian discovered that the NYPD was actually the most terrifying, fully-powered weapon in the New York power arena.

Tens of thousands of police officers, informants throughout the city, criminal investigation, special police, and all branches of street patrols are all super high attributes that this magical tool comes with.

This divine weapon not only boasts exceptionally high stats, but also comes with countless skills, including case investigation, surveillance, public order maintenance, street control, and special operations...

Henry Carter was a brute who only knew how to smash and chop.

Brian, on the other hand, was completely different.

He rose through the ranks from the bottom, he was familiar with every authority, he could accurately grasp law enforcement deployment, he was well-versed in the art of maneuvering police force, and he understood the needs, dilemmas, and power boundaries of every position from rank-and-file police officer to police superintendent.

However, at the time, Brian was the director, and many skills were meaningless to him, or even had side effects, so he did not make full use of them.

Things are different now; I'm a congressman.

Brian had been preparing for this moment for a long time. His master had lost patience, and his time was running out.

I must win this House of Representatives election!

Since losing means death, he doesn't care about using even more insane methods than he did when he was the director.

Even if it turns the whole of New York into a battlefield!

According to the Dongda proverb, this means, "After I die, I don't care if the world is flooded!"

Brian now spends his free time studying the history and culture of the University of Tokyo, and his understanding of the university is getting deeper and deeper.

Brian picked up his phone and called Killian.

The phone rang, and the person on the other end answered.

"Hey, Killian," Brian said casually, as if inviting an old friend for golf, "I think we can talk now. I don't want to wait any longer."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, followed by a very soft sigh.

Brian's lips curled up slightly.

He knew what the sigh meant; it meant that Killian understood that he had lost!

A few minutes later, Ren hung up the phone, got up, walked out of the office, and got into his car.

Doug was still driving, and the ugly man headed to the restaurant for lunch.

On the way, Brian picked up his phone and dialed Mayor Manchester's number: "Mr. Mayor."

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone before a firm voice said, "Mr. Representative, what is it?"

Brian leaned back in his chair, his voice unhurried: "I saw the news. Isabella has become the new director, and O'Connor is the superintendent. The personnel changes at the NYPD are indeed significant and unexpected."

Menterson clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. He had never imagined that everything would change so drastically overnight: "Just an acting director. Still under investigation."

"Oh," Brian replied. "Then you'd better do a thorough investigation. Don't end up like Samuel, who was removed as soon as he was announced as Commissioner General."

Fk! Menterson gritted his teeth.

How did O'Connor manage to do that?!

How is it possible that 6 vs 23, and 3 of them still survived!

Are all the Ghost Shadow Gang members pigs?!

Brian hung up without waiting for Manterson to speak.

He put down his phone and leaned back in his chair.

Outside the window, traffic flowed like a river.

Young people these days probably don't understand what it means for the NYPD to fall into their hands.

Brian's lips curled into a slight smile.

The kid's being overbearing; your overbearing, strict father has returned!

Inside the ballistics testing room at OCME, the lights were stark white, and a whole row of documents lay spread out on the table.

O'Connor, Isabella, three senior medical examiners, and several assistants sat together.

Simon, the forensic pathologist, took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. On the comparison chart in front of him, the bullet rifling marks matched 100%, confirming it was a Bobby Jensen pistol.

All the ballistic traces pointed to the same astonishing conclusion: that pistol, which was supposed to be perfect for all bullets, hit the enemy with every single shot!

This is a miracle!

After repeated verification by three senior forensic experts, they all signed their names.

As a forensic assistant and also as a clerk assisting with data organization, Zha Lun was fortunate to participate in this work.

She was just a forensic assistant and didn't know much about gunfights, but several things on that page stunned her: 16 bullets, hitting 16 targets, 15 people died on the spot, and one bullet hit the gang leader's thigh vitals. By all accounts, it seemed like they deliberately avoided vitals to capture important criminals.

This is amazing!

On a pitch-black night on Blink Island, outnumbered and outgunned, what kind of courage and ability did this police officer named Bobby possess to accomplish such a feat?

Unfortunately, Bobby was unable to answer the question, and his head was smashed by the bandit leader's pistol.

Perhaps, very likely, Bobby's death was caused by his failure to kill the gang leader on the spot, as he wanted to capture him alive.

What a pity.

O'Connor looked at the final conclusion, turned the ugly page, his brows furrowing deeper and deeper. Finally, he slammed the report on the table with a sharp crack: "Impossible! I know Bobby, his marksmanship isn't that good."

Simon, the forensic expert, spoke on behalf of the forensic team: "I understand your concerns, but ballistics don't lie."

"He won't lie?" O'Connor pointed to the report. "Nine people were shot through the collarbone or the top of the head, penetrating deep into their bodies. Bobby drove down from a height; he climbed a tree? And not just one?"

"In less than five minutes, how did Bobby, severely injured by a defensive grenade, manage to climb the tree, kill nine beggars, move to the shore, and even sneak up behind the enemy to kill the remaining beggars from behind?"

"Poppy was in that collapsed room at the end. Even if he killed everyone, why would he go back?"

Simon paused for a moment, then said, "I don't know, but the bullet holes do show that."

"The absence of blood on the tree suggests that he was likely unharmed during the first wave of defensive grenades."

"The angle of the bullet entering through the collarbone indicates that the shooter was positioned higher than the target, possibly in a tree or on a slope. Alternatively, the target may have been in a prone or supine position."

"A bullet fired from behind indicates that he fired from behind the enemy, or that the enemy was in a state of escape."

Simon paused here: "Of course, my job is to analyze the trajectory of the bullets based on the wounds on the bodies, not to reconstruct the battlefield situation at the time. However, when I eliminate all the illogical explanations, only the most illogical, and only possible, truth remains."

""

"What truth?" O'Connor frowned.

He knew Simon was right; from a ballistic standpoint, those bullets could indeed only have come from Bobby's gun.

But the rhythm of the gunshots he heard in that pit, that irregular, precise, and ruthless interval, didn't seem like the desperate struggle of a severely wounded beggar.

"Unless you killed him and you lied to everyone," Simon said. "There was no blood on the tree because you weren't injured; the fight lasted more than five minutes because the others had no idea how long it was; and you attacked from behind because your actions terrified him, and he was running away."

O'Connor exclaimed in astonishment, "That's ridiculous! If it were mine, why would I hide it? This is a huge achievement!"

"Moreover, I simply cannot execute such outrageous tactical maneuvers. Looking at this document, I felt like I was watching a Hyperion movie!"

'

The office was quiet for a moment.

Everyone was looking at him.

O'Connor knew she couldn't announce it like this.

This achievement seems tempting, but the trouble is even greater.

That would only lead outsiders to accuse the NYPD of fabricating a story, creating a hero out of thin air, or to think that the OCME is sucking up to the new Commissioner General.

The present is glorious, but the future holds endless troubles.

Isabella finished reading the report and said bluntly, "Then let's publicize God of War, Poppy. Hold a memorial service immediately, and I want to see everyone from sheriff to rank in attendance."

Bobby killed sixteen thugs single-handedly; he's a hero of New York. The compensation process for the family of a fallen hero should be expedited. That's it.

She didn't understand what was really going on, but her relationship with O'Connor had changed.

O'Connor is now the Chief Superintendent, and he's already quite prominent, while she has just taken the position of Commissioner.

The relationship between the police chief and the superintendent of police has never been good.

If media outlets continue to promote O'Connor as "Goddess of War," she will find it very difficult to control O'Connor in the future.

A dead hero is safer than a living superintendent of police.

The beggar wouldn't steal credit or compete with her for power.

Isabella went all out to promote the cause in order to solidify her claim.

As the newly appointed director, Isabella was known as a crazy woman in the NYPD, and no one dared to stop her decisions.

That evening, the same story was being broadcast on news throughout New York.

"The truth behind the Hart Island shootout revealed: Seriously wounded officer Bobby Jensen single-handedly killed 15 gunmen before dying from exhaustion."

"Bobby the Warrior - Guardian of New York".

"Sixteen shots, fifteen kills, all hitting vital points. The last shot was also for capturing the bandit leader alive. A true war god!"

Another media outlet's headline was even simpler: "Street vendors have started selling hats and T-shirts printed with Bobby's name..."

The scene then cuts to the NYPD's memorial service.

Bobby Jensen's photo was displayed in the center; his face looked very young, even somewhat childish.

His mother sat in the front row, surrounded by other officers, her shoulders shaking.

The camera slowly panned across everyone's faces; Superintendent Kang remained silent, while Officer Kang shed tears.

Bobby Jensen is broke, but he became a hero in New York.

Only within OCME and the police department did rumors circulate that O'Connor had killed all the criminals.

O'Connor turned off the TV.

The rhythm of gunfire he heard in that pit, those irregular, precise, and slaughter-like intervals, remained in his mind.

He touched the ten marks on his chest. In any case, St. Debbie protected him; he hadn't been hurt at all!

Brian and Killian were sitting in the same restaurant again.

Same private room, same menu.

Brian's appetite was unusually good today.

He cut off a piece of steak, put it in his mouth, quickly finished it, and then cut off the next piece.

After finishing the whole steak, he ordered a new one.

Brian finally put down his knife with satisfaction after eating half of his plate, picked up a snow-white napkin to wipe his mouth, and casually tossed it on the table.

"You never eat any of it." Brian glanced at the untouched steak in front of Killian and chuckled, "Are you planning to take it back as a specimen?"

Killian's face was grim.

The knife and fork in front of him were neatly arranged, the napkin was folded next to the plate, and the steak was cold with a thin layer of oil on the surface.

He really couldn't eat.

eat?

He couldn't sleep at all because of the troubles on Hart Island.

Brian leaned back: "Guess what the NYPD found on Hart Island?"

Killian watched Brian nervously.

"You know that arms deal dock, right?" Brian's voice was calm. "The dock's construction materials have the KOM company's logo on them. You and Samuel were covering up the arms deal. You were in cahoots."

Killian's face turned pale at first, then flushed red.

He leaned forward abruptly, his voice low but filled with explosive rage: "You're framing me! I've never been involved in any arms deal! This whole thing has been completely out of my sight! Maybe some bastards at KOM are doing it, but they're doing it behind my back! It has nothing to do with me! Don't try to implicate me!"

As he finished speaking, his chest heaved violently.

He truly knew nothing of Samuel's dealings on Hart Island.

And they even used KOM building materials to build a dock!

He couldn't even tell if Brian was telling the truth or bluffing.

He felt like a bull about to be slaughtered when Brian walked over with an electric nail gun!

Brian quietly finished speaking, then picked up his glass and took a sip.

"Maybe so. So you don't want KOM anymore?"

Brian's voice was devoid of any emotional fluctuation, as ordinary as asking, "Want to go out for a drink tomorrow?"

Killian trembled.

He certainly couldn't give up KOM.

"Using KOM's building materials doesn't mean KOM was involved in the dock construction. They might have stolen them. Don't try to intimidate me!"

Brian's lips curled into a slight smile.

KOM Corporation is Killian's Achilles' heel; once they've got their hands on it, there's no way they can escape.

"That's true, but... let me just tell you straight," Brian said calmly, "Isabella and O'Connor are both my people. This investigation won't end as long as I demand it, and KOM can forget about digging a hole and burying a body on Hart Island!"

"And then there's the water police. Isabella's the chief now, the first female chief of the NYPD. She's a really capable woman. I guarantee every boat on the KOM will be thoroughly inspected, and every shipping route will be scrutinized!"

"Furthermore, I guarantee that the police will visit K0M Company at least three times a day for verbal inquiries, temporary administrative inspections, checking the identity information of all employees, whether there are any illegal immigrants, background records of personnel in special positions... In short, I will have them thoroughly investigate everything within the scope of the rules! Three times a day!"

"You've run a company your whole life, and I can turn it into a money-losing mess in just three months."

"Moreover, during this process, you must not let me find any weakness, otherwise I guarantee K0M will not last a week."

""

"So, what are your thoughts now?"

Killian's breathing began to become heavier.

His fingers trembled slightly on the table.

Which company can withstand such an investigation?

KOM was something he built up over his entire life, and it was his only source of wealth and luxury after retirement.

He has some other assets, but they are simply not enough to maintain his family's current standard of living, and there's still the mortgage to pay!

That beautiful estate, the horse his daughter raised from a young age, the orchard his wife planted herself, and all the various expenses Killian himself had—without KOM, he would either have to sell it or go bankrupt!

Brian didn't rush him.

He just sat across from me, like a doctor waiting for a patient's family to sign "do not treat".

After a long silence, Killian sighed.

That sigh was like a string that had been stretched for a long time finally being released, carrying a heavy sense of resignation.

He recalled the days when Brian was still the director of the NYPD, the golden age when Theodore and Alger controlled the entire city of New York, and the whole city was in the hands of that ugly bastard.

At that time, Brian had not yet become a congressman; he was the sharpest knife in the hand of the ugly man.

Now, Brian has regained control of the NYPD...

"Why are you fixated on KOM?" Killian's voice was hoarse. "It's just a very small company."

Brian laughed.

He leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped on the table: "I need your support, I need your voters, that's what matters most. KOM is just dessert to me."

Killian gave a wry smile and finally gave up the struggle: "Fine, I'll give you 10% of the shares, and I'll also rally my voters to support you."

Brian shook his head: "Thirty percent."

Killian froze, then a surge of anger rose in his stomach, making his chest throb: "I said one-tenth before!"

"One-tenth was my first act of goodwill," Brian said calmly. "But you, Killian, a mere city councilor, didn't accept the goodwill of a U.S. Representative! So now it's thirty percent. If you're still not willing, no problem, the next time I approach you it'll be seventy percent."

Killian stared wide-eyed at Brian, and after a long pause, he reluctantly said, "————Okay."

Brian immediately broke into a smile, displaying the perfect politician's grin.

Congratulations on making the right choice.

He stood up and straightened his suit collar. "I'm a very generous person to my friends. I'll help you push for the Hart Island Act; haven't you always wanted it to pass?"

Killian looked at him, unsure whether to laugh or cry.

This bastard just had 30% of his shares stolen, and now when he says "I'll help you pass the bill," it's like he's doing a favor.

FXXK!

You are now a shareholder of KOM Corporation, and your push for the Hart Island Act is also a way for you to make money!

That's absolutely shameless!

Brian said, "I'm very generous to my friends. I can help you acquire those small and medium-sized cemetery companies in my district that are trying to band together to put pressure on me."

Killian felt a chill run down his spine.

That's Brian. Brian can betray anyone, but no one can betray him.

Those cemetery companies used to be his supporters, but he joined forces with Killian, so in Brian's world, he is now an enemy.

He will not give traitors a second chance.

Of course, Brian had a second purpose.

KOM is also one of Brian's businesses, which has turned small and medium-sized cemetery companies into Brian's competitors.

"Brian, you're a shameless bastard," Killian said with a wry smile.

"Thank you for the compliment." Brian smiled, then seemed to suddenly remember something: "By the way, a friend of mine wants to conduct research on the dangers of corpses on Hart Island. I hope you can pass the bill in the city council."

"You mean Christina?" Killian frowned. "What's her relationship with you?"

"Friend," Brian winked.

"I don't believe you!" Killian scoffed.

Who knows what kind of shady dealings are going on behind the scenes with such an ugly person?

The university may be able to influence certain candidates, and Brian estimates that he has already cooperated with them to some extent.

"But Hart Island has some trade secrets..."

"I guarantee that even if Christina's people see Manterson's body on the island, they will keep quiet. I can sign a three-party confidentiality agreement, don't worry, I also own 30% of KOM."

"Fuck! Don't mention this!" Killian felt even more pain after making the vow.

Just as Brian was about to leave the room, the television on the wall suddenly switched to a news channel.

The female news anchor sat upright at the broadcasting desk, her expression serious: "Good evening, viewers. We now have a breaking political news report. Democratic Congressman Brian Anderson is embroiled in a workplace sexual harassment scandal. His former female campaign manager, Anna, officially revealed her allegations to various media outlets today. Anna claims that Brian subjected her to long-term and continuous workplace sexual harassment as early as during Brian's first congressional campaign. Anna presented a large number of chat logs as evidence, including key evidence such as Brian asking her for private photos late at night and sending explicit harassing text messages."

"Anna has now formally filed a lawsuit in the local court regarding this incident. Our station will continue to follow the developments of the case and bring you real-time reports..."

17

Brian stopped and stood still, quietly watching the less than sixty-second news segment.

His expression remained unchanged, as if he were looking at someone who had nothing to do with him.

Killian chuckled. "Brian, looks like you're in big trouble."

Brian glanced back at him and calmly said, "As a big shot, you have countless troubles every day. If you don't have troubles, it means you've been forgotten. My troubles are bigger than yours, which means my position is bigger than yours. That's why I'm a congressman, and you're just a lowly city councilor."

Killian's smile vanished by half.

He found himself unable to refute the facts.

"Then I wish you all the best in your public debate with Marty," Killian said, clearly annoyed.

Losing 3% of his shares would be painful for him for a month, so he could only gain some advantage verbally.

Brian did not answer.

He stepped out of the room.

In the hallway, Doug was already waiting, holding a news briefing.

Brian waved his hand: "No need to look, I just saw the news, it's about that beggar Anna!"

Brian gritted his teeth.

Doug immediately said, "It's not that."

Brian stopped in his tracks.

Doug handed over the briefing: "Wenren just publicly endorsed Marty's policies. It was on TV, live."

Brian took the briefing, but didn't open it. Holding it in his hand, he sneered, "These damned butchers are already tightening the ropes, trying to strangle me."

He shoved the briefing back into Doug's hand and continued walking.

"But he's destined to be disappointed," Brian's voice came from the front.

"The me with the NYPD and the me without the NYPD are completely different ugly people!"

Doug followed behind.

He knew that his boss was finally able to unleash a killing spree.

Valerie dropped the toast from her hand onto the plate.

She is finished.

She betrayed O'Connor.

She sold his plans to Mohamed Carter, and now Mohamed is out of office, Samuel has been arrested, and O'Connor has become the Superintendent General.

If O'Connor knew what she had done, she would be torn to shreds.

Her fingers began to tremble.

She recalled that day in the interrogation room when Muhammad Carter threatened, "If you mess this up, I guarantee I'll throw you in a well and have you in federal prison for ten years."

Henghao is no longer the bureau chief!

Valerie stood up and paced back and forth in the room.

She stared at O'Connor's face on the TV screen, then suddenly remembered something: Wait!

I was the one who brought O'Connor to the island!

Without me, O'Connor would never have reached Hart Island, never had he caught Dahmer, never had he solved the arms case, and never had he become a hero!

"As long as I don't tell anyone, I'm not the one who betrayed O'Connor; I'm still a very important assistant!"

Valerie's eyes lit up.

She picked up her phone again, found O'Connor's number, and dialed it.

The call was answered quickly.

"Inspector O'Connor!" Valerie's tone was enthusiastic, as if welcoming a long-lost friend. "I saw the news! Congratulations! You were amazing! That battle on Hart Island was brilliant!"

"—Valerie, what do you need?"

"What I'm trying to say is... if I hadn't helped you get to the island, you wouldn't have caught a single one, right? So—you see, shouldn't I get some credit too? I don't need much, just give me any explanation, like 'informant fee' or something, and I can get some in the future too—"

Irving stared at his phone screen; the news from Hart Island had been rolling for almost half an hour.

He originally thought this matter would have something to do with his report, after all, Hart Island was the burial site of OCME.

Perhaps because of his own whistleblowing, Muhammad-Hart began an investigation, which sparked some gunfights.

In the end, did Muhammad-Hart resign?

Why? Irving couldn't understand it at all.

Just then, his phone vibrated.

A message popped up on the screen, sent by Fu Nong: "Irving, come to OCME headquarters. Director Marlow wants to see you. I'll be there too."

Irving was puzzled and had a bad feeling; Fu Nong never messaged him in this tone.

He calmly straightened his clothes.

I hope... you won't let me down.

As the Wave Chaser docked at Hart Island's pier, Richard watched the colorful beach approach little by little.

The boat docked, and he moored the yacht. He stepped onto the gangplank and walked onto the pier. The texture under his feet was much rougher than the pier at Wanding Village, with sand and broken seashells embedded in the crevices of the rocks.

This was the first time he had ever set foot on Hart Island openly and during the day.

The entire island of Blink exudes an aura of poverty, countless times stronger than that of St. Carlisle Cathedral, and now it's all mine!

The advance team set up simple tents on the shore, the white tarpaulins rustling in the wind.

An engineer directs a group of workers at work.

With a large influx of US dollars, in just three days, the dilapidated houses were demolished, the traces of the police shootout were completely cleared, the research module was basically completed, and the workers were making final adjustments.

This is a prefabricated modular research cabin, with 90% of the process completed in the factory. The built-in laboratory-grade clean walls, power and weak current circuits, ventilation and exhaust, Hengcong air conditioning, water supply and drainage, explosion-proof grounding, and instrument fixing base are all pre-installed and ready to be finished when it leaves the factory.

On-site assembly was quick and easy; it consisted of just three small houses, and the total cost, including purchase and installation, was $125 million.

"Hey Richard!" Edgar excitedly popped out of the tent, holding a tablet. "The location for the cell tower has been chosen—the southeast corner, a high point with the best view. The solar panels are placed nearby, and we already have a cell phone signal. The speed is a bit slow, but it's usable. We need to install a solar-powered water filter for the water supply."

He had just finished his home quarantine when he was sent here to assist the engineers in installing the laboratory.

Even on this small island littered with skeletons, it was better than tinkering with tubes in the underground laboratory, which made Edgar very happy.

Richard smiled and said, "You've worked hard."

He invited people to chat idly.

As dusk fell.

The engineer explained the various configurations of the experimental chamber to Richard, left him with a palm-sized instruction manual, and then left with the workers.

"Are you sure you want to stay here alone? Why the rush? Come back tomorrow during the day." Edgar couldn't understand.

To stay in a place like this alone at night is incredibly risky.

What's there to be afraid of? This place is like home for Beggar Spirit Master! Richard feigned a sigh: "Dr. Shepard's time requirements are very tight, I can't wait."

Edgar immediately understood and patted Richard on the shoulder with empathy.

This junior fellow student is finally about to begin his arduous academic succession journey.

Haha!

Cool!

"Go for it! I believe in you! Hahahaha!" Edgar withdrew.

Richard was the only one left on the island. He walked around the island himself to make sure no one was there, then released an owl to circle high in the sky to prevent anyone from suddenly landing on the island.

As part of his preparations, Richard finally produced the Withered Resentment.

let's start!

The surrounding aura surged wildly towards the ring!

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