I am a necromancer, and I absolutely love America.

Chapter 150 The Legged Beauty's Counterattack (7K Chapter, Requesting Monthly Tickets and Subscriptions)

Everyone in the conference room looked at each other in bewilderment.

Immediately afterwards, a large number of voices of opposition erupted.

"You can't do that!"

"Chief! That's all!"

"How will we ever see each other again!"

"Someone is definitely making false accusations! How can you verify that?"

Everyone panicked.

We've all worked at the NYPD for so many years, who hasn't had someone they didn't get along with?

Those who climb to the top naturally have the ability and background to do so, but they inevitably step on the heads of some competitors.

Will those guys take this opportunity to report me?

This move was truly insane; no normal person would dare to use it, yet it allowed Isabella to seize leverage over countless people in the shortest amount of time.

After this incident, who knows how many lives she holds in her hands?

Isabella said nonchalantly, "Relax, I've already sent out notifications to everyone."

She glanced at her watch.

"From now on, I expect to see something within six hours. Otherwise, I'll start investigating everyone's whistleblower reports. Since you all think I'm about to step down, you might as well drag a few of you down with you, so we can all step down together and keep each other company. Heh!"

"Nonsense!" Tyreke exclaimed, both panicked and furious. "Chief Rose! You're being ridiculous! I'll recommend to the mayor that you resign immediately!"

Isabella retorted without holding back: "Old man! If you want this position, just say so! Don't beat around the bush like a sissy!"

I'm about to be ousted from my position, who cares about your damn face anymore?

Tyreke was immediately embarrassed: "This is outrageous!"

He left in a hurry.

The others looked at each other in bewilderment.

No one dared to openly oppose them anymore, and they hurriedly left to think of a solution.

This trick is indeed effective.

IAB was Isabella's old stomping ground; she served as its CEO for many years and cultivated a number of trusted confidants.

The IAB already has a lot of dirty laundry on the police.

They've been waiting for Isabella to come to power, hoping that everyone in her family and friends would rise to prominence.

Within just a few days, Isabella was squeezed out by a group of senior executives and was on the verge of being forced to quit.

This seriously damages the interests of this group.

Since Isabella had taken the lead in the charge, they immediately followed suit.

Immediately after the email address was opened, seven complaint emails flooded in, all signed with pseudonyms such as "retired police officer" and "righteous police officer," and containing a wide variety of content:

Someone bought a house that exceeded their income limit.

Someone owns two wholly-owned companies in Brooklyn.

Someone's child is paying unusually high tuition fees at a private school.

Scattered fragments, true or false, but behind every name stands a person.

Isabella wrote down all the names, and the list stretched out to a whole page.

Brian's old associates and cronies are even more ruthless.

The youngest of the veteran officers who were reassigned to marginal positions after Brian left were already over fifty years old. They had been working in a low-level department for almost twenty years and had long been harboring resentment.

The things they handed over were even more substantial, all sorts of valuable items accumulated over the past twenty years that they hadn't had a chance to use, and now they were all being used to fill Isabella's complaint box.

Unfortunately, there is still no direct evidence of Blake's murder.

The killer was very careful and left no trace.

When Isabella walked into the mayor's office, Manterson was leaning back in his chair drinking coffee, without even looking up.

"You're here. Has the case been solved?"

"no."

"Have the witness been found?"

"no."

Menterson tapped his finger on the table, the sound not loud, but carrying a sense of annoyance that seemed to say, "Then what are you doing here?"

He looked up and watched Isabella lock the door from the inside, walk slowly to his desk, place her phone in the center of the table with the screen facing up, and begin editing a tweet.

Menterson glanced at it, and his pupils contracted.

The screen displays a pre-edited tweet from X.

The video cover was glaringly clear; he was sitting in the back of a car, greedily kissing Isabella's beautiful legs in black stockings.

The caption is already written: "The affair between the current NYPD chief and the mayor of New York City."

A pop-up emoji was thoughtfully added at the end.

"Are you crazy?!" Mentorson jumped up, the chair leg scraping against the floor with a sharp sound.

Isabella did not back down, nor did she even blink.

She pushed her phone forward an inch, hovering her finger over the "Publish" button.

"Guess what will happen if I click it now?"

Menterson's Adam's apple bobbed.

"Guess how many reporters are waiting for this story?" Isabella's voice was soft. "Do you think they'll ask, 'Why would a mayor who takes $250,000 a year from taxpayers be talking business with the IAB's chief of staff in a car during office hours?' And wearing black stockings!"

Isabella glanced at the cover: "I carefully selected this picture. What do you think? Shocking, right? Oh, your expression back then was disgusting. Turns out you're a die-hard foot fetishist."

Isabella pouted.

"FXXK! You deliberately seduced me that day—" Menterson's voice trailed off. He wanted to say, "You seduced me," but he couldn't bring himself to say it, and it wouldn't make a difference anyway.

"Yes, I seduced you," Isabella finished for him. "Yes. But so what? Mr. Mayor, when you explain to the media, do you think they'll believe that bitch seduced me first? Or will they believe you used your power to coerce your subordinates? Do you think the equality organizations will issue a statement supporting me?"

"I'm the first female bureau chief, you know. The current predicament is clearly systemic oppression by men. Do you think your opponent, Theodore, will turn every frame of this video into posters and plaster them all over New York? And then release them during your public debate?"

As she spoke, Isabella changed the video caption to: "New York City Mayor threatens female subordinate with inappropriate relationship."

"How's this title?" Isabella examined it carefully, then muttered to herself, "Bullshit! Now the image isn't suitable. I need to find a shot of you at the top. Damn it, you were down there the whole day! Poor thing! Maybe I should just generate one with AI!"

Menterson's fingers gripped the edge of the table tightly: "I don't believe you dare order it. If you do, you're finished too!"

"OK! I like brave men." Isabella nodded and immediately clicked the "Publish" button, which brought up a confirmation dialog box.

"OMG!" Menterson's heart stopped beating.

Isabella smiled and said, "Now it's just one more step. I can press confirm now, and then our world will explode. Or you can make a smarter choice: support your beautiful legs babe, make her your official girlfriend, sign the order immediately, go public right away, and then we can have a few more rounds later!"

"You call this support?!" Mentorson's voice finally cracked. "You call this support?! You're holding a gun to the back of my head and demanding a promotion!"

Isabella didn't argue, she just watched him quietly as her red-nailed fingers moved to the "confirm" button.

Menterson shuddered in fright, feeling as if the bright red fingernails were the claws of a demon.

He was afraid Isabella might misclick, so he shrieked, "Move that damned finger away!"

His voice was shrill, like that of a helpless little girl cornered in a corner.

Isabella smiled; she knew she had won.

It was a close call, but she won.

Menterson took a deep breath, then another. He wanted to curse, to smash the table, to strangle the woman in front of him.

But he eventually just sat down and pulled an appointment form from the drawer.

As the pen tip glided across the paper, it was as if he were signing his own death warrant.

"I'm done writing. Now you delete that damn thing!"

"Send it! Send it right away!" Isabella corrected him.

Manterson marked the signed order as urgent, faxed it to the secretariat, and then clicked the "send" button on the internal 0A.

Then he looked up and said in an almost pleading tone, "Delete it, Isabella, we're in this together."

"In cahoots? You weren't like this when you told me to go out and be publicly scolded in three days!" Isabella didn't move.

Two minutes later, the secretary called: "Mr. Mayor, Isabella..."

"6

"Make me a permanent employee! Right now!" Menterson said without hesitation.

"OK!" The secretary quickly hung up the phone.

Five minutes later, Isabella saw in her OA system that the word "acting director" had been removed, and her title had become "official".

Isabella then completely deleted the draft in front of him, and held up her phone to show him: "OK! Clean and tidy. I swear to God, this video will never appear online."

"I don't believe you!" Menterson looked at her, his lips moving.

"This is the last time." Menterson's voice was very low, almost like he was talking to himself: "I swear this is the last time."

"Of course." Isabella put her phone back in her pocket. "This is definitely the last time."

She knew perfectly well that this thing was a nuclear bomb if used once, but a blank bomb if used twice.

If you really push Mattson too far, even a dignified mayor of New York City has the ability to kill someone.

As Isabella walked out of the office, she heard a cracking sound behind her.

She didn't turn around.

The mayor's secretary stood in the corridor, staring in disbelief at Isabella, who walked past with a cold expression.

Tomorrow is the municipal public hearing. If she is questioned about her inability to find witnesses or evidence, then Manteson's public support for her would be the biggest political scandal.

He could only help her cover it up, but whether he could actually do it was anyone's guess.

Tomorrow is destined to be a public relations disaster.

But at least she got a permanent position.

No matter how much Menterson hated her, he couldn't possibly replace her the day after she was officially hired; that would be tantamount to admitting he was blind.

He's already made a mistake on the Samuel issue once; if he makes another mistake in such a short time, he might as well give up on running for mayor and just surrender to Theodore.

That's how the system works; once you sign and make it public, you have to grit your teeth and bear it.

Even in death, there is no turning back.

This is her most crucial trump card; it's not the video, but Mattson's political face.

When Isabella returned to the NYPD's temporary headquarters, everyone in the corridor looked at her with the same question in their eyes: What happened?

She walked into the director's office without saying a word and locked the door.

The news spread.

Isabella Rose got a permanent position!

A full-fledged director, not an acting one!

The entire NYPD was in an uproar, with everyone speculating on the same question: Had she already found Blake's killer? Otherwise, why would the mayor promote her to a permanent position?

Tomorrow is the public hearing chaired by Mentorson, and without evidence, it could turn into a complete political disaster.

Isabella will be in trouble, but Mentson will be even worse off.

The reporter will definitely ask: "Mayor, you just officially appointed Isabella yesterday, and today she's impersonating you. This means you've been fooled!"

A mayor who is easily deceived is not a competent mayor!

So, that bitch must have found the key evidence!

Miller sat in his office, staring at the appointment announcement on his computer screen, sweat beading on his forehead.

He didn't know where Isabella got the evidence, but he knew that his previous perfunctory attitude might have offended her.

The "Justice Salon" group chat exploded.

Seven people quit within five minutes, without explanation or farewell.

"She must have gotten the list."

"How could she possibly have gotten her hands on the list?"

"Anyway, I don't want to stay here anymore. You can wait to die if you want."

Another one quit very quickly.

Tyreke sat in his office, staring blankly out the window.

He was originally the most promising candidate to succeed the bureau chief, but now everything is over.

He didn't even know who Isabella would target next, but he knew he would be the biggest target.

There are more people eyeing the deputy director position than the director position!

Roderick took the pistol out of the drawer, checked the magazine, put it back in the holster, and did nothing else but move the holster from his lower back to under his arm.

His fingers remained steady, with a certain resolute quality.

Police Inspector David Morgan was the first in the Justice Salon to change course.

He didn't leave the group or delete the chat history; instead, he packaged the chat history and sent it to Isabella's email address.

The email contained only one sentence: "Chief Rose, I am willing to cooperate with any investigation."

Isabella glanced at the new email notification on her screen, opened it, and leaned back in her chair, muttering, "They're all a bunch of shoddy shoddy work!"

She didn't laugh.

In a small group of 33 people, if one person can decide to betray the others within an hour, it shows that this group has never truly trusted each other.

They are only temporarily bound together by fear and greed; they will scatter at the slightest breeze.

and then?

She, Isabella Rose, was actually cornered by this bunch of idiots!

If tomorrow's public hearing turns into a disaster, she will become enemies with Menterson.

Isabella didn't want to really offend the mayor of New York City!

But she still had no evidence.

At tomorrow's hearing, Isabella must give a convincing reason that the case is "solved," otherwise Mentorson will be in a very difficult position.

When the mayor loses face, he'll definitely take it out on Isabella.

Isabella wasn't a seasoned veteran like Brian or Theodore; she wasn't confident she could handle the mayor's wrath.

Isabella sat in the director's office for three hours.

The sky outside had changed from gray to deep blue and then to complete black.

Secretary Adela came in twice, asking if she needed coffee, but she was waved away both times.

The third time, the secretary didn't ask any more questions. She simply placed a cup of hot black coffee on the corner of the table, then left and gently closed the door behind her.

Isabella stared at the cup of coffee for a long time.

She didn't know what to say tomorrow, nor did she know if Mattson could help her cover up the lie.

She didn't know how many more members of the "Salon of Justice" would defect like David Morgan, but the murderer would never turn against them.

All she knew was that everything would be different after tomorrow.

Either she secures her position completely.

Or she'll die even faster.

Isabella picked up her coffee and took a sip.

The coffee was cold and tasted sour and bitter.

"puff!"

Isabella spat into the trash can, put the cup down, and began organizing the materials she would need for tomorrow's hearing.

If all else fails, just pick some unlucky guy and pin the blame on him!

Isabella's eyes flashed with a ruthless light.

She was engrossed in organizing the documents, racking her brains for words to say at the hearing, when a fly flew in through a crack in the window.

She didn't care.

I didn't even think of one problem: where do flies come from in winter?

There are three telephones on the NYPD director's desk.

A black office phone.

A red hotline connects directly to the Mayor of New York City.

A red satellite-encrypted phone connects to multiple security agencies, such as the CIA, FBI, and Department of Homeland Security. Urgent, encrypted intelligence calls are made through this phone.

Neither of the two red phones could be tracked, monitored, or recorded; they were covered with acrylic boxes to prevent accidental activation.

A fly landed on the acrylic box, squeezed through the crack, and blended into the red satellite encrypted phone like water.

A few minutes later, Isabella heard the phone ring.

The sound was a bit strange, low and short, ringing only once, more like a warning than a telephone ring.

The encrypted phone rang via the red satellite.

This phone rarely rings. Henry Carter served as director for so many years, and I doubt he used it more than a few times. It's covered in dust.

The call indicator light is off; it seems to have malfunctioned due to prolonged disuse.

I've only just taken over as director and I'm already in big trouble?

FXXK!

Isabella could only reach out and pick up the microphone, placing it to her ear.

There was no dial tone, no static, and no sound from the line.

Suddenly a voice rang out: "The murderers are Roderick and the man in the black jacket."

Isabella's breath hitched for a second, then she immediately asked, "Who are you?"

There was no sound from the microphone; it went dead.

She sat in the chair and stared at the red encrypted phone for a while.

When Secretary Adela knocked on the door to deliver the documents, she saw the director's expression.

An expression somewhere between wary and confused, but which she quickly concealed.

Adela said nothing, placed the documents on the table, and turned to leave.

She encountered another of Isabella's confidants, the administrative director Silas, in the corridor.

Adela said softly, "Chief Rose seemed very nervous. She answered a phone call that didn't ring and said into the receiver, 'Who are you?'"

""

"Sitting in this position, you're bound to take a few calls you shouldn't," Silas joked, then continued, "The public hearing is coming up soon, and it's normal for Isabella to be nervous, as it's her first time facing something like this. I wonder how the Blake murder case is progressing..."

""

"Chief Rose has been promoted; she must have found the crucial evidence!"

Both of them are looking forward to the public hearing.

As Isabella's confidants, the higher Isabella climbs, the higher they can stand.

Isabella did not hesitate after receiving the name Roderick.

She didn't know who leaked the information, nor whether it was a frame-up.

There's no time to hesitate now.

Isabella first retrieved all the internal records from the past 72 hours and compared them one by one.

Blake Bowman died between 1 a.m. and 2 a.m. Surveillance footage shows that Roderick left the NYPD building at 11:25 p.m., claiming he was "going home to rest."

However, the DMV gate records show that his car returned to Manhattan from the Brooklyn direction at 2:20, less than two kilometers in a straight line from the Blake home.

Finding a needle in a haystack is extremely difficult, but knowing the answer and working backwards to find evidence makes it much easier.

Isabella accessed the Justice Salon's group chat history.

Roderick was cautious and left no electronic traces in the Justice Salon's group chat.

Isabella finds O'Connor.

"In the Blake family murder case, what processes were Roderick and his department involved in?"

O'Connor immediately went to get the materials.

"This Sheriff Robert, whom Roderick promoted, was in charge of questioning the doorman at Blake's apartment building. The records state that the doorman's name was Frank, and he said he didn't see anyone suspicious that night."

"Walk!"

About half an hour later, the two cornered Frank in the underground parking garage.

O'Connor didn't waste any words, placing the recorder on the hood of the car: "Frank, the night Blake died, did you see any suspicious people?"

Frank's face changed, and he said in fear, "Someone warned me not to tell. He said if I did, I would lose my pension."

97

Isabella pulled out a photograph of Roderick and Robert from her pocket and pushed it in front of him.

"Which one?"

Frank stared at the photo for a long time, not daring to say a word.

Isabella coldly pulled out her police badge: "I'm the NYPD Chief. I can turn you into a key witness and guarantee your personal safety and property security. If you don't talk..."

""

Frank trembled and said fearfully, "Madam Chief, I'm just a lowly security guard. You are all important people; I can't afford to offend any of you..."

'

Isabella turned off the recorder and patted Frank on the shoulder: "Your pension won't be shortchanged by a penny. I promise. I won't record anymore, just tell me what you saw that night."

A few minutes later, O'Connor was beaming with joy.

"The road has taken an unexpected turn..."

Isabella didn't speak, she was just thinking about that phone call.

I'll have the technicians check it out later to see if they can find out who made the call.

Who is actually helping me?

Why?

She's not afraid of transactions; she's afraid of transactions with unclear prices.

Who exactly is watching all of this from the shadows?

As Isabella walked through the city hall doors, the sound of her heels clicking on the marble floor drew the attention of all the cameras.

.

She went home to take a shower and changed into a dark gray fitted suit dress. The cut was so sharp it looked like a blade, and the hemline ended just two inches above her knees. Her two slender legs, paired with bright red stilettos, were incredibly eye-catching.

She wasn't wearing a police badge or a uniform; her hair was loose, and her makeup was so exquisite that she looked like she had just stepped off a magazine cover.

Flashes went off from both sides simultaneously, and reporters surged forward.

"Chief Rose! Are you here today as the police chief or as a model?"

Are you confident about today's hearing?

"There are rumors that you don't possess any crucial evidence. Is that true?"

Isabella did not stop.

As she walked to the front of the media area, she suddenly turned her head and spoke into the nearest microphone. Her voice was soft, but loud enough to be picked up: "They think a female bureau chief can't do it. They think a woman in this position should be obedient, should cooperate, and should wisely resign."

Isabella paused for a moment, then said proudly, "I'm here today to tell them that they're wrong! I'm the first female director of the NYPD, but I'm definitely not the last." She then turned and left.

O'Connor followed closely behind her.

This statement is like water thrown into a pot of boiling oil.

The live stream chat exploded instantly, and the hashtag #NYPDFemaleChief# surged into the top ten trending topics in New York.

Some cheered, some mocked, and some typed a long string of question marks in the comments section.

"Why bring up gender when it's just investigating a murder case?"

"What else could it be? They obviously haven't found it yet."

"Isabella, you're doomed. There's no hope for you."

"Using this method to cling to the position of bureau chief is disgusting!"

When Mattson saw this scene on the monitor screen at the side door of the lobby, his face turned as black as the bottom of a pot.

Is the NYPD promoting gender equality?

Does she even know what she's doing?

Fox News anchors are already discussing whether this is a premeditated publicity stunt.

A CNN commentator put it in a subtle tone, saying, "In any case, she certainly attracted attention."

Menterson took a deep breath and loosened his tie by half an inch.

His task today is to ensure the hearing ends smoothly and without any major incidents.

As soon as Isabella walked in, she detonated the first bomb!

FXXK!

Menterson felt a bit suffocated.

If this bitch messes up, she can just die!

The hearing room was already full of people.

On the left are officials from the judicial and municipal systems, dressed in suits, with folders spread out in front of them, their expressions like statues.

On the right are the NYPD officials. Miller sits in the second row, his hands crossed on the table, expressionless.

Tyreke sat next to him, his gaze fixed on a spot on the table, looking somewhat lost.

.

Roderick sat in the third row on the left, his back straight, his hands resting flat on his knees, like a cement statue.

He had a fully loaded Glock in a holster under his arm, the safety off.

Yorick Fisher, the FBI's top official in New York and assistant director of ADIC, was waiting to see what would happen with a half-smile.

He was very happy to see infighting within the NYPD.

He could tell at a glance that the NYPD was unhappy with the flamboyant female director. If he could get involved in this case, it would bring him huge benefits, at least allowing the FBI's influence to penetrate deeper into the NYPD.

As Isabella made her way through the crowd toward the NYPD area, all eyes were on her.

David Morgan, sitting in the corner, instinctively shrank back when he saw Isabella walk in.

He was the most eager to surrender to Isabella yesterday, but now he's starting to regret it.

If she can't offer anything today, he'll become a laughingstock, someone who chose the wrong side at the worst possible time.

My bitch chief, you absolutely have to win her over!

Secretary Adela stood in the back corner, watching Isabella's back, recalling the scene she had witnessed in the office yesterday: the director talking to himself on a phone that hadn't been dialed.

Adela had a bad feeling.

The gallery was full of people.

Blake's mother sat in the front row, her hands tightly gripping the bag straps, her eyes red and swollen.

Samuel's widow sat beside her, staring blankly ahead.

Killian sat in the back of the city council section. He was there today simply because the Hart Island Act had something to do with the NYPD, and he wanted to see how long the new director could last.

If she can't hold on, things on Hart Island might take a new turn.

His fingers tapped rapidly on his knees.

Manteson walked to the center of the stage and sat down. He raised his hand and tapped the table three times. The sound was not loud, but it was enough to quiet the whole room.

All cameras were pointed at him, and the live stream simultaneously switched to close-ups.

Six days ago, two horrific murders occurred at the NYPD: former Commissioner Samuel and a suspect (classified) were murdered in jail, and the following night, Constable Blake Bowman was tragically killed at his home...

2

"The municipal hearing on the case was held as scheduled today. The entire hearing was open to the public and broadcast live, with no closed-door proceedings."

.

He paused for a moment, then turned his gaze to Isabella: "Now, please have the NYPD Chief report on the entire progress of the investigation, and submit key leads, witness testimonies, and physical evidence."

All the cameras turned to Isabella.

Produce