I am a necromancer, and I absolutely love America.

Chapter 151 Goodbye Helen (7K long chapter, please vote and subscribe)

Isabella stood in the witness stand, with the meager document spread out in front of her.

She glanced around, a faint smile playing on her lips.

Mentesson sat in the main seat and tapped his fingers twice on the microphone, and the entire room fell silent.

Mentorson deliberately slowed his pace: "Chief Rose, investigating a case involving the cover-up within the prison system in just three days must be very stressful, right? I heard it also involves some veteran officers from the Henry Carter era?"

Menterson said these words with a sense of helplessness.

Time is tight, the pressure is high, and then dragging in Henry Carter helps you shift the blame to the previous administration.

It's because he was forced to make Isabella a full-fledged employee yesterday.

If Isabella is left speechless when questioned, Mentenson's political reputation will be ruined.

The question caused a stir among the audience.

Tyreke frowned and exchanged a glance with Miller.

Miller looked very puzzled.

Why does it seem like Menterson is not confident about Isabella?

The other NYPD staff looked at each other in bewilderment.

You just officially made her a wife yesterday, and you pull this stunt on me today?

What are these two guys up to?

Could it be that Isabella had no evidence at all, and Menterson was just protecting his mistress in front of so many people?

The press section had already begun to whisper among themselves.

"It sounds like Mentheson was helping Isabella stall the situation, rather than Isabella having obtained irrefutable evidence?"

"Don't doubt it, your feeling is right."

"Why exactly did Mentenson promote her yesterday?"

"Who knows. Maybe she pinched Menterson's ball yesterday."

A reporter chuckled wickedly; many people had heard of Isabella's reputation.

They just didn't expect that their casual remark would actually be the most accurate truth.

The officials in the gallery and other hearing personnel all had rather strange expressions on their faces.

Mentorson knew the situation was not good, so he had no choice but to grit his teeth and continue.

Isabella's voice was soft but clear: "It's not difficult. I have sufficient evidence and witnesses."

Menterson froze.

WTF?

Yesterday you cornered me in the office and forced me to give you a permanent position by showing me a video. I still vividly remember your crazy "I haven't found anything but I still want to be a permanent employee" attitude.

Now you say "found it"?

Are you kidding me?

Menterson's mind went blank.

What exactly do you mean?

You didn't say this to me when you held a gun to the back of my head yesterday.

Isabella, what are you doing?!

Menterson tried to control his expression, but his fingers tightened noticeably around the microphone.

The sound of camera shutters clicking filled the press box.

Roderick sat in the third row on the left, looking straight ahead with his back straight and his hands resting on his knees.

His breathing rhythm didn't change at all.

Only one question was on my mind: How did she find it?

He handled the Blake matter very cleanly; all the records were disposed of.

The security guard was also warned, and his testimony was indeed altered.

However, given that Isabella was being delayed by various departments for dozens of reasons, she shouldn't have locked herself in so quickly.

Moreover, I was wearing a mask and sunglasses that night, so even if the security guard saw me, he might not be able to find me.

Did she really find it?

Or are you trying to trick me?

Isabella smiled faintly, without looking at Manterson.

Her gaze went past the microphone and landed on the NYPD's seating area.

Tyreke's expression was stiff, his lips pressed tightly together.

Is this bitch trying to frame me for something?

Even if they manage to clear their name, they'll still suffer greatly.

Isabella then looked at Miller.

Miller's forehead began to bead with sweat, and he lowered his head, not daring to look at Isabella, lost in thought.

She then looked at the remaining people.

Some people leaned back in their chairs, while others stared intently at the table.

Everyone was afraid that Isabella would frame them.

That bitch is insane, everyone at the NYPD knows that.

The atmosphere grew increasingly restless and uneasy.

Killian leaned back in his chair, squinting as he watched.

Yorick Fisher, the FBI's New York director, turned his head slightly, a little worried. Had she really caught him?

How did you do that?

He understood all too well how troublesome such internal obstacles were for the top leader.

If he were the director of the NYPD, he wouldn't be able to break the deadlock in three months; he would have to sort out the personnel issues first.

Federal Parliament.

Brian's office as a congressman.

Doug stood in front of his desk, his face tense.

On the television screen opposite, Warren was speaking in front of the live broadcast cameras of the Federal Parliament, praising Marty's policies at length, with his voice muted.

Doug turned to look at Brian: "Isabella is being questioned."

Brian sat in his chair, wearing glasses, flipping through the documents in his hand, without looking up: "Understood."

His voice was calm, as if he were talking about something that had nothing to do with him.

.

But that's your NYPD! Doug opened his mouth as if to say something, but Brian had already turned a page of the document.

He didn't understand, but Brian remained in this state, as if he knew in advance that Isabella would win.

Why?

"Roderick," Isabella blurted out the name, "Don't you want to explain why the testimony of that doorman named Frank was altered?"

O'Connor looked up abruptly from the back seat.

He had only one thought in his mind: Didn't we agree to keep the old gatekeeper's secret?

You promised him yesterday, and today you betrayed him in front of so many people?

Isabella didn't hesitate; she knew exactly what she was doing.

Once this old gatekeeper has been used up, he is no longer of any value!

Everyone looked at Roderick in surprise.

Roderick slowly stood up, his movements steady like a machine, his face expressionless.

He had already thought everything through. The only way now was to cut off this lead to prevent them from finding Alger behind it. Only in this way could he protect his family.

Now that Samuel is dead, Dali is dead, and Black is dead, Isabella will quickly close the case if she dies too, and if she is given a plausible reason.

For someone like her, the ultimate goal is power.

What she wanted was the bureau chief's seat, not to keep investigating a mysterious and complex arms dealing scheme.

Everyone knows that someone who can control the police superintendent, legislate to isolate the island, and maintain the arms trade for so long is definitely not a nobody.

For those on stage, as long as they protect their own interests, there's no need to offend other big shots.

Therefore, we cannot let Isabella continue her investigation.

What if they find out something?

Roderick calmly stated, "I ordered Blake to kill Samuel and Daly. I had some financial dealings with Samuel, and if he were exposed, I would be finished. So, I had no choice but to silence him. You don't need to investigate further; all our transactions were in cash. Also, I killed Blake as well; I had no other option. I'm sorry, everyone."

The scene erupted in chaos, flashbulbs went off rapidly, and the crowd gasped in surprise.

No one expected that the hearing would end so quickly with the criminal pleading guilty in court.

Blake's mother screamed, "He's lying!"

Roderick reached into his robes.

Tyreke was the first to react, jumping to his feet: "Roderick! What are you doing! Stop!"

Immediately afterwards, Roderick had already pulled the Glock from under his arm.

The metallic sheen flickered briefly under the light.

The people around were so frightened that they collapsed, covering their heads and crawling under the table.

"OMG!"

"He's going to kill someone!"

"Put down your gun!" The security personnel drew their guns quickly, but Roderick was even faster.

He turned the gun to his chin and pulled the trigger without hesitation.

boom!

Gunshots rang out in the hall, shattering his jaw and the back of his head.

Roderick crashed heavily to the ground, twitched once, and then remained still.

Blood seeped from his chin, spreading out in a dark red fan shape on the light gray floor tiles.

Screams erupted from the audience.

Blake's mother was stunned.

There was a clattering sound of tables and chairs colliding in the press area; some people stood up to take pictures, while others instinctively stepped back.

Security personnel rushed over and surrounded the body.

Tyreke was close by and got splattered with blood. His face turned pale, and his lips moved a few times, but he couldn't say anything.

Miller's notebook slipped from his hands and fell to the ground with a thud.

Killian's pen froze in mid-air, his mouth agape in terror:

WTF! Are all the NYPDs controlled by Brian this reckless?

Yorick Fisher's smile vanished, replaced by a grim expression.

Wow! This case is closed like that?!

Only Isabelle remained standing, staring blankly at the corpse on the floor, her calm demeanor belying that she hadn't just witnessed a suicide.

Instead, Isabella's lips curled up slightly, a very subtle smile, which quickly faded away.

She was roaring with excitement inside:

I won!

I'm famous!

I am no longer the IAB Chief of General Affairs who climbed up the ranks by my own body, but the NYPD Commissioner who personally sentenced the Commissioner General to death!

Did you see the guy who made the call?

I, Isabella, have great potential.

The scene was in complete chaos.

The reporters had abandoned all semblance of order, their flashes going off like crazy.

The live stream switched to an indoor shot, then back again, and the director's voice was frantically shouting something in the headset.

On social media, the hashtags #RoderickSuicideOnTheSpot# and #NYPDHearingShots# almost simultaneously trended in New York.

Manteson stood on the podium for three seconds before standing up.

His first reaction was to maintain order.

The second reaction is panic.

Isabella calmly stepped down from the witness stand, passing by Manterson without stopping. She merely tilted her head slightly and said in a voice only the two of them could hear, "Mr. Mayor, let's talk in the car later."

As Menterson watched her walk away, only one thought crossed his mind: What a joke to talk about in the car!

This woman is insane.

She had already found the killer, locked down the chain of evidence, and pulled the rug out in front of all of New York, driving the killer to his death on the spot. And yet yesterday you were threatening me with a video!

Do you even know what you're doing?

Menterson clenched his fist.

I will never sleep with that bitch again in my life!

too crazy!

Two hours later, in the parking lot.

Manterson slammed the passenger door shut, glaring fiercely at Isabella in the driver's seat. His voice was low but couldn't contain the torrent of anger: "Are you fucking crazy? Yesterday you threatened me with the video, saying I was determined to get a permanent position, and today you suddenly say you have evidence? Were you playing me yesterday?"

Isabella pushed her seat back to the very back, crossed her long legs, and tilted her head to look at him: "Yeah, how exciting."

"Exciting? Do you know that if we had ordered the wrong thing yesterday, we would have been finished?!" Menterson felt like he was going crazy: "We would have been finished!"

The thought that if Isabella had just slipped her hand yesterday, his career, his future, his family, his wife, and his children would all be ruined filled Menterson with dread.

"But you didn't order the wrong thing, did you?" Isabella patted his thigh lightly, like soothing a ruffled cat. "I won, and you won too. You've kept your mayoral seat, and my chief of police position is secure. Guess what Theodore's expression is right now?"

Menterson stared at her for three seconds, then closed his eyes and rubbed his face with his palm. "We're done! You're insane, dealing with you will shorten my lifespan! Goodbye!"

Snapped!

Isabella didn't say anything, but simply locked all the doors and doors of the car.

She gathered her hair up and lay down.

Three minutes later, the car windows fogged up.

Having just overcome a great difficulty, Isabella was behaving incredibly well today.

Mentorson's back started hurting again.

The television screen in Brian's office was stuck on a news channel.

The screen shows a live replay of the hearing.

The image of Roderick lying on the floor was played three times in a row.

The scrolling text at the bottom of the screen reads: "NYPD Senior Inspector Roderick pleads guilty at a public hearing and commits suicide; Commissioner Isabella Rose immediately announces the case solved."

Doug stood in front of the television, holding a briefing he hadn't finished reading, and stared blankly for a long time.

Suicide on the spot?

Everyone knows there are huge problems inside!

Someone didn't want the NYPD to investigate further, so they forced a senior police commissioner to commit suicide in order to cut off the leads!

It's terrifying to think about.

However, in the case of the police station's cover-up, Isabella actually closed the case. She really pulled off the impossible and caught the murderer in just a few days.

The murderer not only died, but he also died after confessing in court.

Doug stared at the screen as Isabella stepped down from the witness stand and whispered something in Mentorson's ear. The camera precisely captured the painful expression on Mentorson's face as he wanted to strangle her but couldn't.

The footage was played repeatedly, and the host discussed the scene with great interest. Everyone was curious about what key information Isabella had revealed.

The TV station has started connecting with lip-reading experts to interpret what the two were saying.

Doug said incredulously, "How did she find her? Just a few days ago she was being bullied by a group of high-ranking officials and was almost unable to sit still."

Brian sat behind his desk, his pen never stopping.

He is revising a budget grant application for NYPD officer subsidies.

However, the application was stuck in the parliament for two weeks.

Members of several key committees are watching and waiting, but in reality, they are demanding a price.

Everyone knows that Brian is likely to be left out of the draft, so he has to offer something now; his medium- to long-term promises are worthless.

Brian crossed out one of the numbers, wrote a lower number next to it, put down his pen, and then glanced at the screen over his glasses: "It doesn't matter. What matters is that she won."

Doug frowned.

Brian continued reviewing the documents: "What I need is a director who can hold her position, not someone who explains how she did it." She's the director now, and she's holding her position.

Brian didn't know how Isabella did it, but he knew who did it.

He is the master.

He didn't understand how his master managed to pull Isabella, a piece that was about to sink, back up, nor did he understand why his master wanted to pull her up.

All he needed to know was: his master had made a move.

This is enough.

Doug paused for a few seconds, then changed the subject: "Warren held another interrogation today. Anna's accusations are still being pushed forward."

Brian sneered, "Theodore is pushing me from behind. He wants to drag me to my death in court. Anna is a stupid woman; she doesn't know she's heading towards hell."

Doug didn't say anything.

Brian paused for a moment: "By the way, what did Killian say?"

Doug quickly checked: "They issued a statement after the hearing, indicating that they will soon push for an executive power bill for the NYPD in the City Council to improve the NYPD's emergency response speed and protect New York's safety."

Brian sneered, "Very well, the dog got a beating and finally learned to wag its tail."

Doug glanced at the TV screen again, and finally shook his head helplessly.

He had absolutely no idea how Isabella did it, but Brian seemed to know the answer in advance from beginning to end.

impossible!

After a full day, Isabella finally calmed down Mentorson's anger and the media frenzy, and also received a large number of obsequious officials.

After overcoming the difficulties, her situation at the NYPD quickly improved, and she temporarily secured her position as the NYPD director.

Isabella returned to her office and locked the door behind her.

She walked straight to the table and picked up the red encrypted satellite phone.

Turn it over.

The bottom screws have no scratches and the sealant is intact.

She flipped it back to the front and ran her fingernail along the seam of the receiver. There was nothing there, nothing loose, and nothing that shouldn't be there.

She held the receiver to her ear for three seconds and heard only background noise.

"Adela".

Isabella pressed the intercom on the table: "Send over the maintenance records, device number, IMEI, and update logs for the red encrypted satellite phone for the past year."

Ten minutes later, the secretary placed a stack of printouts in front of her.

Isabella checked each item and found that the maintenance records matched the IT archives, the IMEI matched the factory serial number, the last software update was 11 weeks ago, there were no anomalies, no remote erase records, and no silent installation logs.

She put the file aside and dialed the technical department's internal line: "Someone come here with the tools. I need to check the red encrypted satellite phone."

The technician came in, sweating profusely, unaware of what malfunction had occurred.

"The bureau chief?"

"When I examined it in front of me, I suspected that someone had tampered with the phone."

The technician was puzzled, but he still disassembled the casing in front of Isabella, inspected the motherboard and checked the memory chips, and carefully examined every component.

He even used a multimeter to check the suspicious solder joints, but found nothing.

"Everything is normal, Chief. There are no signs of tampering with this equipment."

"What about the call logs? The last call made, or the last call received, should be logged on this device."

The technician retrieved the internal call logs and shook his head helplessly: "No. The last call record on this device is from seven months ago. The last access record—the local system shows it doesn't exist because the system only keeps one year's worth of records."

"What about the connection? Is it possible for it to be hacked?"

"Huh? Impossible! The technology is too complex, absolutely impossible! You're saying someone stole someone else's phone, which is more likely than hacking it."

Isabella dismissed the technician.

She sat in the director's chair, staring at the red telephone that had been disassembled and reassembled, going through all the possible directions in her mind, and then eliminating them one by one.

The device was not modified, there was no physical intrusion into the line, and the call logs were manually deleted, but there were no operation logs in the background, unless the operator did not need to touch the device at all.

Finally, only one possibility remains: this was not obtained through conventional methods.

The other party used a specially made device to trigger a call signal directly on this phone through some underlying means.

Organizations capable of doing this do exist, but regardless of who the other party is, they have clearly told her two things:

First, he can hear the sounds in the office and accurately time his call by the phone.

Secondly, he had deep connections within the NYPD, could easily gather evidence against the murderer, and was even willing to give her the murderer's name.

Isabella looked at the telephone again.

Suddenly, she noticed a very faint mark appearing on the corner of the microphone handle under the reflection of light at a certain angle.

The lightning bolts intersected with the thorns, about the size of a grain of rice.

It's not a factory mark, nor a maintenance record symbol; it's more like an organization's mark.

She tried to scrape it off with her fingernail, but it wouldn't come off; it was etched in.

She ordered her secretary again: "Adela, send another spare microphone to that red encrypted satellite phone."

The new microphone arrived quickly.

Isabella examined it closely and, sure enough, the microphone did not have the lightning thorns logo.

She didn't make a fuss, she just put the phone back where it was.

Isabella carefully adjusted the position of the phone, putting it in a straight position.

The technicians disassembled and inspected the device in person: there were no listening devices, no backdoor programs, and no hardware modifications.

That means someone must have written a program into the phone's chip, or in some other technical aspect that she didn't quite understand, to reserve an invisible "communication line" for this phone.

People who can do this either possess resources that are beyond the comprehension of ordinary people, or power that is beyond the comprehension of ordinary people.

Isabella's mind raced:

Has Henry Carter ever received a similar call?

It seems not.

Why would the other person help her?

If the goal was simply to kill Roderick, then it wouldn't need to go through her.

The opponent has the ability to make Roderick disappear directly.

But the other party did not.

The other party gave her the name and told her to look it up herself and do it herself.

What does this mean?

This means that the other party is giving her credit, or using her to do their dirty work, or testing her, or asking her to submit a pledge of loyalty.

At present, it seems most likely that they will reward you with credit and give you an evaluation.

The other party wanted to know if she had the ability to handle this information, the courage to dig deeper along this line, and the skill to uncover the person behind Roderick!

Yes, that's it!

Isabella's eyes sparkled.

If she succeeds, then she will be a valuable pawn.

The corners of her mouth slowly turned up.

It wasn't fear, but something she couldn't quite explain herself—excitement?

It felt like a long, long time ago, when she slept with a man for the first time, as if she had discovered a completely new and joyful world.

Now, she has discovered a secret organization that can tamper with the NYPD chief's private phone and easily uncover police inspector-level killers!

She didn't know who the other party was or what they wanted, but she knew one thing: it was a huge organization with unimaginable influence, and they had chosen her.

Of all the police chiefs in the world, even former Chief Henry, who served for six years, never received that call, yet she received it just days after taking office.

What does this mean?

I've been chosen by the Lightning Thorns organization!

Brian, you won't have that chance. My future will definitely be brighter than yours!

Isabella leaned back in her chair smugly, propped her legs up on the edge of the table, and chuckled at the phone: "Hey, you want to see if I'm worth training, right?"

She doesn't need a response.

She already knew the answer.

She put her legs off the table, leaned forward, and braced her hands on the edge of the table.

The dim light from the phone screen reflected on her face.

If the other party is evaluating her, then she needs to show them something real.

Isabella understood that this was her true value.

I'm not the kind of useless person who can't investigate even after getting intelligence!

Not only must Roderick be convicted, but the guy behind him must also be found out!

The other party sent her a prepayment, and she has to exchange it for goods of the same value!

She needs to prove that she can not only receive intelligence, but also use it to create a situation larger than expected.

She wanted to make the other party feel that she was a worthwhile investment.

Isabella reached out, picked up the phone, and held the receiver to her ear.

There was no sound, no dial tone, and no background noise.

Isabella knew the other party could hear her, and she smiled, saying, "Since you were able to get in, you should be able to hear me too, right?"

There was silence on the other end of the receiver.

no respond.

She didn't expect a response.

Isabella put the receiver to her lips and said in a drawn-out voice, "Hey, you bro over there, come over to my place tonight. Guys or girls, as many as you want, I'm not looking for trouble."

She paused for two seconds, then burst into laughter.

The other party might cut off contact because of that sentence; a madman isn't worth training.

But she bet the other party wouldn't.

The other person knew she was crazy before they even called her, and in a perfectly fitting way.

She was betting that this kind of madness was exactly what the other person needed.

I dare to investigate things that others dare not!

Isabella put the receiver back on the landline.

Two thoughts flashed through her mind: one was Roderick, and the other was the symbol of lightning and thorns intertwined.

The mastermind behind Roderick is her next target!

As for Lightning Thorns...

just forget it.

She certainly couldn't find an organization that could tamper with the NYPD director's phone calls.

Since the other party is willing to try to make contact, she will wait for them to come to her on their own.

Isabella took out a blank sheet of paper and drew the mark with a pen: a lightning bolt and a thorn, crossed together.

She stared at it for five seconds. The lines were simple, but when put together, they created an indescribable feeling.

Isabella folded the paper in half and stuffed it into the bottom of the drawer, under the other documents.

Then she picked up the glass of coffee on the table, which had gone cold, and took a sip.

It was cold and sour, but she didn't vomit this time.

Roderick...

I'd like to see who's really behind you!

Richard stood in the OCME morgue, looking at Roderick's body.

It was truly unexpected that a high-ranking police superintendent would commit suicide on the spot.

For ordinary people, this lead has indeed gone cold.

But for Richard, clues about the dead might be more plentiful than those about the living.

Helen said nervously, "Just take a look and then send it back. If Forensic Doctor Adela finds out I brought other people to see the body, she'll definitely scold me. She's very strict."

"Don't worry, it'll be quick." Richard gently touched the body before pretending to examine it using forensic techniques.

"alright."

The two men pushed the body back, and Helen breathed a sigh of relief.

The two walked to the entrance of OCME.

Helen glanced up at Richard quickly, then looked away, feigning nonchalance as she asked, "You're not going back to the YC apartment anymore?"

She hadn't seen Richard for several days, and she felt that Richard was getting further and further away, and she couldn't hold on to him no matter how hard she tried.

Richard, recalling the loud argument downstairs, said with a headache, "It's too noisy."

Helen's ears turned red as she recalled the embarrassing incident of Richard's exceptionally good hearing.

She forced back her embarrassment and asked, "Are you going back to Southeast University for the Spring Festival?"

"You even know about the Spring Festival?" Richard asked in surprise.

Helen's eyes were full of anticipation: "Well, I've been watching some videos and reading books about the University of Tokyo lately. I'd like to visit the University of Tokyo. Could I go back with you?"

It is said that at the University of Tokyo, it is a very important sign that a girl goes home with a boy to meet his parents.

Richard remained aloof, leaving her with no choice but to bite the bullet and take the initiative.

However, Richard has no plans to go home for the next few years and firmly refused, saying, "My family's situation is rather special, so I won't be going back for the time being."

"Oh? Is that so?" Helen was disappointed.

"Well then, goodbye." Richard smiled, took out his car keys, turned around, opened the car door, and was about to get in.

Helen noticed the pendants of the two people on the car keys.

If we do nothing this time, we don't know when we'll meet again.

Richard felt a warm embrace coming close to him.

Helen murmured, "Come to my house tonight."

Her voice was very soft, as if she were talking to herself, or as if she were asking for an answer.

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