I am a necromancer, and I absolutely love America.

Chapter 162 Right Hook (11K long chapter, please vote and subscribe)

It's very cold in the South Bronx in the evenings.

The sky was a murky gray-blue, and most of the streetlights were out.

Irving, carrying a baseball bat, walked at the front.

He wore an old, dark gray jacket, zipped up to his chest to reveal a silver crucifix underneath, and a bronze ring of thorns pinned to his chest.

Andrew lagged half a step behind him, followed by four young men.

They were dressed in similar dark clothes and all wore ringed thorn badges.

Some people were carrying steel pipes, some were carrying baseball bats, no one was speaking, and the footsteps were heavy.

Irving's target was a convenience store with a faded sign.

There were seven or eight young people in hoodies standing in the store, all of them with tattoos on their skin.

Some people were smoking, some were stomping on empty cans, and a young Black man was sitting on the steps in front of the store, counting a roll of banknotes in his hand, all of them small change.

The convenience store owner, a middle-aged Latino, was smiling obsequiously at the group.

Irving didn't stop, and walked straight up to the group.

Irving glanced at the black man counting money on the steps: "You're the boss here?"

The man counting the money glanced up at him, saw the baseball bats in Irving and the others' hands, and they sneered, completely unconcerned.

The Black man kept his head down and counted the last few bills, rolled them up, stuffed them into his pocket, and then stood up.

He stood up; he was very tall, a head taller than Irving, with broad shoulders.

"Hey bro! Who are you? Here to hand out flyers from church?"

Several people nearby burst out laughing.

Irving didn't laugh, but calmly said, "From now on, don't collect protection money from this street anymore."

The burly black man burst into laughter, then suddenly pulled a pistol from his waistband, pointing it at the ground. It wasn't aimed at Irving, but everyone could see it.

Andrew's breathing quickened, and his palms were sweaty.

The burly black man roared, "Do you know where you are, kid? This is our territory! You church trash better not mess with me!"

The convenience store owner quietly closed the cash register drawer and hid inside the store.

Irving didn't look at the gun, but calmly took a step forward: "I'll repeat myself, no more protection money is allowed here from now on."

Andrew gripped the steel pipe tightly from behind, his palms sweating profusely, but he didn't stop, taking half a step forward to follow Owen.

The burly Black man asked, bewildered, "Are you deaf?"

Irving took another step forward and stood directly in front of the black man.

The scarred man's Adam's apple bobbed, and he roared, "Take one more step and I'll kill you! Back off!"

Irving lowered his head, glanced at the gun, and calmly said, "If you're afraid to use a weapon, then don't pick it up."

"FXXK! Give it to me..." the black man said angrily, only getting halfway through his sentence.

Irving suddenly raised his baseball bat and slammed it down on Irving's wrist.

Snapped!

Click!

"Ah!" The black man screamed and collapsed, clutching his hand.

Irving kicked the gun across the street, then swung his baseball bat upwards, hitting the chin of a young man rushing towards him.

The man's head tilted back, his center of gravity shifted, and he fell to the ground.

"Kill them!" Andrew charged forward, the steel pipe slamming into the back of a hoodie with a dull thud.

The four young men followed suit, baseball bats and steel pipes falling alternately, screams, curses, and the dull thuds of clubs hitting bones all mixed together.

The gang members initially tried to fight back; some grabbed beer bottles from the roadside, and others threw punches. But they only had a dropped gun and were no match for the gang members wielding six clubs.

In less than two minutes, seven or eight people were huddled on the ground, some with blood trickling from their mouths, and others clutching their ribs, unable to get up.

The scarred man sat on the ground leaning against the wall, his right wrist hanging at an unnatural angle, his forehead covered in sweat from the pain.

Irving stood in front of him and gestured to Andrew.

Andrew picked up the phone, and soon two police cars slowly drove up and stopped on the side of the road.

The sheriff pushed open the car door, wearing sunglasses and with an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth. His hand was on his pistol. He glanced at the people on the ground, then at Owen and Andrew: "What are you doing?"

Four police officers followed behind him.

The Black man cried out, "They hit me! I didn't do anything!"

Without saying a word, Andrew took an envelope from his pocket and threw it into the carriage.

The bulge in the envelope indicates its internal thickness.

The sheriff's gaze lingered on the envelope for a second, then swept over the gang members still cursing on the ground, and shouted, "Arrest all the gang members threatening residents with guns! Now!"

"FXXK! They're attacking us!"

"What are you doing!"

Crackle, crackle.

The gang members, who had just been beaten up by Owen and his gang, were dealt with again by the police and couldn't even get up.

Under the "good and bad zones" policy, the jurisdictions of many police officers have been reassigned, and the police chief is also a newcomer who is completely unfamiliar with these gang members.

Since Irving is willing to pay, he's the new boss here.

The sheriff leaned against the car door, finally lit his cigarette, took a drag, exhaled a cloud of white smoke, glanced at Owen, and left without saying a word.

The police car drove away with the gang members.

Irving walked into the convenience store. The owner, standing behind the glass door, said tremblingly, "Boss, I just paid them the protection money. Could we collect it again next week?"

Irving said sternly, "You don't need to pay anymore. I'm Irving from CMCS. If anyone asks you for protection money again, come find me."

After saying that, he left with his men.

The boss looked at Owen with a puzzled expression, seemingly confused, and suddenly exclaimed, "CMCS, which church is that? I've never heard of it before!"

Irving said seriously, "CMCS Catholic Charitable Mutual Aid Association is also Catholic. I'm at that abandoned convenience store on the street. If you want to hear a sermon, you can come anytime."

CMCS? The boss wondered to himself as he watched the group leave.

On the way back, the four newcomers became excited. Their first mission was a success, which gave them tremendous confidence.

"Turns out those cowards, Old B, didn't dare to fire!"

"He usually acts all high and mighty on the street, thinking he's some kind of big shot!"

Andrew walked beside Owen, switched the steel pipe in his hand to his other hand, and shook his numb right hand: "That guy has a gun, aren't you worried?"

Irving said calmly, "He doesn't dare to drive."

How did you know?

"God told me."

Andrew:

Irving added, "Even if they open fire, Saint-Debbie will protect us."

Andrew's lips twitched; he had a strange feeling that the future was not looking good.

New York State Court, Third Trial Chamber.

Brian sat in the dock with an unopened bottle of water in front of him.

His complexion was worse than it had been three days ago, and the bluish-black under his eyes was even darker, as if he hadn't slept for several nights in a row.

Today is the fourth public hearing in Anna's case.

This shameless framing has dragged on for a very long time.

Anna herself testified in court today.

She was wearing a plain-colored suit, her hair neatly pinned up at the back of her head, without any stray hairs, revealing her clean forehead.

Her eyes were slightly red, as if she had just cried before coming, and faint tear stains could still be seen on her cheeks.

Anna first swore an oath according to the Bible, and then began to speak: "Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I have been under tremendous psychological pressure for many years."

"My superior, Mr. Brian Anderson, repeatedly called me to his office late at night under the pretext of work. He implied that if I wanted a promotion, I would have to pay an extra price. I had no choice but to do so in order to make a living."

"Brian would also text me in the middle of the night, and the content was extremely explicit, making me feel extremely uncomfortable."

She paused, her voice beginning to tremble: "I tried to ignore it, tried to convince myself that it was just his way of expressing himself. But this didn't happen once or twice; it went on for a long time until I couldn't take it anymore. I thought I could endure it, I thought I was strong enough, but—"

Anna's eyes began to redden, and her voice choked with emotion.

She lowered her head, gently dabbed at the corner of her eye with her sleeve, then raised her head again, her voice still trembling with brokenness: "But I can't do it. Those things have been weighing on my heart. I can't sleep well, I'm afraid to go to work, I'm afraid to answer his calls—"

Anna couldn't continue speaking; she covered her face with her hands, her shoulders trembling slightly.

The judge looked at Anna sympathetically and tapped his gavel: "Ten-minute recess."

The expressions on the faces of the jurors clearly changed.

A female juror, her eyes filled with sympathy, scribbled something in her notebook.

The other male juror leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, with deep lines around his eyebrows.

The sound of camera shutters clicking filled the press box.

The flashes of light captured Anna crying in photographs, which were then transmitted to various media outlets.

Brian sat in the dock, his expression calm, but his fingers were clenched into fists under the table.

Damn bitch!

She didn't say that when she was in bed!

He recalled Anna's demeanor on those nights—proactive, assertive, and flirtatious, not much different from Isabella!

What now?

This bitch was wearing a plain-colored suit, her hair was up, and her eyes were red, like a little white flower battered by wind and rain!

FXXK!

Bitch!

You seduced me first!

You bitch!

Brian lowered his gaze, revealing no expression.

Tessa Anderson sat upright in the first row of the audience section.

She didn't move, didn't leave her seat, and didn't whisper among herself like the other listeners.

Tessa wore an elegant dark blue coat, her hair was gray, and her gaze was fixed on Brian, full of support.

During the recess, a reporter walked across the aisle of the gallery and handed her a microphone: "Mrs. Anderson, what are your thoughts on your husband's case?"

Tessa Anderson glanced at the reporter.

Her voice was as steady as if stating a fact: "I've known Brian for over forty years. I know him better than anyone. I won't believe that woman's lies; lies will eventually be exposed."

The reporter wanted to follow up with another question: "But Ms. Anna's statement today..."

""

Tessa had already turned her face away and was no longer looking at her.

Having been the wife of a congressman for over 20 years, she has seen far more insidious interviews and far more elaborate traps than the Anna case.

At this time, what her husband needs is her support, not to deal with the boring media.

Brian saw Tessa across the entire courtroom.

The two looked at each other and smiled. At that moment, the noisy courtroom seemed to quiet down.

Brian suddenly remembered the night many years ago when he had just been promoted from patrolman to detective.

Tessa cooked a much more lavish dinner than usual, including roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and a bottle of cheap red wine that she had secretly bought.

He still remembers Tessa's words: "Brian, I know you'll go further, I'll always be with you, I love you."

17

Brian still remembers the taste of that meal.

He ate countless more expensive and better meals afterward, but none of them were as delicious as that night.

Brian withdrew his gaze and looked back at Anna, his eyes even colder.

Tessa is watching me, I absolutely cannot lose!

Two hours later, the court hearing ended.

Unsurprisingly, no verdict was announced, and Marty continued to drag the matter out.

Brian stood up.

.

Tessa also stood up from the first row of the gallery, walked through the aisle, and went to the defendant's dock.

The two embraced.

The flash went off.

Tessa took Brian's arm and they walked out of the courthouse, toward a row of reporters with their long lenses and microphones at the entrance.

Reporters handed them microphones and asked all sorts of pointed questions, but the two got into the car without looking at each other and didn't say a word.

The flashbulbs went off everywhere, capturing the silhouettes of the two people walking away side by side.

The next day, the photo appeared on the pages of several local media outlets.

The titles varied; one used "sharing weal and woe," while another used "silent allies."

This was arranged by Brian.

That evening, Brian sat in his office as Doug placed his phone in front of him: "Marty's struck again."

The screen displays a pre-edited video.

Several elderly people were interviewed in the neighborhood where Brian lived in his early years:

The first old man said, "The Andersons are certainly respectable, but too respectable. You know what I mean? They send out Christmas cards every year, and their lawns are mowed more neatly than anyone else's, but they just—don't seem like real people."

The second old man said, "Brian, he looks at everyone as if he's assessing their usefulness. His wife is different; she's a good person. A really good person."

The third old man....

The video is titled: "The Andersons' Double Lives".

The footage was cleverly edited, piecing together the comments of several elderly people without directly attacking Brian; in fact, each sentence, taken individually, sounded like praise.

But when put together, it creates an uncomfortable effect: Brian is a calculating man, while Tessa is a good person who has been deceived.

Brian's face turned ashen after watching the video.

He placed his phone on the table, remained silent for a long time, and then said only one sentence: "They crossed the line. Marty crossed the line; he shouldn't have touched Tessa."

Doug didn't say anything.

In fact, this kind of attack is very common in election campaigns, and it is not uncommon to see couples being alienated and fathers and sons being separated.

Some succeeded, some failed.

Suddenly, the office door was pushed open.

Isabella walked in, wearing high heels, and sat directly on the desk in front of Brian, her long legs crossed.

Doug wisely withdrew and closed the door, standing guard outside.

Brian took off his glasses and quietly looked at Isabella.

Isabella said coldly, "Brian, can you even handle this? The election is just around the corner! If you keep dragging this out, I'll have to start thinking about my own future!"

Brian leaned back in his chair and calmly said, "A way out? What way out are you planning to find?"

Isabella scoffed, "Enough! Brian, enough! I'm the director of the NYPD! Do you think I need to kneel down and wait for your charity? We're equal partners! I need to know all your plans, not be kept in the dark like this, wondering what will happen when you suddenly fall from grace! If you're no longer in power, I'll have to find a new patron as soon as possible."

Brian remained silent, instinctively wary of this erratic woman. Their cooperation was purely for mutual benefit, and any shift in those benefits would inevitably lead to conflict: "Keep an eye on your NYPD. Don't let the good and bad zoning policy cause any more trouble. The other day, someone who shouldn't have been hurt was injured. I'll handle my own affairs."

"People who shouldn't be hurt? That Tokyo University boy named Richard and his Tokyo University girlfriend? How ridiculous! Since when has the NYPD ever served a yellow-skinned person!" Isabella stood up, her high heels clicking crisply on the floor. "Listen, Brian, you told me to keep the NYPD in check, so you'd better keep yourself in check first!"

She walked out of the office, the sound of her high heels fading into the distance in the corridor until it disappeared completely.

Doug pushed the door open and looked in the direction Isabella had disappeared, somewhat surprised.

He thought it would take the two of them 30 to 40 minutes.

Today went by so fast.

The boss doesn't seem to be in good shape.

Doug closed the door and walked up to Brian. "Boss," he said, "I think Isabella has a point. We can adjust the good and bad district policies and get support from some councilors. Maybe they can influence the jury and speed up the verdict."

"I'm waiting." Brian gestured with a right hook. "Waiting for a one-hit kill. O'Connor is still being investigated; I can't afford to rush things."

At that moment, the phone lit up, and a message popped up on the screen: "Marty Heis's campaign is over."

Hmph! Brian glanced at it, then flipped his phone over and placed it face down on the table.

When Brian got home, it was past midnight.

The living room lights were still on.

Tessa sat on the sofa, wearing an old knitted cardigan, with a cup of tea that had gone cold on the coffee table in front of her.

Hearing the door open, she looked up, a smile that had remained unchanged for forty years: "You're back?"

"You're not asleep?" Brian stood in the entryway for a while before taking off his coat, hanging it up, and mustering his courage to sit down in front of her.

He looked at Tessa; her face had more wrinkles than when she was younger, and the tiredness around her eyes was more pronounced.

Perhaps in the future, we can find an opportunity to ask her owner to help her extend her lifespan.

He knew his idea was too greedy; life was the most precious thing in the world, and he had to make a sufficient contribution before he dared to speak.

He is still working hard.

When Tessa looked at him, she always had that same look in her eyes—quiet, without any questions, as if she were just a wife waiting for her husband to come home from work overtime.

"About Anna..." Brian hesitated for a moment before speaking, his voice softer than he had expected, "I'm sorry you were hurt. Those things aren't true, you saw it in court..."

""

"I believe you," Tessa interrupted him, as if it were something that didn't need discussion. "You're my husband. We've been through so much together, what storms haven't we weathered? You said that anyone in a high position will inevitably encounter slander. I understand."

Brian opened his mouth as if to say something, but he couldn't get the words out.

Tessa is still the same Tessa, but Brian is no longer the same Brian.

Brian reached out and took Tessa's hand.

Her hands were a little cold and a little thin.

He recalled something from many years ago when he was an NYPD patrolman living in a small apartment in Queens, where his monthly salary was barely enough to cover rent and food.

Tessa followed him and never complained.

She waits for him at home every day when he gets off work, leaving him dinner, even if he tells her, "I've already eaten."

Tessa was indeed a little afraid of him.

She knew what he had done, knew that his hands were stained with blood, and knew that he sometimes did things that were hard to talk about.

But Tessa loved him and kept waiting for him.

Brian's fingers tightened involuntarily.

Tessa sensed Brian's feelings.

She stood up, walked around the coffee table, went behind the sofa, and hugged him from behind: "Brian, it's okay."

Brian's body stiffened for a moment, then slowly relaxed.

He leaned his head back against Tessa's chest, closed his eyes, and smelled the familiar scent of laundry detergent on her, the same one she used when she was young, unchanged for decades.

At this moment, all the conspiracies and schemes vanished from Brian's mind.

The sound of police sirens could be heard from afar outside the window.

But in this living room, everything seemed to have come to a standstill.

The two sat quietly for a while.

Tessa gently patted his back, as if she were comforting a child who had been tired for a long time.

She knew there were things Brian had never told her, but she was willing to wait.

He will stop someday and tell her everything.

When that time comes, they will leave this bustling city together, find a quiet and beautiful countryside, and spend the rest of their lives peacefully.

Jingle Bell!

Brian's phone suddenly rang.

The screen displays "Doug".

Brian immediately sat up straight, glanced at the screen, and his eyes lit up. He stood up and said, "—There are some things I need to take care of."

Tessa's hand was still hanging in mid-air, the gesture from when she patted his back still in her hand.

She didn't say, "Can't you sit for a while?" nor did she say, "Don't leave tonight."

She simply stood up, walked to the entryway, picked up his coat, and handed it to him: "Go on, Brian."

Brian took the coat and put it on, then leaned down and kissed her cheek. "I'll be right back. I promise this will all be over soon!"

He pushed open the door and went out.

Tessa stood at the window.

Doug's car was already parked at the door.

Tessa watched Brian get into the car, close the door, turn on the headlights, drive out of the street corner, and disappear into the night.

Tessa looked for a long time, then returned to sit down on the sofa.

The tea has gone completely cold.

She picked it up and took a sip; it tasted very bitter.

She looked down at her hands.

The wrinkles on my palms are deeper than before, my skin is loose, and I can see bluish, raised veins on the back of my hands.

Brian has inexplicably become much younger recently; the wrinkles on his face have faded, and he walks with more energy than before.

But I'm already old.

How much longer can I wait for him?

Tessa placed the teacup back on the coffee table and gazed into the deep night.

The stern of the Wave Chaser.

Richard sat in a chair, with Brian standing beside him: "Master, everything O'Connor dug up is here."

Richard quickly flipped through the document, then closed it: "Gambling debts, drug addiction, mortgage debt. This is a woman who is completely bankrupt."

"Anna's financial situation is worse than I initially thought," Brian said excitedly. "Her mortgage is four months overdue, and the bank has sent three collection notices. She owes $120,000 to loan sharks, with interest accruing every month. As for the casinos, she goes at least three times a week, losing more than she wins."

Richard nodded: "She has no source of income to support these expenses."

"It was Marty who gave it to us," Brian said coldly. "I don't know exactly how he did it, but I can guess. He gave it in installments, in cash, through shell companies. Each payment was between ten and twenty thousand, just below the reporting threshold. We can't trace Marty himself, but the registered address of that shell company is definitely in the same building as one of the law firms that worked with Marty's campaign team!"

There are many dirty political tactics, and veteran congressmen like Brian are very familiar with them.

Richard nodded.

"In other words, we can't use this to kill Marty. Okay, let's deal with Anna first."

Richard's gaze fell on the top page of the stack of documents on the table. Anna's bank statements were printed in dense rows of numbers, a sum she could never repay in her lifetime, and it was growing every day.

Richard pondered for a moment, then looked up from the document: "You invite her out to discuss an out-of-court settlement, and use words to make her lose control."

Brian frowned and said worriedly, "Although Anna is a gambler, she is very smart. She knows what she is doing, and it is difficult for me to make her lose control with words."

"She'll lose control," Richard said calmly. "You arrange the meeting place, set up the recording and follow-up measures. I'll make her lose control."

Brian's eyes lit up: "Yes, Master. The time is set for tomorrow evening. I'll make the arrangements and send you the location later."

Brian walked down the deck.

Doug waited at the dock and followed Brian as soon as he saw him disembark. He glanced at the yacht again, wondering who the boss had been so eager to meet after obtaining Anna's evidence.

Brian suddenly spoke up: "Doug, help me settle Anna out of court. Tomorrow evening, we should settle this once and for all."

Doug was taken aback.

What exactly happened in that short time?

Where does the boss get his confidence from?

Who is on the ship?

The hearing was postponed as expected the following morning.

Marty's team's reason for applying was "the need for time to verify the completeness and authenticity of the financial data," which sounds reasonable.

The judge approved the request, and because Marty needed to participate in a campaign event, the next hearing was scheduled for three weeks later.

Brian sat in his office, looking at the postponement notice with a cold smile.

"Three weeks."

Doug analyzed, "Marty's plan is to drag it out until after the public debate, and then, during the debate, use words to label you as a 'sexual harasser,' making it a label you can never shake off. Public opinion doesn't care about right or wrong; the masses only remember the simplest labels."

He glanced at his watch: "Four days left until the public debate."

Brian commented, "Marty is indeed adept at manipulating the media. The frequent hearings these past few days have brought the hype to its peak. Then, by suddenly announcing a postponement, those following this matter will shift their attention to our upcoming public debate. This move of his will at least increase the hype by 30%."

Doug handed him a printed copy of an online article: "Boss, Marty's got something new. A long article, already over half a million views. He's blaming us for the hearing delays, even though it was their team who applied to the judge!"

Doug was very indignant.

Brian put on his glasses.

The article's core argument is simple: "Brian is using his powerful legal resources to delay the case."

The article concludes with a quote from Attorney Anna: "My client just wants a fair trial, but fair trials are being murdered by endless delays."

The focus of public opinion has been precisely shifted.

The issue is no longer "Did Brian sexually harass someone?" but rather "Brian is using his power to crush an ordinary woman."

Doug added, "The person behind this article is probably Marty himself. I've analyzed it; the wording and sentence structure are very similar to the rhythm of his campaign speeches."

Brian placed the article on the table. "He's certainly good at this," he said dismissively. "However, I'm ready with my right hook; he's still all talk. Today, I'll teach this political novice a lesson!"

Isabella sat in her office and read Marty's long article from beginning to end, and then read it again.

She leaned back in her chair, her long legs resting on the edge of the table.

When she saw paragraphs like "Brian is using legal resources to delay the case" and "every day it's delayed, Anna's suffering is prolonged," the corner of her mouth twitched slightly.

After watching it, Isabella threw her phone back onto the table.

She recalled what she had said to Brian in his office that day: "If you fall from grace, I'll have to find a new home as soon as possible."

She spoke with such conviction back then, but now that thought has become clearer than ever.

She opened Marty's campaign page again, looked at the family photo with its evenly distributed black, white, and yellow colors for a while, and then turned off the screen.

I haven't jumped ship yet, but I need to start calculating where I should land when I do.

Someone who can corner Brian in the public eye is definitely someone she should keep an eye on.

But Brian hasn't fallen yet.

An old lion that has been knocked to the ground but has not yet admitted defeat will only bite even more viciously when it goes berserk.

She didn't believe Brian would just sit there and wait to die.

Therefore, she wasn't in a hurry to make a decision and wanted to see what other tricks Brian could come up with.

If Brian proves her strength again, she wouldn't mind being a docile lioness for a while longer.

Anna flung the door open and yelled, "I can't take it anymore! I want to end this!"

Marty looked up at her.

Anna wasn't wearing makeup, her hair was messily tied back, and she was wearing a wrinkled coat.

She walked to Marty's desk, placed her hands on the edge, leaned forward, and repeated breathlessly, "I'm going to end all of this!"

Marty said kindly, "Anna, you don't look well."

"I'm not doing well?" Anna's voice was shrill. "Those reporters are camped out in front of my house every day. I have to walk three blocks just to go out and buy a pack of cigarettes. My neighbors are all giving me weird looks!"

Her voice began to tremble.

"Will Brian send someone to kill me? He used to be the police chief; he has blood on his hands. I can't sleep at night; every time I close my eyes, I hear footsteps outside the door."

"He won't touch you," Marty said confidently.

"How do you know?" Anna's voice rose a half-tone. "You're not him."

"Because he doesn't dare." Marty laughed. "A congressman who is currently involved in a sexual harassment case becomes the prime suspect if his plaintiff suddenly gets into trouble."

He won't take that risk. In fact, he's more afraid of something happening to you than you are of it.

"F*** it! That's my life!" Anna's lips trembled slightly. "I want money! I want more money!"

Marty's expression didn't change, but his eyes turned cold.

"You made me the plaintiff, and I did," Anna said quickly. "I went to court! I cried! I made everyone believe I was a victim. But now I can't take it anymore, I need money! Give me the money, and I'll keep going. If you don't give me the money..."

'

She said fiercely, "I'm going to the media right now and tell them that it was all Marty-Heiss's doing!"

Marty narrowed his eyes. "Are you threatening me?"

"What do you think?" Anna's voice held a desperate, hysterical edge. "I have nothing left. I can't pay the mortgage, loan sharks call every day, I haven't paid the utility bills for three months. I've completely alienated Brian. My only way to survive is to get money. If you give me money, I'll keep going. If you don't..."

""

Marty looked at her and remained silent for a long time.

He really had no way to deal with someone who was in dire straits.

Damn gambler!

Anna's breathing became more and more rapid, as if a string in her mind was being stretched tighter and tighter.

Marty reached into the drawer, opened it, and took out an envelope, placing it on the table.

Anna immediately reached for it, but Marty didn't let go right away. He pressed his fingers on the envelope for a moment before slowly releasing it.

Anna immediately snatched the envelope, opened it, glanced at it, and then contentedly stuffed it into her bag before turning and leaving.

As her hand rested on the doorknob, she suddenly paused and turned her head: "Next time you come looking for me, make sure you have money ready!"

boom!

The door closed.

Marty sat behind his desk, looking down at the surface, his fingers tapping lightly on the edge of the desk twice.

Anna returned to her apartment, locked the door, and poured the money from the envelope onto the sofa to count it.

Just then, my phone vibrated.

She glanced down at the message from an unknown number: "A gentleman wishes to speak with you privately to discuss compensation."

An address and time are attached below.

It's Brian!

He wanted to discuss compensation privately.

Brian got scared too. He didn't want to drag it out any longer, so he decided to use money to shut me up.

Anna's breathing became rapid.

If Brian is willing to give her money, she can pay off her mortgage and pay off the loan sharks, and the remaining money will be enough for her to leave New York and start a new life in a place where no one knows her.

Anna replied: "OK. Tell that bastard to prepare enough money!"

An unassuming little coffee shop in Queens.

Anna observed from a distance that there was only one small stall at the entrance, where a yellow-skinned customer was sitting and scrolling through his phone. He looked very young and didn't seem like a secret police officer.

She then observed the coffee shop.

Through the glass window, you can see that the shop is very small, with six tables, and grayish-white light shines in through the window.

Brian sat by the window with a glass of water in front of him, without ordering anything.

He was wearing a dark gray jacket, no tie, and sat very upright with his hands flat on the table.

In another corner of the café, a well-mannered female customer was drinking coffee.

It's probably not a trap.

Anna then walked into the coffee shop with peace of mind and sat down opposite Brian.

Brian looked at her as if greeting an acquaintance: "Anna, you've lost weight. You look like you're not doing well."

Anna placed her bag on the chair beside her, her hand clenching into a fist on the table: "Stop talking nonsense. How much are you planning to give?"

Brian leaned forward slightly. "Anna, we've known each other for years. You know, we didn't have to do this."

He then shut his mouth.

The waiter came over and asked, "What would you like, ma'am?" He placed a glass of water in front of Anna and then turned and left.

"casual."

The waiter left, then quickly returned and placed a cup of coffee in front of Anna before leaving again.

Anna quickly replied, "You've ruined me like this, and then you just casually say you've known me for years?"

Brian scoffed, "You see yourself as a victim?"

"That's me!" Anna's voice rose a notch. "You think I don't know what you're thinking? You made me handle your shady dealings, and then you push me out as a scapegoat when you need someone else to take the fall!"

Brian lowered his gaze.

Two seconds later, when he looked up, his voice was slow and weary, as if he had been cornered: "Anna—I did do some things that were inappropriate with you. I apologize. I shouldn't have done that to you."

Anna's eyes lit up.

Brian finally confessed!

"What's the use of an apology?" Her voice rose, and she tapped her fingers on the table. "I want money. How much are you planning to give me?!"

"We can talk this over. You know I don't have much money either..."

Outside the coffee shop, Richard had an untouched cup of coffee in front of him.

He heard their conversation clearly. After Anna bombarded Brian with questions, she finally picked up the cup of coffee, took a sip, and put it down.

Okay, they've taken the bait.

.

Without saying a word, Richard activated the Desire Manipulation.

Maximize her greed and depress her vigilance to the minimum.

that's enough.

As Anna spoke, her anger flared, and her voice rose even higher: "Three million! Give me three million and I'll shut up! If not, I'll hand everything over to the media! You're finished, Brian! You're finished!"

Brian lowered his head, his shoulders slumped slightly forward, and his voice trembled: "Anna—my daughter is about your age. Do you really have to do this?"

"I don't care about your daughter!" Anna's voice was almost a scream. "You think you can get away with this by playing the victim? You're finished! Give me the money, or you're done for!"

The female customer didn't look up at all, but the miniature camera under the table had recorded everything.

"That's it! I'll give you one day to think about it, Brian!" Anna grabbed her bag and strode out of the cafe.

She didn't turn around, and didn't see the mocking smile on Brian's lips.

When Anna walked out of the coffee shop, it was already quite dark, and the streetlights were not yet fully on.

She sat in the driver's seat and felt inexplicably dizzy. After driving through two intersections, the lights in the rearview mirror turned on in alternating red and blue.

She pulled over, her hands still gripping the steering wheel.

The police officer walked over and knocked on the car window: "Ma'am, please show me your driver's license and vehicle registration."

Anna rolled down the car window halfway and handed over her driver's license.

The officer took the document, glanced at it, and then looked down at her face: "Please get out of the car and cooperate with the routine testing."

"Test for what?" Anna's hands began to tremble.

"Routine spot checks for drunk driving and drug driving."

"I didn't drink."

"Then let's do it together."

Anna's legs felt a little weak when she opened the car door. She held onto the door to steady herself and watched as the police officer took out the testing device.

When the test results came back, she was stunned for a moment, then her voice suddenly exploded: "No! This is fake! I didn't do drugs!"

The officer expressionlessly put away the testing device: "You have the right to remain silent, and anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

"It's Brian!" Anna realized instantly. "He just asked to meet me! He drugged my coffee! He framed me!"

The officer stepped aside, gesturing for her to stand down: "I advise you to watch your words. You need to come with us to the police station to assist with the investigation."

Anna shoved the officer's shoulder: "You're all in cahoots! You're all Brian's men!"

The officer reached out and pressed down on her arm, not with much force, but enough to stop her: "Resisting law enforcement violently could lead to additional charges."

Anna's hands began to tremble violently. She wanted to say something more, but the officer had already reached for the pistol at his waist, and all her words immediately got stuck in her throat.

When Anna was put into the back seat of the police car, she stopped struggling and just kept repeating the same sentence: "He framed me. Brian framed me."

She finally realized that she had fallen into a trap.

The search warrant was issued that evening.

Two officers wearing rubber gloves entered Anna's apartment, with their body cameras on the entire time.

A police officer opened the bedroom closet, lifted the top layer of several neatly folded sweaters, and underneath was a transparent sealed bag containing white powder that shimmered under the light.

"A suspicious package has been found."

The officer said something into the body camera, then reached out and picked up the sealed bag, putting it into the evidence bag.

Another officer was searching the kitchen when he opened a drawer and found several folded banknotes sandwiched between bills and overdue payment notices.

The collection notices have piled up into a thick stack.

That evening, the three news items were simultaneously pushed to major media platforms.

Article 1: Anna was arrested on the spot for driving under the influence of drugs. The test result was positive, and controlled psychotropic drugs were detected in her body.

Article 2: Police officers then lawfully searched Anna's residence and found a bag of high-purity controlled drugs on the top shelf of her bedroom wardrobe.

Article 3: An anonymous recording was released online in which Anna repeatedly demanded huge sums of hush money and threatened Brian, saying, "If you don't pay, I'll ruin your reputation."

The three news items form a complete closed loop.

The image of a drug addict who maliciously framed a congressman in order to obtain money for drugs was fully portrayed.

Anna's lawyer attempted to refute the claims, asserting that Anna was "framed" and that "there was something wrong with the coffee shop's drinks," but Anna's voice was clearly audible in the recording, with a tone of greed and threat throughout, rendering any attempt at sophistry weak and ineffective.

In just one night, Brian Anderson's name changed from "sexual harassment suspect" to "victim of blackmail by drug addict".

Anna was detained for multiple serious crimes, including driving under the influence of drugs, drug possession, and extortion, and is awaiting sentencing, facing a prison term of three to five years.

.

Marty turned off the news on his phone, curled his lip indifferently, and said, "I didn't expect Brian to climb out of the pit so quickly. That's really unexpected."