I am a necromancer, and I absolutely love America.

Chapter 166 Daniel: I'm outta here (10K long chapter, please vote and subscribe)

That evening, the fly brought back the footage.

Richard saw everything: Coleman sitting in front of the screen typing commands, the file list scrolling, and Bauer standing behind Coleman issuing encryption commands.

Accounts, passwords, the names of each experimenter, and one unlucky individual who was disfigured, were all found. In the end, the Bello Group coaxed, tricked, and intimidated him into signing a confidentiality agreement and only paid him $10 in compensation.

Richard smiled slightly: "Finally done."

"9

He temporarily created an anonymous email address and sent an anonymous email to Eugene: "Five years ago, the Bellows Medical Aesthetics chain, with its renowned doctor specializing in autologous stem cell anti-aging, provided paid treatment to 513 people, ultimately resulting in one person being disfigured. This person's name is..."

""

The next morning, the large conference room at Queens Hospital was packed with people.

Standing at the podium, Eugene passionately announced, "The Department of Plastic Surgery at Queens Hospital will be launching a special 'Super-Fast Recovery Liposuction' program, personally overseen by Associate Chief Physician Daniel! We plan to complete 50 surgeries within three months, aiming for 30 patients to achieve a 3-day recovery! Please welcome Associate Chief Physician Daniel to give us a technical explanation!"

Applause immediately erupted.

Everyone looked at Daniel.

Eugene made a "please" gesture, not a question, but a command, pointing in Daniel's direction: "Daniel, come on! Come up here! Explain the principles behind your technology to everyone."

Daniel sat in his seat, his face grim.

Eugene launched another surprise attack on him, asking him to do this without consulting him beforehand!

FXXK!

That damn bastard!

What do you mean now?

What are the technical principles behind it?

Does being Richard's cheerleader count?

Daniel's knees were a little stiff when he stood up, and he felt all eyes on him as he walked onto the podium.

Daniel stood in front of the microphone and took a deep breath: "This technique—mainly relies on a deep understanding of the precision of the technique and the distribution of microcapillaries to predict the patient's subcutaneous vascular distribution pattern before surgery and select the location with the least bleeding for incision."

Daniel paused, racking his brains to fabricate a story, afraid someone would expose him on the spot: "In routine procedures, doctors mainly rely on experience and general anatomical structure to determine the incision location. Through more detailed preoperative assessments, we can identify the area with the lowest capillary density, thereby significantly reducing intraoperative bleeding and accelerating postoperative recovery..."

""

After he finished speaking, there was silence in the audience for about two seconds.

A bespectacled doctor leaned back in his chair. His name was Phoenix Griffin. His lips twitched slightly, as if he didn't quite believe in the precision of the procedure.

But he didn't say anything, because Daniel did indeed recover from liposuction in three days, though he didn't know if it was a scam.

Phoenix Griffin was one of the top talents at the Bello Medical Aesthetics chain, and it was his poaching that triggered the conflict between the Bello Group and Eugene.

Phoenix Griffin really didn't want to come to this lousy hospital.

But he had no choice but to give in to the threats from the state inspector general's son.

Which doctor doesn't have some shady past?

A young female doctor sitting on the other side tilted her head, as if she wanted to ask more questions, but held back.

The plastic surgery department has gathered 12 doctors, all of whom Eugene poached from various cosmetic clinics through various means.

Regardless of whether the methods were despicable or not, the plastic surgery department at Queens Hospital has now been rebuilt and is even more advanced than before.

Daniel's secretary, Becca, sat in the front row, her hands resting on her knees, her head tilted slightly forward, her bright eyes fixed on Daniel.

Daniel is awesome!

How did he master such an incredible technique?

Master my ass!

Daniel's legs were still a little weak when he got down.

He sat back in his chair, feeling his back soaked with sweat.

He stood there and said a bunch of things he didn't even believe himself.

Otherwise, what else can we do?

We can't just go up there and stand there blankly, can we?

The doctors in the audience didn't press for further questions, but they wouldn't forget it.

After the meeting, several doctors immediately surrounded him.

A young male doctor stood in front of Daniel: "Dr. Daniel, is there any literature supporting the preoperative assessment method you just mentioned? I'd like to check it."

Daniel stood there, opened his mouth, and said, "The new pattern I discovered is still in the process of being organized and has not been published yet."

The other person nodded and took a step back.

Another doctor, standing to the side, pressed further: "So, what equipment was used to assess the predicted capillary distribution?"

Daniel's Adam's apple bobbed slightly: "—Mainly the assessment of techniques and preoperative palpation."

"Palpation?" The other person asked suspiciously, but did not ask further. However, that subtle silence was more difficult to deal with than any further questioning.

A third doctor squeezed through the crowd: "The method you mentioned for reducing bleeding sounds like you've pre-drawn a map of the blood vessels, but the blood vessels under the skin aren't fixed; their distribution varies from person to person. How do you manage to use the same standard for every surgery?"

How the hell should I know how Richard did it!

Daniel felt his back was covered in sweat: "—It is through preoperative palpation that we perceive the tension feedback of the skin layer by layer to determine the direction of blood vessels."

Even he himself thought what he was saying was outrageous.

Several doctors looked at him in disbelief.

"Palpation? Looking for capillaries?"

Are you kidding me?

Daniel remained silent.

A female doctor tilted her head and looked at him for a while: "Do you have any training materials on this? I'd like to learn."

Daniel replied dismissively, "I'll share it once it's organized."

When he finished speaking, he felt his voice was already weak.

Phoenix-Griffin stood at the edge of the crowd, arms crossed, glanced at Daniel, then looked away, and sneered, "I'd like to see if this guy is just a conman or if he's really capable."

Daniel turned slightly and walked out of the crowd.

When he returned to the corridor, he walked faster than usual, trying to avoid the crowd of people asking questions.

Becca jogged to catch up with Daniel, her heels clicking rapidly on the floor. "Vice Dean Daniel! You were so impressive on stage just now!"

Her eyes sparkled, as if they were shining: "I've turned your speech into a short video! I even added background music!"

Daniel stopped and turned to look at her stiffly: "You filmed it?"

Becca nodded vigorously: "Yeah! I edited a version and uploaded it to TikTok! Wow! Look, it's already getting some likes!"

Daniel's eyelid twitched: "—Next time something like this happens, ask me. I don't like being famous."

Becca was stunned for a moment, as if she hadn't expected him to say that, then exclaimed admiringly, "Daniel, you're such a kind person, so indifferent to fame and fortune!"

He's so damn indifferent to fame and fortune!

I'm afraid I'll end up roasting lamb over a fire!

Daniel returned to his office, closed the door, and sat down in a chair, his hands trembling.

Eugene is such a bastard, so insidious.

This move was completely unexpected.

Daniel opened his phone and saw that Becca's video had already received 20 likes.

The number of views isn't high, but people have already started leaving comments: "Three days to recover? I had liposuction at a hospital in Queens, and the recovery period was fourteen days."

Someone replied below: "The techniques he mentioned sound reasonable, but the recovery speed is really exaggerated."

"That's just bragging! You actually believe it?"

Daniel looked at the messages and then locked the screen.

He recalled what he had just said on stage—the judgment of techniques, the perception of touch, the prediction of capillaries—and felt ashamed of himself; he had been too boastful.

What should we do then?

Suddenly being thrust into this position by Eugene, I had to say something.

No!

I can't stay in this lousy hospital any longer, I need to get out!

Daniel opened his phone, and his eyes lit up immediately.

My car has been sold!

Although I lost a lot of money, as long as I can recover my losses, that's fine!

Then came buying a house; I wanted to get out of this godforsaken city as soon as possible!

Just then, Becca knocked on the door again and poked her head in: "Daniel! I have great news for you! The hospital director has arranged a very important person for your surgery next Friday! The wife of the Deputy Secretary of State Health! If this surgery goes well, it will be a huge help to your future! I've already compiled that lady's information! Do you need me to help you prepare the pre-operative documents?"

The wife of the state's deputy health minister! Daniel was completely stunned.

Eugene!

You bastard!

Eugene is pushing himself step by step to the operating table, giving it his all.

A local official is more powerful than a distant one; if he messes up the surgery on the wife of the deputy minister of health, he's finished in this line of work!

Two o'clock in the afternoon.

Eugene was not in a good mood.

He returned to his office and received a call from his father, Corbyn, and they had a huge argument.

The reason is that Bellows CEO Paul called Corbyn again, demanding that Phoenix Griffin return to Bellows.

Eugene sat in the chair, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white, and his lips pressed into a thin line.

He remembered the nonsense his father had said.

"You have no idea what you're doing." "You're just a hospital director." "You think you can threaten a listed company?"

Every word he heard was still echoing in his ears.

As a second-generation rich kid, he had never been treated with such humiliation since childhood.

My dad never helps me!

Eugene grew increasingly agitated, his breathing became heavy, and he slammed his fist on the table.

boom!

The table is shaking.

"bite!

His phone popped up a notification; he had received a new email.

He didn't want to look at it at first, but the email title caught his attention: "Data from the Bellow Group's 5-Year-Old Autologous Stem Cell Anti-Aging Experiment".

Bellow Group!

Eugene immediately opened the attachment, and when he saw the names and numbers in the data, an excited expression appeared on his face.

Bello leaned back in his chair and looked at the screen for a few seconds, then picked up his phone and made a call: "Hey! Old Cat, help me look into someone. I'll send you the name. I need to confirm if he had surgery at Bello, how his recovery is going, and if there are any transfer records."

He waited for about forty minutes after the call ended.

His phone rang, and he answered it. The other person said, "It's confirmed. That person did indeed have an autologous stem cell transplant at the Bellows Manhattan flagship store five years ago. Afterward, he experienced a severe rejection reaction for unknown reasons, resulting in extensive tissue necrosis on his face. He was transferred to two other hospitals afterward, and I couldn't find any data after that. The last record was three and a half years ago, and there haven't been any updates since. He may have resigned himself to his fate, or he may have settled with the Bellows Group."

Eugene put down his phone, looked at the email on the screen, and exhaled: It's true!

This email is real!

Eugene's lips began to curl upwards.

He stood up and walked to the window, calmed himself down, then came back and read the email again. Only after confirming that he hadn't misread it did he pick up his car keys and leave.

He knew the email had a sinister origin.

Someone is definitely using him as a pawn.

But so what?

Eugene doesn't need to know who wants to use him for what; he only needs to confirm that the material is genuine and can be used to threaten the Bello Group.

His goal was simply to get the Bello Group to release the other doctors to him without breaking ties with them. Therefore, there was no need to disclose the materials. It was enough for the Bello Group to know that he had them, and it would also give his father, Corbin, another leverage to threaten the Bello Group!

Eugene was in a great mood.

Doesn't my father always say I'm useless?

Am I not going to use such a big handle I have?

He finally got his father's support!

When Eugene returned home, Corbin was sitting in his study reading a book. He looked up at Eugene and then looked down.

The father and son were just arguing.

Eugene didn't change his shoes or take off his coat. He walked straight up to his father, showed him his phone screen, and excitedly said, "Dad, look at these materials!"

"The Bello autologous stem cell project involved 513 patients, with over thirty experiencing problems. One patient, disfigured, has already signed a settlement agreement. I've verified it; it's true! They're finished!"

Corbyn took the phone, scrolled through it, and read everything on the screen without changing his expression: "Where did you get this?"

Eugene said excitedly, "It doesn't matter. What matters is that we can use this to negotiate. As long as Bello knows we have this, they will let us go."

Corbyn looked at him like he was a fool: "How do you think they'll respond?"

Eugene said confidently, "They will release them."

Corbyn's tone remained unchanged: "And then? They'll investigate the source of this material. When you can't explain its origin, they'll assume I'm behind it. What do you think the Bello Group will do when they believe the state attorney general is investigating them? Will it provoke a fierce reaction?"

Eugene's smile vanished.

Corbyn calmly asked, "Tell me, where did these materials come from?"

Eugene's face was extremely grim: "Dad, you just won't help me! You won't even help me with such a small favor!"

Grayson, the older brother, put down his teacup, looking at Eugene with disappointment in his eyes: "Eugene, you've grown up. I didn't want to say this, but this isn't the first time I've reminded you. Have you thought about how that thing ended up in your hands? Have you thought about who it might burn after it's released? Have you thought about who actually started this fire?"

He paused, then shook his head with a wry smile: "Eugene, you're not a child anymore. You need to consider the consequences before you act. You can't always do this, using your father's name to scare people, and then blaming your family for not helping you when they come after you."

Eugene's breathing became heavy. He turned to look at Corbin, his eyes beginning to redden. "So you think I deserve it? I can't even poach two doctors?"

Corbyn sighed. "This isn't about poaching a doctor. I think you should think this through first. Grayson is right, are you trying to solve the problem or create more?"

"You're always like this!" Eugene clenched his fists. "You've always been like this since I was a child!"

He turned and left, slamming the door shut with a deafening roar, as if he had used all his strength.

boom!

The living room was quiet for a moment.

Corbyn read the email again and handed it to his assistant.

The assistant glanced at it and came to the same conclusion: "Someone is using Eugene as a pawn. This document is too complete; he couldn't have dug it up himself. We should investigate."

Corbyn was silent for a moment: "I'll ask him again after he calms down."

The assistant was somewhat worried: "What if Eugene leaks that document directly? We'll be in big trouble."

Corbyn's fingers stopped.

Grayson picked up his wine glass again, letting out a soft snort. "Eugene doesn't have the guts. He talks a big game about killing them, but when it comes to actually doing it, he'll find a way to save face first. He's always been like that."

Corbyn glanced at him and said with displeasure, "Is that how you view your brother?"

Grayson tilted his head and pursed his lips, not replying, and took a sip of his drink.

Corbyn turned his gaze back: "He can't be that stupid. This document clearly shows someone is using him to do things, and for him to jump out and act as a pawn would be incredibly foolish. Once he calms down, I'll investigate who dares to use my son as a weapon!"

Corbyn's eyes were incredibly cold.

The living room was quiet for a while.

The assistant analyzed, "There are only two possibilities: either someone who has a grudge against you or Eugene, or someone who has a grudge against the Bello Group. The Bello Group is more likely; they have such a huge handle on you, hehe..."

""

Corbyn leaned back on the sofa, a slight smile playing on his lips.

Regardless, he had obtained a major handle against the Bello Group.

We should make good use of this.

It is most powerful when the leverage is not revealed.

Just like a nuclear bomb on a launch pad, only it can deter the world.

"Start by investigating Bello's side, and see who they've offended recently."

The assistant nodded, turned around, and walked out.

Grayson glanced at his watch, then put down his glass. "It's getting late, Dad. I'll head back now. I'll go say goodbye to Mom."

"Be careful on the road," Corbyn said, watching Grayson's retreating figure.

If only Eugene could be as composed as Grayson.

Daniel sat on a plastic chair in the airport waiting area, with a carry-on suitcase and a backpack in front of him.

He has already saved a screenshot of the flight confirmation email. The flight departs for Seattle at 11:30 PM. There are no direct flights; you will have to transfer in Denver.

He glanced down at his phone.

His bank account had just received a $2.5 transfer when his car, a Cadillac he'd driven for less than two years, was sold. He'd bought it for nearly $5, but now he was only getting $2.5 back.

Losing big!

Daniel was heartbroken.

There's no time to sell the house, so I can only list it with a real estate agency to help sell it.

He had already given the keys to the agent and asked them to arrange viewings, so he didn't need to go back.

Daniel kept thinking about what would happen after he left, what Eugene would do if he couldn't find him, whether he would investigate his parents, whether he would find out about Katrina's clinic, and whether he would discover that he wasn't the one who actually performed those surgeries.

The more he thought about it, the more he felt he needed to leave the city as soon as possible.

With the waiting time for his flight drawing near, Daniel picked up his phone and dialed Richard's number.

"Daniel?" Richard's voice came through.

Daniel lowered his voice and said, "Richard, I'm going to go out and lay low for a few years. I'll come back after this Eugene thing has passed."

Richard was speechless. He didn't know how to advise her. "If you go back now, you'll have to fly back in a couple of days. Aren't you tired?" he thought. "Maybe we can wait a little longer. Christina can help you negotiate. Things should turn around soon."

Daniel gave a wry smile: "What hope is there? What can a mentor do against a malicious attack from the son of a state attorney general? She's just a scientist."

Daniel paused, lowering his voice even further: "Richard, I thank you very much, but I know how awful those guys are. Be careful, don't let Eugene know you performed the surgery, or you'll be in big trouble."

Richard opened his mouth, as if to explain something, but swallowed it all back, only saying four words: "Take care."

Daniel said, "Okay. I'll contact you when I get to where I'm staying."

Then it hung up.

Richard stood by the window with his phone in hand, looking at the night outside, and reluctantly put the phone back in his pocket.

He couldn't stop Daniel from running away; doing so would seem suspicious.

If Eugene doesn't release a video in the next two or three days, Richard will do it himself.

The method is simple: AI generates an audio clip of Eugene's voice, clones the voice using Eugene's voice material, and then "exposes" the violations of the Bellow Group's autologous stem cell project in the audio clip.

Even if it's fake, the Bello Group will believe that someone is using Eugene as a pawn.

But so what?

The fire has been lit.

You can do it yourself.

Richard turned on his computer and began preparing the audio files. He imported Eugene's audio material into a sound cloning program.

He first imported the materials, let the program start running the first model, and then put the computer on the desktop to let it finish running.

Eugene had been sitting silently in the Queens Hospital director's office for a long time.

He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white, his lips pressed into a thin line, staring intently at the email on the screen.

He knew it was a trap.

But so what!

Corbyn wouldn't help me, and Grayson was always laughing at me!

it is good!

Aren't you all just looking out for yourselves?

I'm going to set this fire on fire and see if you'll still care about me!

Eugene finally made up his mind, stood up, walked behind the door, took off his white coat, put it on, fastened the bottom button, and stood in front of the phone camera.

Then, he clicked the record button.

"I am Eugene Yeager, the superintendent of Queens Hospital." Eugene looked at the camera, his voice as flat as a taut string.

"I am filing a formal complaint alleging that Bellows Medical Aesthetics Chain Group, despite being explicitly prohibited by the FDA, performed unapproved therapeutic procedures on at least 513 patients under the guise of an autologous stem cell anti-aging program. In one case, Mr. Brock Carson suffered extensive facial tissue necrosis, resulting in permanent disfigurement. This behavior is undoubtedly illegal and violates regulations."

"Their management knew. Their legal department knew. Their chief scientist knew. They chose to cover it up instead of correcting it."

Eugene saved the video and then clicked upload.

After he finished making his selection, he walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked at the skyline outside the window instead of looking at the progress bar again.

He didn't notice when the progress bar finished.

But he knew that the Bellow Group was in trouble, and Corbyn was in trouble too!

That afternoon.

In the conference room of the Bellow Group headquarters building, a dozen people sat around a long table on both sides.

WTF!

"Has Corbyn gone mad?!"

"And that stupid Eugene!" Bauer stood at one end of the conference table, slamming his fists on it, his face flushed red. "Who gave him the guts to do something like this? He's just a worthless director of a public hospital, who does he think he is!"

No one responded when he was speaking.

The CFO glanced down at the real-time data on his phone, then looked up: "Our stock price has already dropped by eight percent. And it's still going down, with no sign of stopping."

The PR director's computer screen kept refreshing with newly pushed news items, the headlines getting shorter and the wording increasingly harsh: "Bello Exposed for Concealing 513 Cases of Irregular Treatment!"

"The Bello autologous stem cell project is suspected of deliberately concealing postoperative complications!"

"Brock Carson: Bello ruined my face and then tricked me into signing a non-disclosure agreement."

These articles appeared almost simultaneously, as if an editor behind the scenes was releasing prepared manuscripts one by one.

Without a doubt, it was Dicano Medical Aesthetics Chain, the biggest competitor of the Bellow Group, that did this.

They also released a comparative report to the media, pointing out that Bello's postoperative complication rate in autologous stem cell projects was higher than the industry average. The data came from compensation expenses implied in Bello Group's publicly disclosed financial statements, rather than internal materials, but put together, it was enough to arouse suspicion among investors.

Then, Aiden Medical, a local mid-sized chain of high-end medical aesthetic clinics in New York, released a batch of newly opened medical records, revealing the "special treatment" and corresponding poaching promises offered to the clinic's attending physicians by the Bellow Group.

Although there is no direct evidence, it is enough to make the public have deeper doubts about the Bello Group's business model.

Then there's Los Angeles.

A high-end cosmetic surgery clinic informed the media through public relations channels that the Bellow Group attempted to hack into the clinic's database and claimed that the Bellow Group was trying to acquire properties in prime Los Angeles locations to squeeze out local competitors by controlling physical locations.

Following this, a large cosmetic surgery clinic in San Francisco provided Newsweek with a chat log of researchers from the Bello Group.

Records show that the researcher once said, "If something goes wrong with a certain project, we will try to handle it internally first, have the patients sign confidentiality agreements, and at the public level, attribute it to other factors."

Although there is no evidence from any specific case, with multiple chain agencies releasing negative material at the same time, Bello has become a target of public discussion.

Eugene successfully initiated the team fight, and countless opponents were matched with him, actively joining the team to deal damage.

Bauer received more phone calls in one hour than he had in the entire previous month!

The major shareholder also called, not directly getting angry, but his tone was much colder than usual. He first asked, "When did you find out about this?", then, "Why didn't you tell us about this first?", and finally, "What do you plan to do now?"

Board members also began to intervene, using different wording, but pointing in the same direction: they needed to know when the situation could be turned around and the stock price stabilized, and did not want to hear a CEO struggling to cope with media inquiries.

The FDA also called to inquire whether the materials were authentic. If they were, they would require Bello to provide complete project records; otherwise, they would launch an investigation.

The general counsel sat at the other end of the table, already preparing for the subsequent risk assessment.

The chief scientist sat silently in the corner, his forehead covered in cold sweat as he stared at the publicly available patient names on the screen.

He couldn't understand how the data was lost.

Bauer turned off the projector in the conference room and rubbed his eyes painfully. "The situation is terrible. Everyone, please share your thoughts."

The CFO spoke first: "Those data are accurate. The 513 names and the information of the disfigured patient are all correct. This means someone has completely obtained our internal documents. We must find that person and that system vulnerability!"

The chief scientist began to shift blame: "That solicitation letter from the FDA might have been someone trying to warn us in advance that they were about to take action. We didn't notice it."

Bauer's face darkened. "Everyone, get to your assigned tasks. PR, get all public statements on the same page. Legal, prepare for potential lawsuits. Finance, assess the potential damage. Get moving. I need to have a serious talk with Corbyn!"

Bauer closed his office door and dialed Corbyn's number.

It rang three times before the other party answered.

"Attorney General, I respect you. But you've crossed the line this time! If this happens again, Bello will formally sue the Attorney General for abusing his power and serving private business interests."

Corbyn had already seen the news, and he was actually even more shocked than Bauer.

Eugene really messed things up for himself.

However, he showed no sign of backing down: "513 real names and the complete record of a real disfigured patient—that's real. Do you think someone deliberately fabricated it? Or do you think it's fictitious?"

Bauer's voice hardened: "That's not important. What's important is where the materials came from. You know what that means—someone is trying to start a war between us."

Corbyn remained calm: "All I know is that the materials are real. Instead of threatening me here, you should take care of your own problems first."

Bauer paused for about two seconds. "Mr. Attorney General, I'm giving you one last chance to end this gracefully. If you give me another chance, I'll submit the complete case to the Department of Justice!"

Snapped!

The phone hangs up.

Corbyn hung up the phone with a grim expression, then dialed Eugene's number.

"Do you know what you're doing?" Corbyn's voice didn't rise, but the lowered tone was more unsettling than a shout: "That's a company worth over two hundred billion! You haven't messed with a small clinic; this is a conglomerate that can mobilize resources nationwide! Do you know that they spend over $2000 million every year lobbying the federal government? Do you know how much trouble you've caused? How much trouble have you caused me?!"

Eugene held his phone in one hand and gripped the armrest of his chair with the other, his knuckles turning white.

He didn't answer. He listened to his father continue on the other end of the line, and then he finally spoke: "How much trouble have I caused? When have you ever helped me? You give my older brother whatever he wants, and you give my older sister whatever she wants. But when it comes to me, I can't even do one thing. I'm not causing you trouble! I've just given you a huge handle against me!"

"Incomprehensible!" Corbyn cursed, then hung up the phone without saying another word.

Eugene sat back down in his chair.

He knew someone was using him as a pawn, but he didn't know who it was, and he didn't care.

Richard glanced at the news feed, a slight smile playing on his lips.

He truly hadn't expected Eugene to actually self-destruct so decisively!

In this way, Eugene certainly doesn't have time to cause trouble for Daniel right now. The Bello Group's stock price is still falling, and he also has to consider dealing with the Bello Group's retaliation.

However, he won't have to worry about it for long; Richard will help him solve his problem at its root, once and for all.

You're welcome.

Richard thought for a moment and sent Daniel a message: "Look at the news about Eugene, things are almost settled, you can come back now."

Daniel saw the news in the airport waiting area.

He glanced at it, didn't reply, and boarded the plane directly, flying to Seattle.

So what if Eugene is trapped now? Once the storm passes, he will still be the dean, and I will still be the second-in-command who was forced into a corner!

As darkness fell, Eugene was in a very bad mood.

He had another argument with his father.

Then his mistress sent him a message: "Eugene, how are you? It's Thursday today, come over, I miss you."

As Eugene looked at those words, a fire ignited within him. He also felt immense pressure and desperately needed to relieve it, so he typed back a single word: "Okay."

Then he took his car keys and went out.

The streetlights on the eastern section of I-95 are spaced far apart, with the light alternating between bright and dim, illuminating the thin layer of snow on the asphalt surface.

Richard was driving slowly, about five miles per hour below the speed limit. His hands were on the steering wheel, and he was very relaxed, like an ordinary driver returning home at night.

Several cars ahead of him were accelerating past him; their taillights flashed briefly in front of his windshield before moving forward and gradually shrinking into a distant dot of light.

Richard maintained a steady speed throughout.

Then he sensed the location of the fly puppet on Eugene's body, which was moving at high speed, approaching him at about 110 kilometers per hour.

Richard glanced in the rearview mirror; the car lights hadn't yet come on in the distance, but he could already sense the car approaching.

He slowly pressed the accelerator, and the car began to climb, but not by much, like an ordinary driver making slight adjustments to speed on an open road.

A few seconds later, two beams of light appeared in his rearview mirror, rapidly magnifying as they approached from a distance.

The Cadillac overtook him from the right lane, at a significantly faster speed.

Richard continued to accelerate, maintaining a position approximately half a car length away from the rear wheel of the Cadillac.

The two cars drove side by side in the night; his car was in the left lane, and the Cadillac was in the right lane.

He didn't turn to look at the car; he simply kept his own car within that distance and then extended his magical hand.

The hand reached out silently, passing through the metal shell and chassis of the car body, and touched the electronic vacuum booster pump of the braking system. The cable was precisely pinched by his fingers and then cut off.

Then, Richard released the accelerator, turned on the right turn signal, and the front of the car began to slowly turn to the right. The front wheels drew a slight arc on the road surface, and the vehicle smoothly turned and entered the ramp.

This intersection was a location he had chosen long ago.

Richard's car did not decelerate or accelerate suddenly, nor did it make any unusual braking or steering maneuvers. He simply drove slowly onto the main road at night and completely left the highway.

Eugene is driving.

His hands were on the steering wheel, and he was in a bad mood.

He was still thinking about what had happened that afternoon—his father's scolding, his brother's mockery. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel occasionally, then loosened again.

There was a bend ahead. Eugene glanced at the road sign and started to brake.

When he stomped down, he felt his scalp explode.

The feeling of stepping on the brakes is different from usual!

When you step on it, you feel a soft, elastic pressure, like stepping on some kind of mat.

But now when Eugene stepped on it, he couldn't press down on that thing anymore; it was hard and unyielding, like stepping on a stone.

He stomped on it again, but there was still no reaction.

"What's going on?" Eugene looked down nervously at his feet.

The brake pedal remained motionless, as if it had been welded shut.

He slapped the steering wheel with his palm and then began frantically slamming on the brakes, his right foot going down and up repeatedly, pressing it all the way down each time, but each time he received the same hard, rock-like response.

He screamed:

"Oh Fuck!"

The Cadillac started to slip.

The snow on the road was left as a thin layer after being crushed by the front wheels. The front of the car swung outward at the entrance of the curve, and then the posture of the entire car changed completely.

The ABS and ESP both failed, the wheels spun freely on the snow, and every brake application was ineffective. The front wheels and the entire car slid towards the outside of the curve.

A car was driving normally when the driver suddenly saw the Cadillac next to him begin to skid, its headlights shifting from his left to forward and then to his right.

FXXK! He slammed on his brakes, turned the steering wheel in the opposite direction, and watched as the Cadillac sped past him, its rear end almost grazing his bumper.

"Don't drag me down with you if you're looking to die!" he cursed, then slammed on the brakes and pulled over to the side of the road.

Eugene's vision went completely out of control for a moment.

He saw the guardrail approaching rapidly, and then he heard a sharp, continuous scraping sound of metal against metal, the chassis scraping against the guardrail.

The car headlights shifted from the road surface to the night sky, then back to the ground, and then back to the night sky, rotating repeatedly 3 times.

4 laps.

Eugene felt something repeatedly pulling and loosening him, and the seatbelt was causing waves of pain in his chest. His hands were flung off the steering wheel and then flung back, and he couldn't do anything.

The vehicle flipped twice in the air before finally crashing into a large tree by the roadside.

The tree trunk was about half a meter in diameter. The entire side of the car body hit it first, and then the front of the car hit it. A large piece of the tree bark was scraped off, and the metal shell of the car body wrinkled like paper. The entire car was completely broken in two.

Richard's vehicle was exiting the ramp and drove smoothly for a distance on the auxiliary road.

He turned on the music.

The melodious song drifted through the carriage.

Click!

boom!

The first half stopped beside the tree roots, while the second half tumbled around and flew a long way.

Eugene was unable to make a sound throughout the entire process; his body had been compressed into a thin sheet.

Richard kept his speed within the speed limit, like an ordinary driver who wasn't in a hurry.

His hands rested steadily on the steering wheel, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, without looking in the rearview mirror or showing any signs of urgency.

He made several turns, drove through a section of road covered by trees, and then entered the entrance of Baytop Villa, slowed down, turned on his lights, turned, and stopped.

When he turned off the engine and removed the key, his movements were as steady as usual, as if nothing had happened.

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