Chapter 3
Keyboard typing sound.
Less than five seconds.
"Found him," the voice on the other end of the phone said. "Richard Warren, 52 years old, CEO of Warren Films, with a public net worth of $4.2 billion. His actual asset structure includes an $1.8 billion offshore trust fund in Bermuda, $2.3 billion in a Cayman Islands shell company, and $700 million in a Swiss bank encrypted account."
I looked at Richard , who was still pointing at me and laughing with others, "Look at him, he's putting on quite a good act!"
"Main sources of income—" the caller continued, "film and television investment, real estate, and... undisclosed gray market activities. Drug trafficking, money laundering, human trafficking, and financial ties with Russian organized crime."
"Where's the evidence?"
"Abundant. IRS investigation files, FBI wiretapping records, CIA overseas intelligence... they're all in our database. It's just that these cases have been suppressed because of his political donations and lobbying team."
"What do you want?" the person on the other end of the phone asked.
I looked at Richard as if I were looking at a corpse.
"Complete liquidation."
"Received. Execution level?"
"Nuclear-grade."
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone.
"Understood. Zero privileges confirmed. Initiating full liquidation protocol. Estimated completion time: three minutes."
I hung up the phone.
"Ha ha ha ha!"
Richard burst into maniacal laughter , so much so that he couldn't straighten up . "My God! My God! Ladies and gentlemen, did you see that? This loser—this slum scum—he thinks he can just make a phone call—"
He laughed until tears streamed down his face.
"Nuclear-level liquidation?!" He wiped away his tears. "Brother, which mental hospital did you escape from?"
A burst of laughter erupted from the crowd.
"That's hilarious!"
"With acting skills like that, she should audition in Hollywood!"
"Richard, your dinner party was really fun!"
Vivian covered her mouth and laughed, tears welling up in her eyes.
"Sean, you...you're really crazy." She gasped for breath, "Have three years driven you mad?"
Richard walked up to me.
The cigar smoke was blowing in my face.
"Playing tricks." His smile vanished, his eyes turning fierce. "You know what? I hate it when people show off in front of me."
He snapped his fingers.
"Dmitri."
The bald bodyguard with a spider web tattoo on his neck stepped forward.
"Break his legs," Richard said coldly. "Let him know what respect is."
"Yes, boss."
Dmitri stretched his neck, his knuckles making a cracking sound.
The other three bodyguards also surrounded them.
They cornered me.
"Richard, let it go." Vivian tugged at his arm, her voice laced with excitement and a hint of feigned concern. "Don't make a scene... How about we just make him kneel down and apologize?"
"An apology?" Richard sneered. "Too late. His phone call just now offended me."
He turned to me.
"Nobody can show off in front of me. Nobody."
Dmitry raised his fist.
Kneel down!
A fist slammed into my face with a whooshing sound.
I turned to the side.
His fist grazed the tip of my nose.
Bang--
He slammed his fist against the wall.
A crater was blown into the cement wall.
Dmitri was stunned.
He didn't expect me to hide.
"Interesting." He grinned, revealing a set of gold teeth. "Looks like you've practiced?"
I didn't say anything.
The second punch.
The third punch.
The fourth punch.
He fought faster and harder.
But every punch missed.
My body slid between his fists like flowing water.
"Damn it!" Dmitri roared.
He pulled a baton from his waist.
He swung his hand and slammed it towards my knee.
I lifted my leg.
The police baton slammed into my military boots.
Click—
The baton broke in two.
Dmitri's eyes widened.
"This is impossible..."
I moved.
step.
It's just one step.
I appeared before him.
He grabbed his throat with his right hand.
Let's bring it up.
I lifted Dmitri up in the air with one hand.
He's 1.9 meters tall and weighs 100 kilograms, but in my hands he looks like a toy.
"Let...let go..." His face turned red, and his legs kicked wildly.
The surroundings were deathly silent.
All the laughter disappeared.
"Go! Go together!" Richard screamed.
The remaining three bodyguards rushed up.
Someone swung a chair and smashed it into the back of my head.
I delivered a backhand elbow strike.
Bang--
The chair shattered into pieces.
The man's arm was bent at an odd angle.
He screamed and fell to the ground.
The second person pulled out a folding knife and stabbed me in the waist.
I released Dmitri and turned to grab his wrist, which was holding the knife.
Twist it.
Click—
My wrist is broken.
The knife fell to the ground.
I kicked him in the chest.
He flew out like a cannonball and crashed into the champagne tower.
The glass shattered.
The liquor and blood were mixed together.
The third person was terrified.
He looked at me, then at his fallen companion.
My legs are shaking.
"I'm...I'm sorry..." he raised his hands, "I...I don't know..."
I walked toward him.
He was so frightened that he fell to the ground.
"Don't kill me...please...don't kill me..."
I walked past him.
I didn't touch him.
He has already wet his pants.
I walked toward Richard.
His face was deathly pale, and he kept backing away.
"No...don't come any closer..."
He crashed into the railing, with nowhere left to retreat.
"Who...who are you?"
I haven't answered yet—
His phone rang.
The shrill sound of a bell.
He pulled out his phone with trembling hands.
Caller ID: Goldman Sachs.
He pressed the answer button.
"Hello?" His voice trembled.
"Mr. Warren," a cold female voice said on the other end of the phone, "your credit line at our bank has been completely frozen. All loans must be repaid immediately. You have forty-eight hours—"
"What?!" Richard screamed, "Why?! My credit rating—"
"Your credit rating was downgraded to junk status three minutes ago," the female voice said emotionlessly. "At the same time, the Securities and Futures Commission has launched an investigation into all of your accounts. Goodbye."
Smack
The call ended.
Richard stared at his phone, his face ashen.
A second call came in.
Morgan Stanley.
"Mr. Warren, your investment account is experiencing unusual fluctuations—"
The third one.
UBS Group.
Your offshore trust in the Cayman Islands has been—
The fourth one.
The Internal Revenue Service (IRS).
"Mr. Richard Warren, you are suspected of large-scale tax evasion—"
His hands began to tremble.
The phone fell to the ground like a hot potato.
The screen is cracked.
But the phone kept ringing.
The ringing bell was like a death knell.
"No...this is impossible...this is impossible..." Richard muttered to himself.
Suddenly, a person rushed out from the crowd.
He was dressed in a suit and tie, wearing glasses, and sweating profusely.
She is Richard's secretary.
"Boss!" He rushed to Richard, tablet in hand, "Something terrible has happened!"
"What's up?!"
The secretary handed him the tablet.
Richard took it.
A series of news notifications appeared on the screen.
[Breaking News: Warren Film Group Faces Mass Withdrawal of Investment from Multiple Firms]
The SEC has announced an urgent investigation into the Warren Group.
[FBI raids Warren Group headquarters, suspected of being involved in money laundering case]
[Wall Street Journal: Richard Warren's assets may have shrunk by 90%]
[The New York Times: Hollywood Giants Bankrupt Overnight?]
Richard's hands trembled like a Parkinson's patient's.
He flipped down.
Every news item is being updated.
Every single one of them is about him.
Universal Pictures announces the termination of all cooperation with Warren Group.
Paramount withdraws investment, stating it "does not want to associate with criminals."
[Disney spokesperson: We are deeply shocked by this]
Forbes: Richard Warren drops off the rich list
Timestamp —
All of them were from three minutes ago.
Richard's face went from deathly pale to ashen.
He looked up.
Staring at me.
For the first time, genuine fear appeared in his eyes.
"It was you..." His voice was like a broken bellows, "...did you really do it?"
I didn't say anything ; I wouldn't deign to talk to someone like that.
