Shadow Empire

Chapter 1152 Certificate of Surrender

The FBI did actually investigate the Angel Lake legend; they secretly came to investigate, and it was Derek who led the investigation.

The results of the investigation were naturally not optimistic; in some areas, massive amounts of oil drums were found piled up underwater.

Many of the oil drums were rusted, exposing the concrete inside.

They once created one, but in reality, the concrete couldn't completely enclose a body; there would still be some body parts close to the edge of the oil drum.

Once the oil drum rusts through, this part of the body will come into contact with the lake water and be decomposed by the microorganisms in the lake water, eventually leaving only a skeleton curled up in the concrete.

Having obtained a skeleton dating back countless years, they had no clues other than trying to determine how the body died from a forensic perspective.

The identity of the body is unknown, no distinguishing features can be found, and the exact age of death cannot be determined.

Some people have wondered why it is so difficult to identify the body when an unidentified corpse is found in the Federation.

If someone goes missing in a city, then it's very likely that it's one of those missing people, isn't it?
However, these people overlooked one problem: the number of people who go missing from the federal government each year is enormous.

More than 200 people went missing in Golden Harbor City last year, not including some unregistered refugees and illegal immigrants.

Even under the control of the Lance family, people still go missing.

Most of these people were lured away by the promise of high salaries and then became targets of human trafficking organizations or even organ trafficking organizations.

With organ transplantation surgery recently being adopted and promoted in major medical groups, the entire federal market is facing a huge organ shortage.

Humans are like a mine, a resource with untapped potential.

A person's body is worth very little on the black market, maybe a few hundred dollars, but an organ can fetch thousands or even tens of thousands of dollars.

For the wealthy, their first choice is not "an organ that can be installed", but "an organ that can be installed with the least rejection reaction". This requires multiple matching processes to select the most suitable one.

In terms of the parts-to-whole ratio, there is no doubt that humans are one of the most valuable "commodities".

Every year, there are so many missing persons cases in every place. In places like Jin Gang City in the past, because various gangs were more or less involved in the human trafficking business, the number of missing persons was even greater.

Finding the identity of this skeleton from among hundreds, thousands, or even thousands of missing persons each year would require an enormous amount of police manpower and effort.

Ultimately, Roland called off the plan to excavate the secrets of Angel Lake. Digging it out would be a waste of time, and the huge number of oil barrels underneath wouldn't be a problem if they were left there, but digging them out would be.

As a senior agent supervisor at FBI headquarters, this superintendent was clearly aware of the legend and the inside story.

His eye twitched involuntarily. "Your way of inviting me is quite unusual!" he said, pausing for a moment. "But how can you convince me that I've truly pledged my allegiance to you?"

In a very short time, he had thought about many things.

The instinct of living beings is to survive. All other desires and demands are desires that arise after the survival instinct has been satisfied.

It's like when people are starving, all they want is to fill their stomachs.

Only after they have filled their stomachs will they consider whether they should have a partner, a warm house, and the ability to indulge in pleasure.

But before that, filling one's stomach is the primary need.

Survival is clearly more important than simply filling one's stomach.

He didn't want to die. He had a good job, a high income, and a bright future. He was clearly unwilling to let all of that come to an end at this moment.

His parents supported his education, and all his hard work over the years, including his struggles after entering society, should not stop at this moment.

He made the decision without going through a very intense internal struggle.

Sometimes, those in the middle and upper ranks, who wield certain power and influence, are more quick to change their mindset than those at the bottom.

Because they truly possess those wonderful things, while those at the bottom do not. They have nothing left to lose; perhaps their ideals are all they have.

Losing one's ideals is like losing one's life, but those at the top have money, wives, children, families, mansions, luxury cars, everything...

Lance laughed and said, "It's simple, come with me."

He stood up and took two steps, then looked back. "Oh, right, I forgot to ask, what's your name?"

"Actually, I may have heard of your name, but I don't recognize your face. We should get to know each other."

The senior agent supervisor pursed his lips. "Ike, Ike Kosh."

A very ordinary, even somewhat niche, name. "Aren't you an old Federation citizen?"

As they walked, Lance asked questions.

Supervisor Ike shook his head. "My great-great-grandfather was an indigenous person, and I have one-thirty-two indigenous ancestry."

Lance seemed slightly surprised. "I thought you would prefer to run a casino rather than do these dangerous jobs."

Ike couldn't help but smile wryly. The natives were now being "protected" very well. They were not allowed to engage in any capital operations, and the federal government even required them to rely on hunting for a living, because that was in line with their position.

Some have protested that providing a comfortable living environment for indigenous people is not conducive to preserving and maintaining some of their customs, so the reserve looks like a giant wildlife park.

Fortunately, things have changed somewhat in recent years. They have allowed indigenous people to work, for example, as prostitutes or the lowest-paid laborers.

In addition, within the protected areas, influential indigenous people, such as chiefs, can also operate casinos, and they have licenses.

"Everyone only sees the rich people, but ignores the many more who don't have money."

"And starting with my grandfather, we stopped contacting those people."

With one-thirty-second of their bloodline, they could already be considered Commonwealth people, not Native Americans.

Lance chatted with him as they walked into the next room, where an FBI agent was being held.

He also looked very haggard, and he seemed somewhat surprised and uncertain when he saw Ike and Lance come in together.

Their perfectly good plan was suddenly exposed, catching them completely off guard. This forced the young detective to spend the entire night figuring out where things had gone wrong.

His gaze towards Supervisor Ike was filled with suspicion and scrutiny, but Lance didn't care about his emotions or expressions. He pulled out his pistol and handed it to Supervisor Ike, saying, "Kill him."

"There are cameras here that will record everything that happens. Kill him, and I'll be able to trust you."

Supervisor Ike took the pistol and checked it; it was indeed loaded with bullets. He glanced at the men behind him holding weapons. He knew very well that if he made even the slightest mistake, a bullet would pierce his skull from behind.

His gaze lingered on Lance for a moment, knowing the man wasn't joking, then he looked at the terrified agent, a hint of apology on his face. "I'm sorry."

"I... just want to live."

He raised his pistol and pulled the trigger under the incredulous gaze of the young agent.

The bullet pierced his head; because it was a small-caliber pistol, the sound wasn't loud, just a soft thud.

The young detective tilted his head back, and three bullet holes appeared on it.

Perhaps fearing the guy wasn't quite dead, Supervisor Ike went over and fired a finishing shot at his body.

Lance watched quietly as he finished, then put away his weapon and installed a new magazine in his hand. “Well done. Now, go to the next room.”

Supervisor Ike's expression subtly changed. "How many...do you need me to make?"

"How many?" Lance laughed. "Not just a few, but all of them."

These words silenced Supervisor Ike. He knew he had to show his sincerity to survive, but he hadn't expected that this "sincerity" would be so "heavy."

He did not resist or object, because he knew it was pointless.

In each room, there is a vibrant life.

Some people, like the nameless guy in the first room, were wary of Supervisor Ike's appearance.

Some were overjoyed, believing that Supervisor Ike had come to rescue them, or rather, to take them away from this hellish place. But regardless of their perspective on Supervisor Ike's presence, their ultimate fates were the same.

All twelve agents were killed by Supervisor Ike.

By the time he killed the fourth or fifth enemy, his hands had started to tremble, and he felt his mouth dry and his heart racing.

The killing, especially the killing of his own people, put him under immense psychological pressure, and he was on the verge of a breakdown.

Even with his eyes closed, he could never forget the look in the eyes of the young men he had brought out. Those eyes, filled with confusion and hatred, made his soul tremble.

But after killing seven or eight, his hand stopped shaking, and his expression gradually became indifferent, as if he was entering into a habit.

When the last agent begged him not to shoot, and he accurately struck the man in the head, everything seemed to calm down at that moment.

His heartbeat had stopped, and his mouth was no longer dry. He calmly pointed the pistol at himself and handed it to Lance. "Any more?"

Lance caught the pistol with his handkerchief and then tossed it into an evidence bag. The pistol would be sealed away as evidence of the chief's murder of the agents.

Director Ike no longer cares about what Lance is doing now.

Lance smiled and put his arm around his shoulder. "You've earned my trust. Actually, there are a few more agents, but they're in the hospital right now."

"You know, I have a company that specializes in film, and I also have some experience in story writing."

"You need to not only convince me that you are real, but also convince Roland that you are fine."

"I'll arrange for someone to take you to the hospital later. You can call Roland then. Don't worry, they're all my people. I guarantee there won't be any problems with your diagnosis and medical records."

"Explain the situation to him, and then tell me his orders."

The two had emerged from the dungeon, and Lance handed him an envelope. "Open it and take a look."

Supervisor Ike opened the envelope, inside was a deposit slip. He looked at Lance with some confusion, as if asking, "What's in here?"

“This is an investment account. Every three months, 100,000 yuan will be deposited into this account.”

"And it's an anonymous investment account that you can give to anyone to use. The money in it is clean and can withstand scrutiny."

“You’re a professional, you know how to make this money flow into your life more smoothly, so I won’t interfere.”

"You'll find out later that working with me was the best decision you ever made!"

After he finished speaking, he shook hands with Supervisor Ike, and two cars had already stopped in front of them. "You can contact me through these phone numbers in the future. Of course, I will also take the initiative to contact you when necessary. By the way,

"You are not the only one among you!"

He patted Supervisor Ike on the shoulder, signaling for people to take him to the hospital.

Supervisor Ike was half-heartedly pushed into the car, his mind still buzzing. The shock caused by Lance's last words was even greater than the shock of killing so many agents with his own hands!

He wasn't the only one, so does that mean there are other managers who have already defected to Lance, secretly, without anyone knowing?

Perhaps their operation plan was leaked by an insider, which is why he suffered all of this!
Thinking of this, a surge of resentment welled up in his heart!

But then he felt helpless, because he knew he was powerless to do anything about it, and he didn't even have the idea of ​​talking to Roland about it.

If he had only been forced to kill one or two people, Roland could still find a way to save him.

However, he killed too many people, and even if he was forced to do so, he will still be sentenced in court.

Even if the sentence is short, once you're in prison, your life is over.

His life had just started to improve, and he could see the light of day again. He couldn't die so soon!

He glanced at a card covered with phone numbers and a deposit slip in his hand, then carefully put them into his pocket.

Since we can't resist it, we might as well enjoy it.

He was quickly taken to the hospital, where they arranged a private bed for him, and then he made a phone call to Roland.

"Fuck, what's going on?"

"Why haven't you contacted me?" Roland's voice was anxious. "What happened?"

Before making the call, Supervisor Ike punched his throat and then took a deep drag of his cigar.

The large amounts of tar and nicotine caused his throat to become red, swollen, and hoarse, making his voice sound like he was seriously injured and about to die.

“We were attacked. I don’t know if someone leaked our information, but just as we were about to take action, Lance family gunmen opened fire on us with rifles from where we couldn’t see them.”

"They forced us back into the room and then threw grenades at us. I was knocked unconscious by the grenades."

"When I woke up, I was already in the hospital. They wouldn't let me make phone calls, so I just ran to the office to make this call while the nurses weren't looking..."

Hearing this, Director Roland's tone became even more agitated, "How could the information have been leaked? Were you not careful enough?"

Supervisor Ike remained silent, and Director Roland knew he had made a mistake in his statement. He had chosen the candidates, and everyone knew the importance of the matter, so it was unlikely that there would be any problems.

He was silent for a moment, then said, "It's probably a problem with Derek. Fuck, I knew that bastard couldn't be trusted!"

He paused, then asked, "What is your casualty situation?"

Supervisor Ike was silent for a while, then said, "Only a few people survived, and they were all seriously injured."

"We're still in...the hospital. Lance's men don't seem to be planning to attack us again."

Director Roland took a deep breath. "Fuck, I understand. I'll arrange for someone to bring you back."

After saying that, he slammed down the phone.

Supervisor Ike glanced at the receiver in his hand. Ever since Director Roland's direct conflict with Lance escalated and he suffered repeated losses, this lofty and righteous image of him was slowly crumbling in his mind.

Today, Director Roland, who was swearing all day, didn't immediately check on their injuries; instead, he was concerned about whether the plan had succeeded. That's terrible.

Supervisor Ike stood there for a while before returning to the ward and lying down on the bed.

Next, he needed to do some "faking it." After a surgeon injected him with anesthesia, he used jerky instruments to tear open his skin and then re-stitched it to better resemble the injury.

On the other side, Director Roland immediately called Derek and gave him a good scolding.

Derek seemed unaware of what had happened, and the two were very rude to each other on the phone.

Derek was already feeling very uncomfortable because of Lance, and now that Roland had come to him, he was definitely not going to tolerate it.

After blaming each other, the two hung up the phone.

After hanging up the phone, Director Roland sat behind his desk with his head down, constantly smoothing his hair. He knew that there was something wrong with his mindset.

But it can't be solved.

Like every gambler, after losing a lot of money in a row, their rationality tells them that they should stop and not continue.

But their hands, involuntarily, once again threw the chips onto the gambling table.

Knowing and doing are never the same thing!

Director Roland always loses control when it comes to Lance; he feels that Lance is now his nemesis.

But he also needs to demonstrate his abilities to those big shots who can help him become a big shot. If he can't even handle Lance, or skip over him, what will Mr. Potter and his people think?
A dog that picks on people to bite?
He slammed his fist on the table.

"Fake!"

(End of this chapter)