I am a necromancer, and I absolutely love America.

Isabella let out a long sigh, got off Miles covered in sweat, and pulled the silk quilt over her stomach.

Miles sat up with satisfaction, picked up a cigarette, put it in Isabella's mouth, and lit it for her himself with a lighter.

Isabella comfortably enjoyed Miles's service.

She took a drag, then used her long, slender fingers to pick up the cigarette and put it into Miles' mouth.

The two shared a cigarette, quietly enjoying the aftertaste.

After a short while, Miles spoke up:

Why escalate this situation?

Isabella's lips curled up in a smile:

"That guy Mike has already handed me the ledgers. If I don't do anything, I'll seem useless."

Miles said unhappily:

"That ledger will cause a lot of trouble."

Isabella got up and dressed in front of Miles without a care in the world:

"Hey Miles, I've got Mike sorted out, done what you asked for, that's it. As for the rest... I'm not your appendage, I have things I want to do!"

Miles narrowed his eyes, suppressing his anger:

"You're already the second-in-command at the IAB, what more do you want?"

"I want to be the Minister of the Interior."

"Chief of the Interior! You're only 30! You're a woman, and there's never been a female Chief of the Interior in the history of the NYPD!"

Isabella sat on the sofa, unyieldingly stating:

"Then a new history begins with me!"

"You're too arrogant!" Miles said coldly as he put on his clothes.

He first threw the bed sheets into the washing machine, added a lot of disinfectant, pressed the wash button, and then emptied all the trash can contents into the toilet and flushed it away.

He only relaxed after completely cleaning up the mess.

Isabella crossed her long legs, lit another cigarette, and said lazily:

"Come on, Miles, I'm not going to threaten you with the kids."

Miles snorted coldly.

He certainly didn't believe this bitch who slept with all the NYPD executives—she was indeed a stunner, but she was also indeed a greedy bitch.

Otherwise, how could a woman climb to the high position of IAB CEO in her early 30s?

Who knows how many men are behind her!

Miles felt very uncomfortable thinking about this.

Isabella smiled and said:

Why did you mess with the microphone?

Miles snorted coldly:

Don't ask about things that don't concern you.

Isabella was not discouraged:

"Whose orders are these? Introduce me to them."

Miles felt a surge of irritation:

"Whose bed are you trying to climb into this time?"

"Heh." Isabella sneered disdainfully.

A weak man.

To outsiders, NYPD Commissioner Myers is as hard as a rock, but in reality, he's a softie who gets emotionally affected by his lover!

She would never have a child with a spineless coward!

"I'm off, I have a lot to do. That ledger is a huge achievement." Isabella stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray, stood up, and slapped Miles on the butt.

Miles said angrily:

"Damn it! I told you not to pat my butt!"

Isabella's actions made Miles feel like he was the one being played.

He recalled the battle just now and confirmed this point once again.

"Fxxk! Bitch!"

"Hahaha." Isabella laughed unrestrainedly, then stomped away in her high heels.

......

"Who lied to you about smoking and drinking?" Richard asked calmly.

"I didn't drink!" Debbie sat cross-legged on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, rubbing her head in pain.

"Marcus."

Who is Marcus?

"You're such a country bumpkin!"

"Do you know you were almost gang-raped?"

Richard despises men who drug others; if you're so capable, go after Debbie directly.

Even a slap?

If you can beat Debbie into submission, even Richard will respect Marcus as a real man.

Drugging my toy? Richard narrowed his eyes.

Catherine said coldly:

"How dare you speak to me like that, Richard!"

Debbie's lips twitched.

She looked up.

Richard sat imposingly on the sofa, while Catherine stood beside him like a maid, respectfully with her hands in front of her.

Are you guys doing cosplay?!

Debbie muttered something:

"What a damn world!"

Catherine commanded:

"Go wash the car! Clean up the urine!"

"Mom!" Debbie screamed and jumped up.

"Don't say this in front of outsiders!"

"If you can do it, why can't I say it!"

"Ahhh~" Debbie lay back and covered her head with the blanket.

I gave up.

Destroy it.

......

There is a Mass at St. Carlisle Church at 10 a.m. on the weekend.

Richard arrived at the church early and sat in the last row of the main hall for a tour.

There weren't many people today, probably because of the rain.

Only a handful of believers, around 20 in total, came and waited quietly for Mass to begin.

They all seemed to be local residents, mostly middle-aged and elderly people over forty or fifty years old.

Time is up.

Father Calvin, dressed in a white vestment, walked up to the altar:

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen."

Saint-Carlyle was just an old little church, without a choir, organ, or elaborate procession.

Calvin saw Richard, smiled and nodded, and continued the Mass.

The believers chanted in unison:

Amen.

"May the Lord be with you."

"And also with your soul."

......

The repentance ceremony, the collection of prayers, and then the sermon.

According to Calvin's usual practice, the whole thing will last 30-40 minutes.

During this process, everyone in the church will gather in the main hall.

No tourists come on rainy days, so it's a good time to go in and take a look at the [Great Cemetery].

Richard quietly left from the back row.

Today is a good opportunity; any traces left behind will be washed away by the heavy rain.

Like most old buildings, the lighting is dim, or perhaps to maintain the mystery of the religious site, low-brightness lighting is deliberately used in many places.

Richard entered the yard and carefully looked around, but found no cameras.

He carefully searched for information about St. Carlisle Church online.

In earlier years, this place was an Indian boarding school, a semi-official, semi-church institution, and its first principal was Pratt.

Many dark secrets were later exposed, such as forced hair-shaving, prohibition of Native Americans from speaking their native languages, forced renaming of their English names, and the deaths of hundreds of children from tuberculosis, influenza, malnutrition, and abuse.

At that time, a large cemetery was built around it, and many children were buried in the cemetery.

Later, after the westward expansion ended, the place was gradually abandoned and slowly converted into a church.

The sky grew increasingly gloomy, and suddenly a torrential downpour turned the entire world black.

The church lights were dim, offering no illumination whatsoever.

A thick aura of death permeated the air beneath my feet, making the entire church resemble hell.

Richard, holding an umbrella, walked to the iron gate of the low clock tower, extended a finger, and the tendrils of his magical hand probed into the lock.

Click.

The door lock is open.

Richard entered the room and gently closed the iron door.

He turned on the flashlight.

The ground was covered in dust, and no one had been here for at least three or four years.

The air had a slightly musty smell, not strong, but it wasn't comfortable to breathe in.

Richard put on rubber gloves, a mask, and goggles to avoid getting moldy.

He opened the small compartment under the stairs, moved aside the clutter, and revealed the rotten wooden floor.

Richard took out a pre-prepared iron shovel, plunged it into the floorboards, and pried it open forcefully.

boom!

Dust filled the air.

The floorboards were lifted up, revealing a dark passageway underneath.