harleyscars Chapter 189 Birthday Gift: Heart-Piercing
Chapter 189 Birthday Gift: Heart-Piercing
That night, Lin Yan's mind sank into his sea of consciousness and contacted the person in charge in New York—Alexander Winster.
"Young Master, what are your orders?" Alexander's voice was as calm and respectful as ever.
"Alexander, contact all our manpower in California." Lin Yan's voice was clear and cold in his mind. "By two days before my birthday, December 11th, I want to see the entire Brown family of California, from the oldest to the youngest, from politicians to businessmen, all their shady dealings dominating the front pages of all major American media outlets. Remember, the entire Brown family. I don't want a single one to slip through the net. My birthday is December 13th; this is the first gift I'm giving myself."
"Understood, young master. This gift will definitely arrive on time and will be quite a 'surprise'." Alexander's tone carried a hint of cold laughter; he fully understood Lin Yan's intention to "attack on the heart."
In a California Department of Justice interrogation room lit by a single lamp, accountant Alan Miller trembled, while Agent John Harrison, opposite him, had icy blue eyes and impeccably styled blond hair.
"Mr. Miller," John's voice was flat and emotionless, like a winter wind, "we need the truth."
"I...I don't know anything! I have the right to remain silent!" Miller screamed.
John leaned forward slightly, his icy blue eyes like an abyss. "The right to remain silent?" he whispered almost silently. "You don't have that right in your mind."
The soul search was activated. There was no physical contact, but Miller felt as if invisible fingers were prying open his skull, and his memories were being roughly searched. His eyes rolled back, his body convulsed violently, saliva dripped uncontrollably, and he made strange, hoarse noises.
"Northern Swiss Bank... Account 7B... March 1958... Casino funds... Five million... It was... It was Mr. Eduardo who handled it..." He spoke like a broken phonograph, revealing the secret vault controlled by Pat Brown's cousin. John calmly took notes, as if listening to a boring weather forecast.
A dimly lit jazz bar in San Francisco. Financial journalist William Donovan, with his disheveled hair and nonchalant smile, pours another glass of whiskey for Charles Reed, the CFO of Brown Holdings.
"Charles, old man, you look like you're under a lot of pressure."
"Sigh, William, you don't understand..." Reed's eyes began to glaze over. Under the influence of William's subtle illusion, he saw a beautiful vision of himself vacationing on the beach after escaping the Brown family. "That money... Haha, little Patrick is a fool! He thinks he's in control? It's all me! I set up a dozen shell companies in the Cayman Islands and made the money disappear like magic! Ten years... I hid at least two hundred million!" He excitedly slammed his fist on the table, even drawing a chart of the money's flow on a wine-stained napkin. William smiled and agreed, but his eyes were as cold as knives.
A warehouse in Los Angeles, filled with the smell of blood and cigars. Razor, the leader of the Vulture Gang, stares in horror at Robert Hayes, who stands before him like a mountain.
"Who are you? What do you want?" He reached for the pistol at his waist.
Robert moved even faster, a large hand pressing down on Raymondo's head like an iron clamp. "I need to borrow some of your memories." Mental torture was activated.
There were no external injuries, but Raymondo's soul felt as if it had been thrown into a furnace. He let out a scream that was not human, his body curled up, tears and snot streaming down his face. "It's Michael Brown! It's him! He gave us the green light! The docks... customs... he took care of everything! He takes 30% of the drug profits! Let me go! I'll tell you everything!" He roared, revealing the time, place, and amount of each smuggling operation, begging only for this hellish torment to stop.
State Capitol, Representative Frank Ross's office. It was late at night, and his assistant, Michael O'Malley, a seemingly mild-mannered man, was organizing documents for him.
"Sir, some things should perhaps be kept in a safer place," Michael said softly, a barely perceptible glint in his eyes. The illusion, like a gentle spiderweb, coiled around Ross's weary nerves.
Ross's eyes glazed over for a moment, then he stood up as if sleepwalking, walked to the safe in the corner, and expertly entered the password. He took out several thick memos and several miniature audio tapes, handing them to Michael. "These...are very important...keep them safe," he murmured, completely unaware that he had just handed over key evidence of his corrupt dealings with Pat Brown.
In a safe house, Lisa Cole, the middleman who handles illegal donations, trembles as she faces Matthew Whitman—a "consultant" who looks like a kind elder.
Matthew didn't interrogate her; instead, he used illusion to make her clearly "see" the tragic scene of being ruthlessly abandoned by the Brown family and spending the rest of her life in prison. Fear instantly overwhelmed Lisa.
"No! Don't hand me over!" she cried, breaking down in tears. She frantically rummaged through a hidden spot and pulled out lists of secret political donation accounts and email screenshots. "It's all here! Governor Pat…he knows everything! He ordered it! Please, protect me!"
Similar scenes played out silently across California. From FBI analyst James McCarthy using mind-reading to uncover secret accounts from informants, to tax auditor Richard Worthington using the same methods to dismantle a vast tax evasion network; from real estate official Daniel Foster using illusions to induce officials and businessmen to reveal their secrets over drinks, to smuggling ringleader Christopher Walker using psychological torture to extract all the secrets from core members; and then to lobbying firm partner Marcus Cole using imposing illusions to completely break Judge Barbara Harrison in a delusional disgrace, forcing her to confess to all her crimes of interfering with the judiciary…
Ten "invisible blades," each with its own unique characteristics, completely hollowed out the dark fortress that the Brown family had built over decades in just a few days.
On December 12th, a storm struck!
As the sun rose, the front pages of all major media outlets, including the Los Angeles Times, the San Francisco Chronicle, and the Wall Street Journal, were flooded with accounts of the Brown family's crimes. The headlines were increasingly sensational, the details so detailed they were appalling, as if the journalists were standing right next to the Brown family members, documenting everything.
The public's anger was instantly ignited!
In front of the California State Capitol, a massive crowd roared, "Brown out!" "Corrupt officials out of California!" Eggs and paint rained down on the imposing building. The headquarters of Brown Holdings in Los Angeles was completely surrounded, with protesters holding signs that read "Tax Evaders" and attempting to storm the gates. Outside the federal courthouse in San Francisco, silent protesters held up a model of the scales of justice, now stained black…
The Brown Crime Family scandal, which aired on NBC, CBS, and ABC, ignited a nationwide uproar, drawing widespread anger, ridicule, and demands for severe punishment. Political opponents jumped in, righteously calling for impeachment and a full investigation.
Beverly Hills, California, Laurel Estate.
Warm morning light streamed through the large French windows, illuminating the living room with its soft Persian carpet. Lin Yan had just put down a thick stack of newspapers, still smelling of ink, the close-up of Pat Brown's face contorted with terror and rage on the front page particularly striking. He leisurely picked up his warm glass of milk, took a small sip, as if he had just been reading a trivial entertainment section.
"Birthday present, received." He commented as if remarking on the rare sunny weather in Los Angeles today. "It worked well. Now, it's time to 'attend the ceremony'."
Before he could finish speaking, the living room door was suddenly pushed open.
Li Wenbin practically stormed in waving the same newspaper, so excited he was incoherent, his fingers trembling as he tapped the front page headline: "Ayan! Ayan! Look! The Brown family! My God! The whole of California is in an uproar! This...this can't be you..."
Zheng Jiaming, who was following closely behind him, tried his best to remain calm, but his hand, which was adjusting his glasses, trembled slightly. His eyes behind the lenses were filled with disbelief as he stared intently at Lin Yan.
Tang Liuqian and Yang Xi'en also quickly entered. Tang Liuqian's gaze was extremely complex, containing the excitement of avenging a great enemy, the relief of surviving a calamity, but more so a profound shock and a sense of inquiry. Yang Xi'en looked at Lin Yan, her eyes filled with pure gratitude and lingering fear.
"Xiao Yan," Tang Liuqian's voice was slightly hoarse as he held up the newspaper, pointing to the densely packed evidence, "Did you...do all of this...?"
Instantly, all eyes in the living room focused on Lin Yan.
Faced with the excited, shocked, and inquisitive gazes of his friends, Lin Yan simply and slowly put down his milk glass. Then, he made a move that stunned everyone—
He leaned back slightly on the sofa, his hands outstretched to the sides of his body, holding up a small bear, and his shoulders shrugged slightly.
"Huh?" He blinked his clear, beautiful eyes, his tone carrying just the right amount of confusion. "Who knows?"
His "it's none of my business, I'm just a bystander" attitude was incredibly convincing.
Zheng Jiaming took a deep breath and shook his head with a wry smile. He knew, of course, that this couldn't possibly be a coincidence or some kind of divine retribution, but since Lin Yan was unwilling to explain, he wouldn't press the matter. He simply redefined his understanding of his friend's power and methods once again.
Tang Liuqian stared intently at Lin Yan, watching as, with a mere flick of his wrist, a political family that had dominated California for years was brought to the brink of collapse. He recalled Lin Yan's earlier words, "My way," and his saying, "Kill the enemy's spirit before you kill them." So this was his way. He hadn't wielded a single knife or gun, perhaps not even personally intervened, yet an unseen hand had wielded the blade for him, pushing his enemy into the abyss.
The ease and unpredictability with which such a force could vanquish enemy ships with a mere flicker of emotion left Tang Liuqian both shocked and chilled, but more than anything, he felt a deep sense of relief. He was relieved that this man was his friend, and that he was Xi'en's savior.
"No matter who did it," Tang Liuqian finally spoke slowly, his tone solemn, "it is something I, Tang Liuqian, will remember." He said this to Lin Yan.
Upon hearing this, Lin Yan simply smiled, picked up his milk cup again, and concealed his deep emotions behind the rising steam.
"Alright, let bygones be bygones. Wenbin, Jiaming, weren't you two clamoring to try out the newly built heated swimming pool at the estate? The weather's nice today." He effortlessly changed the subject, as if the political storm that had just swept through California was merely an insignificant morning news interlude.
The Brown family estate in California.
Pat Brown slumped in the expensive velvet sofa in his study, the television screen showing live footage of his mansion surrounded by an angry mob, the phone receiver crackling with the cold words of a former ally eager to sever ties. The torn newspaper slipped from his trembling fingers, like his crumbling political life and family honor.
In the dimly lit solitary cell of the detention center, Thomas Brown huddled on the cold bed. The news brought by his lawyer shattered his last shred of hope like a hammer blow. The sounds of his family's collapse and the roars of the public seemed to echo in his ears. For the first time, he truly understood what despair meant.