Chapter 3328

At dusk, the sky over Cat Getan's Upper District was covered by thick dark clouds, the light rain that had lasted all day had just stopped, and the air was filled with the scent of damp soil. The water on the streets had not yet receded, reflecting the colorful light of neon signs, as if the entire city were soaked in a blurred phantom.

Carter drove a black sedan and slowly drove into the underground parking lot of the Carter Group headquarters. The wheels rolled over the wet ground, making a slight "hissing" sound, as if reminding him that danger had never been far away.

The last twilight was like a pool of blood about to coagulate, sweeping over the Cat Getan skyline.

The knuckles holding the steering wheel were white, Carter's face was as pale as paper, fine beads of sweat seeped from his forehead, and his eyes revealed undisguised panic and anxiety.

His suit was wrinkled, and he looked disheveled. His breathing was rapid, his chest heaving violently, as if he had just woken up from a nightmare.

The car slowly drove into the dark depths of the underground parking lot, the lights gradually becoming sparse, and the shadows all around were like a giant mouth opening, swallowing him.

Carter's heartbeat was getting faster and faster, and in his ears he seemed to still hear the screams of those prisoners in Arkham Asylum, as well as Shiler's cold and teasing voice.

Arkham Asylum in the afternoon still had no sunlight, the towering stone walls isolating the sunlight outside, and the dim lights in the corridor cast distorted shadows. The air was filled with a suffocating sense of oppression.

The prison cell was crowded with kidnapped rich people, their faces filled with fear and despair. Some sobbed in low voices, some struggled crazily, trying to break free from their bonds, but everything was just in vain.

These prison cells that once held their investment products were so solid. Among those hard walls and railings, perhaps they had also contributed a share, only no one dared to mention such a desperate fact.

Beside the railing above the patio, Shiler stood quietly, one hand supporting the railing, one hand inserted into his suit pocket, a faint smile on his face.

His gaze swept over the prisoners below, his voice deep and calm, but carrying a kind of chilling mockery: "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Arkham's special program. I know you all want to leave here very much, but I prefer to leave the opportunity to those who know how to pay the price."

The prisoners in the cell looked up, their eyes filled with fear and doubt. Shiler continued: "The rules are very simple—as long as you are willing to participate in a death game, you have a chance to leave here."

"Of course, the price of the game is your assets."

The cell was dead silent, only breathing and heartbeats echoing in the air. Carter sat in the corner, his hands tied behind his back, cold sweat seeping from his forehead. His mind was in chaos, his heart feeling as if it were about to jump out of his chest. He knew that Shiler's game was no joke, but he had no other choice.

Just then, a man named Blon suddenly stood up, his voice hoarse but vicious: "I! I am willing to participate!"

Carter raised his head suddenly, looking at Blon. Blon's face was equally pale, but his eyes revealed a trace of determination. Carter gritted his teeth and finally stood up: "I'll participate too."

The corners of Shiler's mouth hooked slightly, revealing a satisfied smile: "Very good, two warriors. Let's begin."

Carter and Blon were taken to a special prison cell on the right; there were no large numbers of railings here, only a small window on the side wall of the room, and outside was the rich person sitting at the table watching them.

The room was dim and cold, the air filled with the smell of rust and mold. An old wooden table was placed in the center of the room, with a revolver and a few bullets on the table. Shiler stood by the table, playing with a coin in his hand, his gaze shifting between Carter and Blon.

"The rules are simple," Shiler said, "One revolver with six chambers each. For every 1 billion USD in assets you take out, you can add one more bullet to the other person's gun. Whoever falls first loses."

Carter's palms were already soaked, his throat tight, almost unable to speak. He was a banker, a big tycoon famous on Cat Getan's Diamond Street—this meant he had more financial assets, but in terms of real industry, he was far inferior to Blon from Texas.

Countless thoughts flashed through his mind, the family's wealth, the future of the enterprise, his own life... all of this was shaking before his eyes, as if it could collapse at any moment.

"Begin." Shiler's voice was like a cold blade, piercing Carter's eardrum.

"First round, basic bet." Shiler's thumb pushed open the cylinder, two. 44 Magnum bullets rolled into the velvet tray, "Now please begin your charity fundraising."

Blon's crocodile leather boots crushed over the broken glass on the ground: "I'll add two!" When the checkbook was thrown out, it knocked over the candlestick, and the melted wax dripped onto the back of his hand, where veins were bulging. Carter looked at the five brass bullet heads pushed in front of him, the tip of his fountain pen shaking out jagged ink on the amount column of the check: "One... first one."

The metal biting sound of the cylinder closing was like a poisonous snake spitting its tongue.

First shot—

Blon grabbed the revolver and pressed it against his own temple, the candlelight reflecting the jumping red dot in the whites of his eyes. This Texas wild wolf, who had once used a shotgun to blast open the gate of strikers, now had his index finger joints turning dead white from excessive force.

"Give my regards to that damn Gulfstream jet of yours!" He pulled the corner of his mouth, and the moment the trigger was pulled—

The dull sound of an empty chamber startled the flock of bats on the ceiling.

Cold sweat dripped down Carter's jaw onto the equity transfer agreement, blurring the golden emblem of "Carter Group". Blon shook the gray hair stuck to his forehead, the gun barrel making a harsh ringing sound on the table: "Your turn, Diamond Street baby."

The bruise left by the intravenous drip on Carter's right hand holding the gun appeared, and when the cold gun barrel touched his cheekbone, he heard the sound of the music box in his childhood bedroom—his father was teaching him to calculate compound interest.

Compound interest, compound interest... how tempting, how dangerous.

The resistance of the trigger spring compression suddenly disappeared.

Silence.

Carter collapsed like a deflated balloon.

In the dead silence, there was only the rustling sound of Shiler wiping his fountain pen.

"Second round, emotional premium time." Shiler suddenly lifted Carter's tie with the gun barrel, "One billion can not only buy bullets, but also buy the companionship of your little daughter's piano lessons."

Carter's pupils shrank suddenly. Blon watched the sticky sweat on his opponent's palm dragging worm-like folds on the paper as he signed the check, and Carter suddenly grabbed the entire checkbook and tore it in half: "I bet all the banks on Diamond Street!"

In the scattered paper scraps, three bullets slid into the cylinder.

The shadow of the rotating cylinder twisted on the wall like the hangman's noose of a greedy gambler. Blon stuffed the gun barrel into his mouth this time, his Adam's apple rolling up and down his dark neck, his lungs like a bellows.

Carter noticed that his left hand was unconsciously rubbing the cross pendant—this was the most valuable thing on them now, and he wasn't talking about faith.

The moment the explosion sounded, Blon's dentures sprayed onto the iron table with blood foam. It wasn't gunpowder, it was the sound of molars being crushed. Empty chamber.

Carter wiped the sweat from his palms on his trouser seams, and when the gun barrel was aimed at his own ear canal, he smelled the odor of gunpowder mixed with incontinence urine. When the trigger was pulled to the second safety, he began to call out to God.

The vibration of the firing pin hitting the primer spread through his entire body from his skull.

It's over, it's damn over!! Carter roared in his heart, but soon he began to tremble again. No... not yet.

But it's coming soon. That damn wolf's gun has a full four bullets. The next shot and he will die!

"New rule, paying the same price can eliminate one bullet from your own gun. Does anyone want to bid?"

Blon roared and slapped all his checks on the table, the golden bullets jumping in the tremor.

One. The assets he could take out were only enough to withdraw one bullet. And there were still three bullets in the gun. He had a one-in-four chance of surviving.

When the cylinder turned, the Texan finally let out a whimper like a trapped beast. Carter counted his heartbeats before he pulled the trigger—seven, two fewer than when he first shorted all Cat Getan crude oil futures.

In the deafening explosion, the back of Blon's head splashed an abstract painting on the concrete wall.

Carter maintained the posture of holding the gun until he saw Shiler stuff the blood-stained check into his suit pocket: "Congratulations, you are now 58% poorer than when you entered Arkham."

Carter's dull pupils gradually regained their luster, and he found himself still sitting in the car, his hands tightly gripping the steering wheel. He shook his hair stained with sweat, as if this could make him calm down.

He had no way out. Even if he lost a lot, the remaining wealth was enough for him to live peacefully for a lifetime, but if he were caught and sent to jail, then he would have nothing.

He pushed open the car door and walked staggeringly toward the elevator. The elevator door opened slowly, he walked in shakily, and pressed the button for the top floor.

The speed of the elevator rising was like his heartbeat. He knew his fate was sealed, but he had to do his best to survive in this game.

The elevator door opened, he walked out of the elevator and walked toward his office. The office lights were dim and cold, he looked out the window, the city lights were still brilliant, but behind this glamour, blood was gradually flowing down from the top of the giant's head, which he was most proud of.

Carter pulled his tie, walked to the desk, opened the computer, and began to check the company's financial records. His fingers tapped rapidly on the keyboard, a trace of determination showing in his eyes. He knew he had to win, otherwise everything would end.

Carter Group main server room, 23:47 PM.

The monitor projected emerald ripples on the concrete wall, Carter tore open his shirt soaked with sweat.

He pulled out the DVD-R disc engraved with the 2003-2006 fiscal year offshore transaction records and stuffed it into the industrial shredder, the fragments falling into the incinerator like snowflakes.

"Transfer the wire transfer records of the Bermuda subsidiary to the RAID array!" He roared into the encrypted satellite phone, his left hand using a lighter to ignite the shareholder list of the shell company.

Financial Director David's mobile phone suddenly vibrated on the iron cabinet: "The IRS found our transfer pricing agreement in the Virgin Islands... they are too fast! Too late to destroy!"

"Activate the backup plan," Carter gritted his teeth and said, "Hang the difference in patent licensing fees of the branch company to the tax-exempt project of the Puerto Rico manufacturing industry! Hurry!"

GTO Headquarters IRS temporary office, 00:29 AM.

Agent Martha Coleman's canvas shoes crushed the brass-colored data cables all over the floor, and the workstation suddenly made a shrill buzzing sound.

"This guy is too cunning, the data stream we just caught has disappeared, if you ask me, just go and blow up his server!"

"Good idea. I'll let Lake do something about it."

Just as Carter was directing David to split the last 320 million USD of cash in his hands into hundreds of service fees and remit them to the European Trust Fund, the fluorescent lights on the entire floor suddenly went out. In the darkness, only the emergency lighting on the top floor of the Carter Group building flickered in the rain curtain.

"Damn hyenas!" Carter grabbed a cup and threw it out.

"Power cut, boss. Backup power isn't working, someone must have tampered with it."

"No, I have to go to the vault. Must manually format the system operation logs, otherwise I'm dead!"

(End of chapter)