Chapter 411: You Dare Send a Hitman? I

On the other end of the phone, the processed electronic tone, like a poisoned ice spear, pierced the last Rationality of John Parker.

"Deal."

The call was hung up, and the office returned to a death‑like silence.

John Parker tossed the black Satellite Phone, and his body sank deep into the expensive genuine‑leather seat.

He gasped in large breaths, his chest heaving violently, the muscles on his face that had twisted with anger now slowly relaxed, turning into a morbid, snarling calm.

Finance? Politics? Public opinion?

All of them, go to hell.

In the face of absolute violence, every technique is a joke.

He seemed already able to see the top floor of Saint Remo Apartment, at some midnight, turning into a blood‑red inferno.

That Oriental called Lu Qingshan, together with his self‑righteous subordinates, would vanish from this world like a swarm of ants crushed to death, silently and unnoticed.

Their disappearance would at most become an inconspicuous society news item in the New York Evening Gazette.

And he, John Parker, would retake control of the gaming table.

He closed his eyes, a cruel curve lifting his mouth, savoring the thrill of impending revenge.

…

Saint Remo Apartment.

The euphoria from IKB Bank's explosion has not fully dissipated.

Lu Qingjun was jubilantly planning that after taking down Lehman Brothers, they would book a whole Michelin three‑star restaurant for celebration.

David Cohen, like a revved‑up evangelist, babbled to Zhang Qianru, describing that what they were part of was a Holy War worthy of entry in the Financial History Book.

At that moment, the red encrypted phone rang again.

The commotion in the apartment was instantly cut off by this abrupt ring.

Everyone's movements froze.

Ye Ning answered the phone, listening for only three seconds; on her eternally unchanged ice‑face, a clear emotion named "Shock" appeared for the first time.

Even her hand trembled slightly.

"Boss…"

Her voice was hoarse, having lost its usual composure.

Lu Qingshan turned from the floor‑to‑ceiling window, noticing that Ye Ning's other hand had instinctively moved to shield himself.

It was a purely protective gesture.

"Wilson's emergency communication," Ye Ning inhaled deeply, forcing herself to stay calm, "He got the news through his old friend at Military Intelligence Section 6… John Parker has gone mad."

"He employed a top‑tier security firm that operates in the gray zone, a team that specializes in Wet Work, consisting of twelve retired special forces soldiers, code‑named 'Sweeper'."

"Their mission target…" Ye Ning's voice grew lower, each word squeezed out like from between teeth, "is Saint Remo Apartment, top floor… Clear the Scene."

"Clear the Scene" sounded like two red‑hot steel needles, stabbing into everyone's eardrums.

Bang!

Lu Qingjun's champagne glass fell to the floor, shattering into pieces.

The smile on his face froze, replaced by a beastly ferocity.

"Damned son of a bitch! How dare he!" Lu Qingjun snatched up a heavy brass desk lamp beside him, muscles tensed, veins bulging.

"Call the police! We must call the police! FXXK! This is New York! Not Somalia!" David Cohen's face went pale instantly, his whole body slumped on the sofa, shaking like a sieve.

Just a second before, he had been grandstanding about the Holy War; faced with the real threat of death, he completely collapsed.

Li Junjie fared no better, clutching his laptop tightly, his mind a blank.

He had imagined countless financial‑level confrontations, yet never expected the opponent to rip the board away and draw a knife.

The entire apartment was shrouded by a shadow of death.

Panic spread like a plague.

Only Lu Qingshan still stood there, calm as a mountain.

He walked to Ye Ning's side and took the phone from her hand.

"Wilson."

"Boss! You must leave there immediately! They're lunatics! Real killing machines! Even the FBI can't handle them!" On the other end, Wilson's voice was filled with unprecedented urgency and Fear.

"Got it," Lu Qingshan replied calmly, "Thanks, I owe you a favor this time."

After speaking, he hung up the phone outright.

He surveyed his subordinates, now thrown into disarray.

David trembled, Lu Qingjun raged, Li Junjie was in Fear, Ye Ning and Zhang Qianru forced composure, yet their pallid faces betrayed them.

"Brother! We're going all out against them!" Lu Qingjun roared, eyes bloodshot.

"All out?" Lu Qingshan glanced at him, "With the desk lamp?"

He walked to the center of the apartment and, from the inner pocket of his coat, produced something none of them had ever seen.

It was a black Satellite Phone, bearing no trademark, its design plain and hefty.

He pressed a digit.

The phone rang once, then connected.

"Ahu," Lu Qingshan's voice was so calm it raised hairs on the back of one's neck.

On the other end, a similarly calm, metallic‑toned middle‑aged man's voice came through.

"Qing Shan, what's up."

"Over here, I've attracted some flies," Lu Qingshan said lightly.

"Location."

New York, Saint Remo Apartment. A twelve‑person team, well equipped, should be former Special Forces. The objective is to Clean up here.

The other end of the phone was silent for two seconds.

"Do we need to leave any survivors for questioning?"

Lu Qingshan glanced at the bustling Manhattan night view outside the window, shook his head, as if the other side could see it too.

"Not necessary."

His voice was cold, without a trace of warmth.

"Just Clean up. Keep the noise down; the people living downstairs are ordinary."

"Understood."

Before hanging up, Lu Qingshan added a final sentence, a sentence that made Li Junjie and Zhang Qianru, who only half‑understood it, bristle all over.

"Find the Employment Contract between them and John Parker. Then, deliver it unchanged to the desk of every member of the Morgan Stanley board of directors."

"Alright."

The call ended.

The whole process took no more than thirty seconds.

The apartment fell into absolute silence again.

But this time, not because of Fear, but a deeper, indescribable shock.

David stopped trembling, his mouth open, watching the Satellite Phone in Lu Qingshan's hand as if he had seen a miracle.

Lu Qingjun also put down the desk lamp, staring blankly at his older brother, feeling as if he had never truly known him.

Flies?

Clean up?

This is no longer a matter of commercial competition.

This is a crushing force of a higher dimension, absolute power!

John Parker thought he had drawn a knife, but he didn't know the other side had summoned an entire army!

While everyone was still in a daze, the black Satellite Phone belonging to Lu Qingshan lit up briefly.

On it, an extremely brief text message popped up.

"Resolved; in five minutes, stand down."

Lu Qingshan placed the Satellite Phone back on the table, as if nothing had happened.

He picked up the red encrypted phone again and dialed Wang Shanghong's direct line.

On the other end, Wang Shanghong's voice was as steady as always.

"Comrade Qingshan."

Lu Qingshan walked to the window, watched the endless stream of car lights below, and spoke slowly.

"Minister Wang, on my side, I just dealt with a bit of… Diplomatic dispute."