Chapter 462: The War in New York Is Over!

The all‑black "Black Bird" streaked like a black lightning tearing through the night sky, at a reckless angle, once again piercing the ink‑blue abyss thirty thousand meters up.

John Green Major's hands gripped the control stick steadily, but only he knew that his back was drenched in cold sweat.

In his mind, the last sentence the Eastern man said before boarding kept echoing.

"The return fuel cost, charge it to Rothschild's account."

"Just say he volunteered."

Green Major had piloted this legendary aircraft on countless top‑secret missions; he had roared past Soviet missile sites and brushed death over Cuba's coastline.

But never had any mission felt as absurd as today.

He was flying the United States of America's premier strategic reconnaissance aircraft, ferrying a Huaxia person to Europe for a "party," and then that Huaxia person told him the return fuel cost should be paid by Europe's oldest banking family.

This is no longer extortion.

It sounds more like a landlord ordering his foreman to bring back a lead cow from a neighbor's field and add a side dish in the evening.

And he, John Green, the United States Air Force ace "Ghost," was that summoned laborer.

He actually transmitted the sentence unchanged through an encrypted channel to the Pentagon.

The other end of the channel was silent for a full minute.

Then his immediate superior, a general at the strategic command, replied in a tone mixing fatigue, anger and a hint of resignation.

The reply was a single word.

"Do as instructed."

Green Major felt his worldview shattered at that moment more completely than a MiG‑25 hit by an anti‑aircraft missile.

In the rear cabin, Li Junjie and Zhang Qianru slumped in their seats, feeling as if their bones were soft.

The Arbitration Court Charter they had just drafted in the castle, capable of overturning world order, now lay on their laps. The paper was light, yet it felt heavier than the Alps.

"Junjie… are we… are we dreaming?" Zhang Qianru's voice trembled with unreality.

Li Junjie stared at the crisp Earth arc outside the window, murmuring, "If this is a dream, I hope I never wake up."

Ye Ning said nothing; she simply opened her Terminal, and the screen flooded with dense data streams refreshing like a waterfall.

It was real‑time data from the global financial markets.

The Frankfurt DAX Index's after‑hours trading was nailed to the limit‑down board.

The Paris CAC40 Index was in a similar state.

The London Financial Times Index was likewise a bleak green.

All the families on the "list" saw their core assets barreling toward the abyss in an unstoppable manner.

And the mastermind behind it all, Lu Qingshan, leaned against his seat, eyes closed, breathing evenly, as if truly asleep.

He seemed merely on his way home, casually crushing a nest of ants.

Just over an hour later, the aircraft landed smoothly at Kennedy International Airport.

It was still the heavily guarded Hangar Seven.

But this time, the arrogant, scrutinizing demeanor that belonged to the American servicemen upon arrival had vanished without a trace.

Colonel Davis and a group of ground crew stood at a distance, watching Lu Qingshan's party descend the gangway, their eyes complex, as if viewing a band of deities just back from an alien battlefield.

No one stepped forward to speak, no one saluted.

They merely stared in silence as those "plague gods" boarded the already‑waiting black Saab van, then exhaled in relief.

The convoy set off, leaving the airport and merging into New York's night.

When the familiar door of Saint Remo Apartment swung open, a rich coffee aroma hit the nose.

Lu Qingjun paced anxiously in the lobby, like a tiger trapped in a cage.

And David Cohen lay on the sofa in a textbook "Ge You slouch," eyes vacant, staring at the ceiling, muttering under his breath.

"It's over… the boss must have been poured with cement and sunk into Lake Geneva to feed the fish… my life's slideshow has already fast‑forwarded to the fifth round, and why does every ending have us sinking together into the lake…"

"Brother!"

Lu Qingjun was the first to spot Lu Qingshan at the doorway; he rushed over, grabbed Lu Qingshan's arm, examined him up and down, and his eyes instantly reddened.

"You… are you okay? They didn't do anything to you, right?"

David jolted, sprang from the sofa, and when he saw the unscathed Lu Qingshan, Ye Ning, Li Junjie and Zhang Qianru standing at the door, his dramatically expressive face froze instantly.

"Boss?!" He let out a scream that could overturn a roof, slid to his knees and rushed forward, clutching Lu Qingshan's thigh. "My God! You're still alive! You're really still alive! I thought I'd never see you again! I even wrote a eulogy titled 'The Fall of a Giant Star and How His Dashing Subordinate Inherits His Legacy, and Also Takes Over His Swiss Bank Account'…"

Lu Qingshan gave him a disdainful glance and nudged him with the tip of his foot.

"Get up, stop the act. Go, book me the fastest Air Ticket to Capital City."

David's wailing stopped abruptly; he lifted his tear‑streaked face, stunned. "Capital City? Boss, aren't we still fighting in New York? What about AIG…"

"The war in New York is already over," Lu Qingshan said lightly.

He walked to the window, gazed at the Steel Jungle outside that symbolized the Old Order, his voice carrying a rare hint of warmth.

"I miss my wife and daughter."

The words silenced the entire apartment instantly.

Lu Qingjun's eyes reddened even more.

Li Junjie and Zhang Qianru exchanged a glance, a warm current rising in their hearts.

They finally understood that the boss overturned the world merely to safely return home and hug his own daughter.

At that moment, the dedicated line belonging to the US Treasury Department rang again, sharply and inopportunely.

Ye Ning walked over, answered, and pressed speaker.

On the other end, Bowen's voice roared, suppressed to the extreme, as if a heart attack were imminent.

"Lu Qingshan!"

His voice, warped completely by anger and humiliation.

"How dare you let Rothschild pay the fuel costs for the U. S. Air Force's strategic reconnaissance aircraft?!"

"Do you know that this will make the United States of America a laughingstock worldwide!"

Lu Qingshan did not look back; he simply stared at the night view outside the window and, in a tone almost like casual conversation, responded calmly.

"Mr. Bowles, relax."

"You should look at the problem from a different perspective."

"This shows that our Global Stability and Development Fund's operations have successfully expanded into the arms sector. Moreover, our first client is the Rothschild family."

He paused briefly, a playful curve lifting the corner of his mouth.

"Don't you think this is the true World Financial New Order?"

On the other end of the phone came a muffled thud of a heavy object falling, followed by a flurry of panicked shouts and cries.

"Minister!"

"Call a doctor quickly! The Minister has fainted!"

Ye Ning silently hung up the phone.

The entire Saint Remo Apartment fell into silence once more.

Only David Cohen, clutching his own head, squatted on the floor and muttered in a dreamlike tone.

"It's over... the boss has started robbing the army... this world is completely beyond rescue..."