Chapter 1227

"Who's there?" When the hostess reached the side of the door, she looked back toward the dining room, then she opened the door a small crack and looked outside through the gap.

Many people were standing outside the door. They were wearing long black wool trench coats and fedoras; each person even wore black gloves, their left hands gripping their right wrists, held in front of them.

These people were dressed uniformly and looked very difficult to provoke. With just one glance, the woman read the scent of "danger" from them.

Standing at the very front was a middle-aged man in his thirties. He reached out and took off his hat, placing it in front of his chest. "Ma'am, we are here to find the gentleman who just entered the room."

"We have some business with him; these matters have nothing to do with you or your family, so please open the door, okay?"

The hostess looked back at the dining room again. Her husband seemed to have realized that something was wrong. He glanced at Christopher, then stood up. While picking up a napkin to wipe his hands, he looked at the two children. "Go back to your room, and lock the door."

The two children did not know what had happened, but they looked at their father's solemn expression, confirmed it for a few seconds, then put down their knives and forks and ran upstairs.

Meanwhile, the host was observing Christopher the entire time; if Christopher made the slightest unusual move, he would pounce on him.

At this very moment, he regretted his decision to agree to Christopher's request to stay more than anything. He knew that trouble had likely come to his door.

Christopher was also exceptionally nervous; his palm holding the pistol was covered in sweat. The position outside the door made him feel fear. He swallowed a mouthful of saliva and did nothing.

The host looked at him, and he looked at the host. In truth, Christopher was not a man who possessed courage; only in desperate situations could fear potentially force out the little courage remaining in his body.

But most of the time, his courage could not be displayed.

After a heavy door-closing sound came from the room upstairs, the host withdrew his gaze and walked toward the doorway.

Just at the moment he turned, Christopher immediately stood up and walked toward the back door.

His footsteps were fast; after a few steps, he even broke into a trot. He knocked over a wooden shelf in the corner used for displaying ornaments. He stumbled as he pushed open the door, running outside with a blank mind. He saw the people outside the door, and those people also saw him.

He hesitated for a moment, ultimately not drawing his pistol. He was very clear about the price of drawing his pistol; perhaps these people would not give him a way to live and would kill him directly.

He ran with all his might, just like when he was a child at school. He didn't like running, thinking it was stupid, but the teacher insisted he run.

He cursed as he ran, but after only a few steps, he began to pant, unable to catch his breath, and his speed could not be increased.

At this moment, he seemed to overlap with that self from elementary school. Even though he hadn't been running for long—perhaps twenty or thirty seconds—his breathing had already become rapid.

"Fuck, stop, or I'll shoot!"

His body trembled slightly, but he did not stop, instead trying his best to continue increasing his speed. He had to run out!

The host in the room only glanced at the pushed-open back door and withdrew his gaze. He continued to advance toward the main entrance. "Dear, what happened?"

"There are a few gentlemen; they... want to find your friend."

The host walked to the hostess's side and glanced at the people outside the door. He was silent for two seconds and opened the door bolt. Just at this moment, someone behind the door suddenly shouted, "He's here!"

The attention of everyone at the door was attracted by that shout. Soon, most of them ran toward the back, while a few others entered the room.

At this time, the host noticed that the person among this group who was truly in charge was, instead, a young man who looked to be only about twenty years old and appeared quite unremarkable.

He walked into the room, looked at the warmly decorated house, and tapped his finger on the back of the sofa. "Are you Dofo's friends?"

The gunshot that suddenly came from outside the door made both the host and hostess shiver. They looked at the young man in front of them in terror and hurriedly denied it. "No, we are not his friends. Once when I went to Sumuli on a business trip, I lost my wallet, and he helped me find it back. To express my gratitude, I invited him to be a guest at our place. I didn't expect... he would really come."

Francisco sat on the sofa; the soft feeling was very comfortable, and the sofa was well-maintained, unlike the sofas in the homes of the poor.

Children would jump up and down on the sofa like lunatics, and those two-hundred-pound fat men would throw themselves onto the sofa as if they were balls.

Their sofas had already lost their elasticity, leaving only a frame, but this sofa was very good, just like new.

"Sit, sit down and talk. I am not a monster that eats people. As long as you don't have any direct connection, I promise that nothing bad will happen."

The hostess said somewhat nervously, "You fired a gun; the police will be here soon."

What she wanted to express was a subtle thought to persuade these people to leave. These people had fired a gun; someone in the community would definitely report it to the police. If they didn't want to invite trouble, it would be best to leave before the police arrived.

The federal police pay great attention to middle-class communities dominated by light-skinned people; it wouldn't be long before police cars arrived.

Francisco smiled and took off his hat. "Relax, don't be so nervous."

"If the police come, he will understand our situation."

Before he came, Lanse had already spoken on the phone with the local police chief. After saying a few words, the other party was very willing to cooperate with Francisco's actions.

As long as ordinary people were not accidentally injured, firing a few shots was not considered a matter at all.

Just at this moment, heavy footsteps and low cursing came from the back door. Several people dragged Christopher in from outside and threw him in front of Francisco.

Francisco stood up, walked to the front of his former cousin, and looked down at him.

After watching for a while, he looked at the subordinate beside Christopher. The subordinate explained, "He ran very fast; I fired and hit his leg."

Francisco glanced at Dofo's leg. There was indeed a wound on the trousers, but because it was late winter, the thick trousers he was wearing absorbed a large amount of fresh blood. From the outside, the trousers only had a tear.

But in reality, he was losing blood.

Francisco kicked Christopher's chin with the tip of his shoe. "I have been thinking about this, thinking about the point of our reunion. I have looked forward to the arrival of this day for a long time, and I have also prepared many gifts."

"But when you truly appeared in front of me, I seem to have lost the intense desire I had at the beginning."

"Father was so good to you, yet you killed him."

Christopher wanted to say something, but his cheek was stepped on by his raised foot.

Francisco gritted his teeth. In truth, he was not as indifferent as he said. He was biting his teeth so hard he was about to break them, his foot continuously applying force, stepping until Christopher began to cry out in pain.

Just at this moment, he had a momentary trance. By the time he came back to his senses, Christopher had already let out a louder scream.

He released his leg, and the screaming stopped abruptly. On Christopher's face, several traces of the shoe sole embedded in his flesh remained.

Looking at the several gashes broken open on his face, Francisco not only failed to alleviate the emotions in his heart, but instead had an even stronger impulse for destruction!

He glanced at the couple sitting on the sofa, then put on his hat and walked outside. "Take him back together."

Christopher was dragged onto the car outside like a dead dog. At this time, the police had also arrived, but they only watched from afar, having no intention of intervening, even though Christopher called for help loudly and even indicated that he wanted to surrender.

The police also just watched from afar, with no intention of coming over.

The motorcade roared away quickly, and Lanse also learned of this news at the first opportunity.

"Are you coming back to be with me?"

Lanse considered for a while and glanced at the governor's secretary in the distance who was noticing his gaze. The latter immediately revealed a humble smile and avoided Lanse's gaze.

"I still have a few things to do; it might be three or four in the afternoon."

Francisco's voice trembled slightly. "It's okay, I'll wait for you!"

"Hmm, okay, wait for me to return." After he put down the phone, he came to the side of the governor's secretary. The governor had an event today and was not here, but he had let his secretary receive Lanse to continue negotiating the more detailed content of the cooperation.

In the past few days, news that Lanse might invest over a hundred million in funds in South Yaan State had spread out. Many mayors were contacting the state government, wanting to have this investment land within their own jurisdictions.

This could absolutely become the most brilliant achievement in their political careers, and it was even a matter worth bringing up separately even if taken to a higher-level stage.

They didn't care if Lanse was a gang leader, nor did they care if this money was dirty; they only wanted to put everything brought by this money, as well as the political influence generated, into their own pockets.

What Lanse and the governor's secretary were currently discussing was where to build this "New City" that integrated film and entertainment around which city.

Such a city was unlikely to be built from scratch; it relied on the environment of a mature, opposing city itself, so Lanse and the governor both treated this project as a "satellite city."

Now, what Lanse had to do was choose a suitable location and then start preparing for the project.

"... Mr. White, according to your requirements, I have preliminarily selected these few cities."

The governor's secretary circled a few spots on the large map; there were some that were relatively more inland, and there were also cities on the coastline. He emphasized drawing two more circles on a coastal city.

"The governor's idea is to hope that this new project can be built in the coastal area. Sea transport is more developed than land transport, the cost is lower, and this can also attract some tourists from overseas."

"After they get off the boat, they can reach this new city after a simple car ride, but if it is inland, it might still require a transfer, which is not convenient for people to travel."

The secretary said quite a few things. The development of coastal cities is definitely more rapid than that of inland cities; transportation is the greatest advantage. Lanse also indeed hoped to settle this project by the seaside. Next, the selection would revolve around the few cities by the sea.

This matter could not be decided in a short time; he still had to talk to the mayors of these few candidate cities individually to see what kind of preferential policies they could offer.

The state government's preferential policies are the state government's policies; in mayor-led cities, the mayor still possesses considerable power. They can give Lanse more policy leaning within the scope they allow.

Everyone knows this is a good project, and everyone hopes to be able to obtain this project, so Lanse is not in a hurry at all.

When he drove back to a manor he had temporarily bought in the suburbs, Francisco, who was sitting on the sofa, stood up all at once.

His emotions were originally still relatively stable, but after seeing Lanse, he became somewhat choked up.

Lanse walked over and patted him on the shoulder. "Let us go see him."

Francisco nodded, rubbed his eyes, and walked with Lanse toward the temporarily renovated "dungeon."

Many manors in the Federation have such "basements." They claim to the outside world that they are basements, but in reality, they are dungeons used for carrying out lynchings.

The Federation banned lynchings a long time ago, but it had no practical use. The wealthy, especially the upper class of society who transitioned from the great landlord class and great capitalists, were already accustomed to using lynchings to punish those disobedient slaves during the past slavery system.

They continued this custom. If there was a manor that didn't have that kind of basement with many individual rooms, then it must be an upstart.

This manor also had such a basement, but it hadn't been used for a long time. After Lanse and the others bought it, they underwent simple renovations, and it was already almost done.

Every individual room was paved with glass bricks to facilitate cleaning.

When the two walked to the first individual room, the sound of walking came from inside the room.

Accompanied by the iron door's hinges opening with a creak, Lanse saw Christopher.

Christopher also saw Lanse.

He was very nervous, continuously swallowing saliva, standing against the wall as much as possible; he wanted to be further away from Lanse.

Elvin had someone bring two chairs and place them in the room. Lanse sat down, but Francisco did not sit; he stood behind Lanse, staring at Christopher with a gaze full of hatred.

Perhaps feeling that his life was about to reach its end, in the midst of fear, Christopher could not withstand that kind of pressure and fell to his knees on the ground with a thud.

The glass brick floor was very hard; one could hear the crisp sound of his bones colliding with the floor tiles, separated by only a layer of skin.

On Christopher's face, an expression of pain and remorse was also revealed. He slapped himself. "I have failed you all."

This slap was struck very heavily; his cheek became visibly red and swollen, and a slap print even emerged on his cheek, very red, and the capillaries were all broken.

Francisco still stared at him fixedly; the atmosphere in the room was somewhat oppressive.

Christopher's gaze was cast toward Francisco. "I... am very sorry, but I can explain. At that time, I was scared out of my wits; Paul, he actually wanted to kill me..."

"Shut up!" Francisco suddenly spoke and scolded, and honestly, this even startled Lanse slightly.

His voice was very loud, and he shouted so urgently that he had no psychological preparation at all.

"You are not worthy to call out that name, Dofo!"

"Thinking of the things you scum did makes me so angry I can't sleep!"

Francisco walked to the front of Christopher. These former cousins, now facing each other in such a way, indeed made one feel the wonder of fate!

Francisco did not move to hit him, nor did he kick him, just approached and looked down at him.

"He gave you everything he could give you: better treatment, a higher family status."

"Sometimes I was even jealous of you, do you know that?"

"He always brought you by his side, took you to participate in various activities, and to meet other people."

"And I, his own son, was thrown into school by him. He told me to become a cultured person, but in my view, this was more like a form of exile."

"I even suspected that you were his true son."

"But in the end, it just had to be you, Dofo!"

He gripped his fists tightly, his emotions exceptionally agitated, and also said some things that even Lanse did not know.

Paul hoped Francisco would not follow his old path, or rather, even if Francisco were to inherit the Pasreto family in the future, he should be a high-level intellectual gangster with a university diploma.

And not that kind of low-level leader who didn't go to school from childhood and hung out on the streets with people, lacking culture.

The development of society is too fast; Paul could see some fragments of the future, but he could not see everything.

He might not have thought that doing so would cause Francisco to give rise to these emotions, nor would he understand that doing so would indulge Christopher into eventually taking action against him.

Perhaps in some aspects Paul was very smart, but in other aspects, he appeared not smart enough. People cannot be smart in all aspects; even God cannot, although people say he is omniscient and omnipotent, but in fact, he is not.

Christopher knelt on the ground and slapped his own mouth continuously. He cried bitterly; his tears and snot didn't make people feel he was pitiful, only making people feel he was disgusting.

"I have failed you, I have failed Paul. I swear I really didn't want to hurt him."

"When we were fighting for the weapon, it accidentally went off. I didn't mean it; I was very scared, I could only run away..."

Lanse took out a cigarette case, pulled out a cigarette from inside, and lit it for himself with a lighter.

He took a puff of the cigarette, and his entire mood seemed to become more relaxed. "I heard a saying before, and I think it's very appropriate to use here."

"In truth, until this very moment, you haven't realized you did wrong. Your apology, your repentance, and fear are only because you know that if you don't do so, you might not live much longer."