Chapter 93: Getting Closer to the Truth and the Wealth in the Warehouse

In the afternoon, another shower came—crack… crash… whoosh whoosh whoosh… drip… and then it stopped, just like that.

Some say this is the last thunderstorm of the season, but who knows?

In an apartment in the Bay Area, a woman in her mid-twenties woke from her nap, stretching as she pushed open the window in her underwear.

The boy smoking on the adjacent balcony happened to see her, so absorbed he didn’t notice his cigarette had burned down to the filter—he scalded his finger.

The woman laughed softly and blew him a kiss before retreating inside.

As a kept woman, she lived a life envied by all.

No work, no dealing with the nauseatingly complex office politics—she could sleep whenever she felt tired, wake whenever she pleased, and eat whenever she was hungry.

Every month she received a few hundred dollars in allowance, and all she had to do was offer herself occasionally, simply and easily.

It was just sex. The feminists had said it: a woman’s body was her own wealth; she had the right to choose who could use it, who couldn’t, and when and how.

No one could condemn her for using what belonged to her—that was discrimination.

She loved this life. If she could, she wished to be kept for the rest of her days.

Back inside, she took a shower. Summer naps left her sweating; most Federals preferred bathing in the morning, not at night—a strange habit.

Even factory workers, reeking of sweat after dinner, would collapse on their beds or sink into sofas and sleep, then bathe only the next morning.

But this woman was different. She loved showers—whenever she wanted, she took one.

Sometimes she felt empty. The man who paid her was petty, but for the money and this life, she could endure it.

But this time was strange—he hadn’t come in a long while, and the things he’d promised her remained unfulfilled.

Since he always contacted her, she couldn’t reach him. She didn’t know what had happened.

She wouldn’t reach out to him—who the hell wanted to be fucked unless they had to? She wasn’t addicted, and his skill was mediocre at best.

While showering, the doorbell rang. She wrapped a towel around herself and called out twice, “I’m on my way!” But the person at the door didn’t seem to hear.

From ringing the bell to pounding on the door until it rattled, she grew angry.

This apartment’s rent wasn’t cheap—or rather, any apartment in the Bay Area, even the most remote, cost a fortune, because this was the Bay Area, the symbol of wealth.

Since it was a wealthy district, people here were relatively more refined.

She didn’t remove the safety chain, opening the door just a crack. Outside stood several men. “Who are you looking for?”

“I’m Kent’s brother. My name is Wei.” The man at the front looked at her, and she felt an inexplicable unease.

Kent—the man who kept her. She knew he was just chasing novelty, drawn to her looks and figure, but for the money, she didn’t care.

“I haven’t seen him in a while,” she said, but had no intention of letting him in.

Wei looked at her. “Are you sure you want to discuss your relationship with my brother out here?”

The woman remained wary. “I can’t verify your identity. You might have just heard rumors. I can’t—”

Wei pulled out a photo of himself and Kent. “Now?”

The woman hesitated. Wei continued, “He’s dead. I need to know some things.”

“Oh my God!” The woman gasped. “I’ll let you in—but your friends…” She glanced at the other men, all radiating “don’t mess with me” energy.

“They’ll stay outside.”

She didn’t argue. She unlatched the chain and let Wei in.

“My brother rented this apartment.” A statement of fact—he’d found this place, and only then learned there was a kept woman here.

He’d known his brother kept a woman, but not the details—not until recently.

He sat on the sofa. The woman felt embarrassed—she was still wrapped in a towel. “I’ll change.”

Wei didn’t stop her. Soon she emerged in a summer home outfit—honestly, a bit revealing, and a bit too tight.

“How did he die?”

“Someone burst his belly open with something. He bled out.”

“In the first few days of last month, did he call you? Say anything?”

The woman thought, then shook her head. “I don’t remember anything.”

Wei frowned. “Listen. I don’t have time to waste. This concerns whether I find his killer. Think hard.”

Kent’s death annoyed her—it meant she’d soon have to move out, and lose her monthly allowance.

She had no strengths except her looks. Finding another man willing to spend this much on her would be impossible!

What kind of man dies like this?

Her anxiety and irritation clouded her mind. All she could think about was who might be her next sugar daddy—not Kent, not his calls, not what he’d said.

Wei felt a surge of violent impulse. Suddenly he leaned forward, grabbed her hair, and slammed her head onto the coffee table!

Thud. She screamed. A large bump rose on her forehead.

Wei bent over, staring at her. “Now, tell me—did he say anything to you?”

The sudden attack threw her into panic. Fear gripped her. “I don’t know! I know nothing!”

“You spent his money. You lived in his apartment. You ate and dressed in his name. Now he’s dead, and you know nothing?”

Wei punched her face several times hard. She begged him to stop.

The noise drew neighbors. The boy next door pressed his ear to the wall, heard the woman’s screams.

He remembered her seductive look earlier. Blood rushed to his head. He grabbed his neighbor’s baseball bat—the one from the Honeybees—and burst out the door, only to see three muscular men standing in the hallway.

All three turned to look. One of them lifted his shirt, hand resting on his hip—perfectly revealing his holster.

The boy’s blood turned cold. He looked at the bat, tossed it back inside, “I was just… ” He pointed at the door, then the elevator. He ran back in, grabbed the bat, “Going out to play baseball.”

“Go back. Close your door. Take your dirty magazines to the bathroom and jerk off. Don’t call the cops. Don’t tell anyone. Forget everything that happened today. I’ve memorized your face. Don’t make trouble for yourself.”

“And don’t leave your apartment until you’ve come.”

The boy forced a smile and returned to his room, locking the door.

He picked up a magazine and went to the bathroom. But no matter what he did, he felt nothing.

Meanwhile, the woman’s swollen face suddenly lit up. She flailed her arms. “Stop! I remember! I remember!”

Wei stopped beating her and sat back on the sofa, lighting a cigarette. “You better remember something.”

The woman, trembling, said, “The last time Kent called me, he said he’d met a fool—he’d shaken him down for fifteen hundred. He planned to take me shopping…”

Wei exhaled sharply, rebuttoning his shirt cuffs. “Do you know who he extorted?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Wei adjusted his shirt, loosened by his movements. “Tell me the time.”

She gave a time. He memorized it.

Two minutes later, the boy still in the bathroom faintly heard a scream from outside the balcony. He dropped the magazine, pulled up his pants, and ran out. A crowd had gathered below. His sultry neighbor lay on the ground.

Wei sat in the car, watching blood slowly spread beneath her, then told the driver to go.

Since she was his brother’s favorite toy, she’d join Kent in hell. At least he wouldn’t be too lonely.

The woman’s death quickly drew police attention. They knocked on the boy’s door. He cowered in the corner, not daring to move.

In the end, they could only confirm no one was home.

The next day, rumors spread through society that a depressed woman in the Bay Area had jumped to her death. Such bizarre news attracted attention and spread fast.

Almost everyone didn’t care about the truth. They only cared whether they’d participated in the social event, and what role they’d played.

No matter how dishonorable that role was.

Back in the Imperial District, Wei, gathering information, knew he was closer to the truth.

Those days, Kent had still been running his casino. The bastard had one good trait—he listened to his brother.

Wei told him: as long as the casino was open, don’t go anywhere. If he wanted to leave, he’d better shut it down first.

And whatever he did, don’t cause trouble. Wei knew how many ruthless players roamed this city. Kent wasn’t one who could handle them.

If he was extorting someone, it had to be inside his own casino.

Once he knew what happened there, he’d find Kent’s killer. He believed the day was near!

Meanwhile, Lans arrived at Alberto’s office, summoned for a meeting.

Though Lans didn’t yet know what Alberto wanted, he had a strong guess—the whiskey!

The price of Gold Label Naples Whiskey had skyrocketed. At current rates, the entire stock was worth half a million.

It was an astonishing fortune—and if held longer, the price might rise further!

And indeed, it had.