Chapter 39 Splitting the Money

If anger could be described, Pedro's fury at this moment had already spread from the town of Maracanã all the way to the Mississippi River.

That so-called "Hell's Taxman," whom he had not even deigned to look at straight in the eye, had actually crushed the skull of the man Pedro had explicitly demanded to protect right in front of him!

This contemptuous attitude angered Pedro even more than outright defiance.

A prosecutor—what the hell was he?!

"I'm telling you," Pedro said with a dark, chilling tone, "congratulations on cracking a major smuggling case. Now, this place should be handed over to the police. Do you understand?"

Walker was already dead, the reporter had no idea how many photos he might have taken, and people were gradually gathering around. It was now too late to make a move. No matter how deep his hatred burned within, Pedro had no choice but to make a slight concession and offer the other party a way out.

The death of Walker, an American, had to be—and must be—pinned on the Fankang Gang. Otherwise, not only Milton, but even he himself, Pedro, and indeed the entire police department would be in deep trouble.

A gang shootout involving illegal immigrants from Mexico resulting in Walker being struck by a stray bullet, or Walker being silenced due to a firefight between local border patrol and the police—Pedro could only choose the first version of the story.

Otherwise, the fallout from this incident might escalate and spread to both the police and border patrol systems, and in the worst case, trigger an international diplomatic incident!

Humiliated by Milton, yet forced to clean up Milton's mess!

Yet Milton seemed entirely unappreciative, his tone remaining indifferent. "What did you just say? Didn't catch that clearly. Translate it for me."

Leave?

How was that even possible! Milton hadn't collected the money he had been yearning for yet!

Pedro finally could no longer suppress his rage. "Milton, I'm warning you, don't push your luck!"

With a roar, he took a step back, swept his authoritative gaze from left to right, and gave a meaningful look to the officers who had accompanied him, signaling them to charge forward and forcibly take over the scene.

Did they really take him for a pushover?

However, those officers did not obey his command to rush forward. Instead, every single one of them wore a look of terror; not only did they hold their ground, but they even unconsciously took a few steps back.

Are you kidding me? Didn't they see that prosecutor covered from head to toe in human blood? Didn't they see him just crush a human skull with his boot? Didn't they see what kind of heavy equipment those few people were wearing?

They had long since heard about the "Hell's Taxman" blowing up a police car with explosives!

Everyone was just here to make a living; who was going to risk their life for Pedro?

The atmosphere suddenly became somewhat awkward.

At this moment, the so-called police chief seemed like a laughable, isolated commander strutting around and issuing orders, while not a single person took him seriously.

Pedro suddenly realized a terrifying truth—the power he took such pride in did not seem as omnipotent as he had believed.

If he didn't leave now, he might end up "dying at the hands of the Fankang Gang" as well!

Pedro finally began to entertain the thought of retreating, but as the chief, he couldn't quite swallow his pride and stubbornly refused to budge.

At this point, whatever ladder Milton threw down, he would immediately use it to climb down.

However, Milton merely looked calmly at the officers while wiping the debris from the bottom of his boots onto the ground—he was in no rush at all; the longer they dragged this out, the more humiliating it would be for Pedro.

Pedro had no choice but to speak up once more. This time, his request was nearly humble, clearly intending to abandon all interests just to salvage a shred of dignity: "Then at least let us retrieve the personal belongings of our two fallen officers."

Milton refused again without the slightest hesitation. "The crime scene needs to be preserved. We will return their belongings later."

What could not be won on the battlefield would never be won at the negotiating table either.

Utter contempt and humiliation.

How hateful! How utterly hateful!

The standoff froze once again.

Just as Pedro, consumed by shame and anger, was on the verge of drawing his gun to fight to the death, another police car finally rushed to the scene.

A sergeant hurriedly stepped out of the vehicle.

It was the very same sergeant who had crossed paths with Milton twice before and worked the front lines of the cases. Seeing the tense, hair-trigger atmosphere at the scene, he understood the situation instantly.

He hurried over to Pedro's side and said, "Sir, there's a very important case back at the station waiting for your signature."

Pedro swallowed this bitter humiliation raw, stepping down from the laughable exit provided to him. He cast a cold glance at both the sergeant and Milton, and without looking back, got into his car. "Let's go."

Bang! He slammed the car door shut with force, stomped fiercely on the accelerator, revving the engine to its maximum RPM, venting his pent-up emotions to the fullest.

The police chief and his officers drove away, and calling them disheveled would be putting it mildly.

After the police cruisers departed, the sergeant let out a long sigh, managed a wry smile at Milton, and said, "You guys are really something... It won't be long before every single person in town knows your names."

Milton had no interest in exchanging pleasantries. "Is there something you need?"

"Just diffusing the tension, as you can see," the sergeant shrugged. "Rest assured, the spoils are all yours... Besides, I actually have to thank you."

Milton looked slightly puzzled. "Thank us for what?"

Having crossed paths three times, Milton knew that the sergeant in front of him possessed a relatively sound moral baseline, so his attitude softened somewhat.

The sergeant smiled. "I've suspected there was something wrong with that hospital for a while and tried to investigate it... only to be forcefully shut down by Pedro. By pulling this off, you've essentially vindicated me. If I push for it, I'm bound to receive a commendation."

"Who knows, in a few days you might see me and Brandon standing together at the police department's commendation ceremony, haha!"

After making the joke, the sergeant turned to leave. "I won't interrupt your looting! I'll wait outside, and you can let me know when you're done so I can take over the scene!"

"..."

Confirming that the sergeant had left and that absolute victory was secured, Milton suddenly took a deep breath, staggered over to a step, and slumped down heavily onto it.

Exhausted!

Brandon immediately grew nervous. "Boss, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"Are you stating the obvious? I almost got killed in that high-speed crash," Milton said irritably as he rubbed his sore and aching ribs. "Stop talking nonsense. Let's finish searching the place and talk back at base."

Milton turned his gaze toward the remaining four "captives," who wore looks of utter despair, and said with dwindling patience, "Where is the money hidden? Spill it now. Keep your voices down, and tell only me, so you don't get a chance to get your stories straight."

Brandon sneered, threatening the four men, "Our boss's feet have been itching lately. If you don't want your heads to end up like that guy's on the floor—crushed like rotten watermelons—you better not let the boss catch you lying."

With even the police forced into retreat, the remaining four men no longer dared to utter a single falsehood. Without even needing to be tortured, they confessed everything they could possibly tell.

Before long, several of them opened the factory's safe and pulled out a full 120,000 US dollars in cash!

When these banknotes were laid out before them, everyone's eyes widened in disbelief!

"Holy shit!!"

"Th-this much money? It's my first time seeing this much cash in my entire life! These cannibalistic bastards made a killing!"

"120,000... I—how much do I get to split? Let me... let me calculate! Am I a rich person now?"

Veronica, the newly joined member, looked somewhat surprised. "We get a cut too? What's the rule for dividing the money?"

Milton casually replied, "The three of you will each get a little over 19,000 dollars."

Upon hearing this figure, Veronica stood up in shock. "I get a cut too? Boss, you... holy shit... whatever. Slavery and abuse aren't completely out of the question, as long as you go a bit easy on me—my wounds haven't healed yet."

So walking out of the dungeon basically unlocked a whole new world for you, huh...

Milton muttered inwardly, waving his hand dismissively. "Why are you so surprised now? When Walker mentioned a million dollars earlier, none of you reacted like this."

Veronica wrapped her thin nurse's uniform tighter around herself and said with utter disdain, "A million dollars... He took me for a fool. Even if I were sold, I wouldn't be worth a million."

"Because it was obvious he just wanted to trick us into infighting. Once we turned on each other, he definitely would have gotten rid of the survivors instead of paying out a million."

"If he had dropped a zero, I might have actually believed it."

The corner of Milton's mouth twitched.

No... what Walker said was very likely true, and a million probably meant nothing to him at all... You guys vastly underestimate the horrifying extent of American corruption, especially the corruption within the pharmaceutical-industrial complex.

In a country where the average annual income was less than 1,500 dollars, promising someone a million dollars right off the bat sounded just like a scammer from his past life calling to claim someone had won a billion-dollar deal—not even a fool would believe it.

Yet Walker might genuinely not have been lying... he simply hadn't expected these people to be so dirt poor.

After silently venting his thoughts, Milton pocketed the 62,000-plus dollars belonging to the team and himself, while casting a glance at an iron cabinet not far away.

"They said those two dead officers were Pedro's trusted aides. Let's see what kind of high-end gear the chief's confidants use."

To be able to work in such a cushy, lucrative, and safe place, those two officers were definitely core confidants.

Milton smashed the lock on the iron cabinet and pulled the door open.

"Holy crap... We've hit the jackpot."