American comics: I am full of martial virtues and I love to be kind to others.

“This is our job,” Lynn said. “And Kevin did a great job in this operation; most of the credit should go to him.”

Kevin looked at him in surprise, his mouth agape, unsure of what to say.

Lynn patted him on the shoulder. "Let's go back to New York. Our work isn't finished yet."

They returned to their car, which was parked on the side of the road. Lynn started the engine and drove onto the road back to New York.

Outside the car window, the fields and forests of New Jersey shimmered in the sunlight, the snow reflecting a blinding white light. The clouds in the sky began to disperse, revealing a vast expanse of azure sky.

“Agent Lynn,” Kevin’s voice came from the side, “I have a question.”

"Speak."

"You just said that most of the credit should go to me, but actually you were the one who devised the plan and made the judgments. Why did you say that?"

Lynn was silent for a moment, then said, “Because you deserve it. You made the right choice at a crucial moment, which not everyone can do. And,” he paused, “as an agent, it’s important to learn to trust others. We’re not lone wolves; we’re a team. The success of the team is more important than individual glory.”

Kevin nodded, seemingly lost in thought. "I understand."

They continued driving along the highway, the Manhattan skyline gradually appearing in the distance, the silhouettes of skyscrapers shimmering in the sunlight.

“There’s one more thing,” Kevin said. “You were in the woods just now, trying to persuade Alexander to surrender. Did you really believe he would give up?”

Lynn thought for a moment. “I don’t know. But I have to try. In our work, violence should always be a last resort, not a first choice. Everyone—even criminals—has a human side. If we can reach that side, maybe we can prevent more bloodshed.”

"But in the end, violence was still used."

“Yes,” Lynn admitted, “because someone fired a shot, breaking that delicate balance. It’s a pity, but it’s reality. We can’t control all the variables; we can only do our best.”

Kevin was silent for a moment, then said, "Being an FBI agent is really not easy."

“It’s not easy,” Lynn agreed, “but it’s meaningful.”

Lynn parked the car in the underground parking garage of the FBI building and turned off the engine.

“Go back and write your report,” he said to Kevin. “Then, get some rest. You did a great job today; you deserve a break.”

"And what about you?"

“Me?” Lynn smiled. “I still have some things to take care of. The Brotherhood case isn’t over yet, and Erin Shaw is still out there. This serial killer case is just a sideshow; the real battle is yet to come.”

He opened the car door and stepped into the elevator.

When the elevator doors opened on the seventh floor, the atmosphere in the office was completely different from before Lynn left.

Sarah was standing beside her desk, holding a thick stack of documents, her expression grave. She saw Lynn walk in and quickly went to greet him.

“You’re back just in time,” she said in a low voice. “We’re in big trouble.”

"What's wrong?" Lynn hung his coat on the back of the chair and noticed that Sarah had obvious dark circles under her eyes, indicating that she hadn't slept much either.

“A new lead on Eileen Shaw,” Sarah handed him the file, “we’ve traced the Brotherhood’s funding sources.”

Lynn took the documents and quickly flipped through them. Inside were a series of bank transaction records, company registration documents, and financial statements, the dense numbers and names making his head spin.

What are these?

“The Brotherhood has received over the past three years,” Sarah pointed to a page, “more than twenty million dollars. This money was transferred through a complex web of offshore accounts and shell companies, making it very difficult to trace. But our financial crime experts spent three days and finally found some clues.”

Lynn stopped on a page with the names of several companies listed: “Dawn Investment Group”, “Pacific Innovation Fund”, and “Silicon Valley Future Capital”.

“These companies are all registered in California,” he said.

“That’s right, all in the Bay Area,” Sarah nodded, “more specifically, San Francisco and Palo Alto. These companies appear to be legitimate investment firms, but they’re actually shell companies. We traced their shareholder structures and found that they all ultimately point to the same group of people.”

Who is it?

Sarah hesitated for a moment, then flipped to the last few pages of the document. Several names were listed there, each accompanied by a photo and a brief biography.

Lynn's pupils contracted slightly as he looked at the names.

"Victor Chen, founder of Silicon Valley's largest venture capital firm. Alan West, former CEO of tech giant NovaTech. Margaret Love, the queen of the semiconductor industry, with a net worth exceeding five billion dollars."

“They’re all big names in the tech world,” Sarah said. “Each of them has extensive political connections and media resources. We have to be very careful if we’re going to investigate them.”

Lynn placed the documents on the table and rubbed his temples. He felt a wave of fatigue and headache wash over him, but even more so, a heavy sense of pressure.

"Are you sure this information is accurate?" he asked.

“Ninety percent certain,” Sarah said, “the flow of funds is clear, and there are indeed connections between these companies and the Brotherhood. But we can’t yet prove that these people knew their money was being used to finance terrorist activities. Maybe they were just being used, or maybe someone else is manipulating things.”

“Or,” Lynn said, “they are the ones behind it all.”

Sarah was silent for a moment. “If that’s the case, we’re not just facing a terrorist organization. We’re facing a group of people with virtually unlimited resources; they can hire the best lawyers, manipulate the media, and wield immense power in politics.”

“I know,” Lynn stood up, walked to the window, and looked out at the Manhattan skyline. The skyscrapers glittered in the afternoon sun, and people on the streets went about their business, oblivious to the approaching storm.

"Does Morrison know about this?" he asked.

“I just showed it to him,” Sarah said. “His expression… I’ve never seen him like that before. He said he needed time to think about what to do next.”

“Consider?” Lynn turned around. “We don’t have time to consider. Eileen Shaw is still out there, and the Brotherhood is still operating. If we don’t act quickly, they might plan another attack.”

“But these people are too big,” Sarah said. “We can’t act rashly. If we make a mistake, the consequences could be disastrous.”

Lynn looked at her and remained silent for a few seconds. Then he picked up the documents on the table and walked towards the door. "Where are you going?" Sarah asked.

“Go find Morrison.”

Morrison's office door was closed, but Lynn didn't hesitate and knocked on the door before going in.

The deputy director sat behind his desk, a pile of documents spread out in front of him, a pen in his hand, but the nib hovered in the air, motionless. His expression was more serious than usual, and his eyes held something Lynn rarely saw—hesitation.

“Lynn,” Morrison looked up, “Sarah already told you?”

“Yes,” Lynn placed the documents on Morrison’s desk, “I need to go to the Bay Area.”

"no."

"What?"

“I said no,” Morrison said firmly, but with a hint of weariness. “This is too sensitive. These aren’t ordinary suspects; they are influential figures. If we act rashly without solid evidence, it could trigger a political storm.”

"So we're just going to do nothing?" Lynn's voice rose slightly. "Let Eileen Shaw go unpunished? Let the Brotherhood continue planning their next attack?"

“I didn’t say we’d do nothing,” Morrison stood up, walked to the window, his back to Lynn, “I said we need to be more careful. This isn’t just a law enforcement issue; it involves politics, economics, the media… far too many complex factors.”

“I don’t care about those factors,” Lynn said. “What I care about is justice. If those people are really funding terrorism, they should be held accountable, no matter how much money they have or how much power they wield.”

Morrison turned and looked at Lynn. His eyes held a complex emotion, a mixture of admiration and worry.

“You know, Lynn, I was just like you when I was young. I believed justice could prevail, and that with enough effort, bad guys would get what they deserved. But over the years, I’ve learned one thing—some enemies are too powerful to confront head-on.”

"So what do you suggest I do?"

“Wait,” Morrison said. “Gather more evidence, build an impeccable case. Then, when the time is right, strike decisively.”

"How long will the wait be? Months? Years?" Lynn shook his head. "And how many people will die during that time?"

Morrison remained silent.

Lynn took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “Deputy Director, I understand your concerns. But I can't just sit here doing nothing. Let me go to the Bay Area, consider it an informal investigation. I won't alert anyone; I'm just going to check things out and gather some intelligence.”

“An informal investigation?” Morrison frowned. “Do you know what that means? If something goes wrong, the department won’t support you.”

"I know."

The two stared at each other for a few seconds. Finally, Morrison sighed.

“Alright,” he said, “go ahead. But remember, just gather intelligence, don’t take any action. If you discover anything important, report back to me immediately.”

"clear."

“Also,” Morrison added, “take Kevin with you. The kid needs more real-world experience, and I’ll feel more at ease having someone watching you.”

Lynn's lips curled into a slight smile. "Are you worried about me, or worried that I'll get into trouble?"

"Both."

Three days later, a flight from New York to San Francisco landed at San Francisco International Airport.

As Lynn and Kevin stepped out of the terminal, a wave of warm, humid air washed over them, a stark contrast to the biting cold of New York. This was California; even in January, the temperature was around ten degrees Celsius, the sky was azure, and the sun was shining brightly.

“The weather here is wonderful,” Kevin took a deep breath, a relaxed smile spreading across his face. “Much more comfortable than in New York.”

“Don’t be fooled by the weather,” Lynn said, putting on sunglasses and heading towards the taxi stand. “We’re not here for vacation.”

They rented a silver Toyota sedan and drove along Highway 101 towards downtown San Francisco. Rolling hills and sparse bushes lined the road, and the Pacific Ocean shimmered blue in the sunlight. Occasionally, seagulls circled overhead, emitting sharp cries.

“Where is our first stop?” Kevin asked, sitting in the passenger seat with a tablet computer displaying the data they had collected.

“Victor Chen’s office,” Lynn said. “He’s the most prominent figure on our list. According to the records, his firm, ‘Chen Capital,’ is one of the largest venture capital firms in the Bay Area, managing over ten billion dollars in assets.”

"How much of that money transferred to the Brotherhood was he involved with?"

“We traced approximately eight million dollars out of his company through shell companies. But this doesn't prove he was aware of it; it's possible his partners or employees were behind it.”

"So we should go ask him?"

“No, we’re just going to observe,” Lynn said, “to see what’s going on with his company, to see if anything seems amiss. If we rush in and question him, we’ll only alert him.”

They drove along Highway 101 into downtown San Francisco and then turned onto Market Street. This is one of San Francisco's busiest commercial streets, lined with towering office buildings and luxury hotels. The street is bustling with people: business professionals in suits, tourists with backpacks, and young parents pushing strollers. Streetcars slowly cruised along the street, their bells jingling melodiously amidst the hustle and bustle.

Chen's Capital's offices are located in a 40-story glass building on Market Street. The entire building sparkles in the sunlight, like a giant crystal. At the building's entrance is a fountain plaza where water jets weave intricate patterns in the air, creating a rushing sound.

Lynn parked his car in a parking lot across the street and observed the building through the car window.

“It looks impressive,” Kevin said.

“It’s a rich man’s territory,” Lynn said, pulling out his binoculars and adjusting the focus. “Look at the people coming and going, all dressed in suits, each with an air of arrogance.”

"You don't like rich people?"

“I don’t like people who think money can buy everything,” Lynn said, “including law and justice.”

They spent about two hours in the parking lot, observing the entry and exit of the building. Lynn noticed several details—the building's security was very strict, everyone entering needed to swipe a card and undergo a security check; there was a dedicated security booth at the entrance to the underground parking garage, and all vehicles entering and exiting were recorded; there was a helipad on the top floor, where helicopters occasionally took off and landed.

"Security here is tighter than in some government agencies," Kevin said. "What are they guarding against?" (End of Chapter)