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

"Okay, I'll check."

Kevin turned and walked toward the door, but stopped before opening it and looked back at Lynn.

"Lynn, no matter what happens, you'll always be the person I know. Don't forget who you are."

Lynn did not answer, but simply nodded slightly.

After the door closed, he was left alone in the room. He walked to the bedside, sat down, and buried his face in his hands.

Zhou Jianguo's eyes flashed back into his mind—that despair, fear, and dying plea. He tried to push these images away, but they were like etched deep into his consciousness, impossible to erase.

He didn't know how long he had been sitting there. When he looked up again, it was completely dark outside the window, and the city lights in the distance shone brightly in the night.

His phone vibrated. It was a message from that black triangle avatar.

"Mr. Jack, congratulations on officially joining the organization. Please report to the following address at 10:00 AM tomorrow to receive your work assignment."

The message was accompanied by an address in downtown San Francisco.

Lynn looked at the address and took a deep breath.

A new day, a new task.

He must move on.

The next morning, Lynn went to the address as instructed.

It was an old building on the edge of San Francisco's Chinatown, looking like an ordinary import/export trading company, with an inconspicuous sign hanging at the entrance: "Huaxing Trading Co., Ltd." The surrounding streets were bustling with people: vegetable vendors pushing carts, tourists with backpacks, and a few elderly people smoking and chatting on a street corner. The air was filled with a unique aroma, a mixture of cooking fumes from Chinese restaurants, the fishy smell of the seafood market, and the fragrance of spice shops.

Lynn pushed open the door and went inside, finding the interior as ordinary as the exterior—a small reception area with a few sofas, an old-fashioned water dispenser, and several landscape paintings hanging on the wall. A middle-aged woman wearing glasses sat behind the reception desk, reading a magazine.

“Hello,” Lynn said, walking to the front desk. “I’m Jack Bryan. Someone asked me to come here today.”

The woman looked up, sized him up, then picked up the phone on the table, dialed a number, and said a few words. After hanging up, she pointed to a door next to her.

"Go in from that direction, go up to the third floor, and find Manager Zhou."

"Thanks."

Lynn pushed open the door and found a narrow staircase behind it. The walls of the staircase were old, whitewashed, and in some places, they had begun to peel away, revealing the bricks underneath. The lighting was dim, with only one lamp every few steps, emitting a faint yellow glow.

He climbed the stairs to the third floor and came to a corridor. At the end of the corridor was a glass door with a label that read "Finance Department".

He knocked on the door.

"Come in," a voice came from inside.

Lynn pushed open the door and walked into a small office. Three desks were set up inside, each piled high with documents and ledgers. An old wall clock ticked on the wall. Outside the window was a narrow alley, barely letting in any sunlight, casting a gloomy atmosphere over the entire room.

A man in his fifties sat behind the innermost table, flipping through a stack of documents. He looked up and stared at Lynn through his reading glasses.

"You're the new guy, Jack?"

"Yes."

“I’m Manager Zhou,” the man stood up and shook hands with Lynn. “I’ve reviewed your background information. You’re a retired Marine with some finance-related work experience. Excellent, just the kind of person we need.”

"Thanks."

"Please have a seat," Manager Zhou gestured to a chair nearby. "Let me explain the situation to you first."

Lynn sat down in the chair, waiting for Manager Zhou to continue.

“Our department is responsible for the organization’s financial management,” Manager Zhou said. “Our main tasks are bookkeeping, accounting, and fund allocation. You’ve been assigned to the position of branch accountant, responsible for the accounts of one of our business locations in San Francisco.”

"What business points?"

“A club,” Manager Zhou said, his expression becoming somewhat ambiguous, “an underground club, you know.”

Lynn nodded, already having guessed some of what was going on.

“This club is called ‘Golden Sands Pavilion’,” Manager Zhou continued. “On the surface, it’s a high-end private club offering catering, accommodation, and entertainment. But in reality, its main source of income is—”

"gamble."

“Smart,” Manager Zhou nodded approvingly. “Underground casinos cater specifically to high-end clients in the Bay Area—tech tycoons, investment moguls, corporate executives. They appear glamorous on the surface, but they have all sorts of needs in private, and we provide the venue to meet those needs.”

What do I need to do?

“Bookkeeping,” Manager Zhou said, “daily revenue, expenses, customer credit records, and cash inflows and outflows. All of this needs to be meticulously recorded to ensure the accounts are clear. The person who previously handled this task ran into some problems, so we urgently need someone to take over.”

"What went wrong?"

Manager Zhou's expression changed slightly, but he quickly returned to normal. "You don't need to know. You just need to know to do your job well and not ask unnecessary questions. Understand?"

"clear."

“Very good,” Manager Zhou took a key and a card from his drawer and handed them to Lynn. “This is the key to the club’s back door and your ID card. Report to the club at 3 p.m. today and find a man named A-Qiang; he will show you around.”

"OK."

Lynn took the keys and card, stood up, and prepared to leave.

“Also,” Manager Zhou called after him as he reached the door, “don’t tell anyone about what happens at the club. Not your family, friends, anyone. If you’re found to have leaked information, the consequences will be severe.”

"I see."

Lynn walked out of his office, down the stairs, through the ordinary reception area, and back onto the street. The hustle and bustle of Chinatown hit him—the sounds of vendors hawking their wares, car horns, and people talking mingled together. An elderly woman pushing a cart piled high with fresh vegetables and fruits passed by him, exuding the fresh scent of earth and grass. A few pigeons pecked at the pavement, startled by passersby, fluttering their wings and flying into the gray sky.

Lynn stood on the street, staring at the card with the address "Golden Sands Pavilion" written on it, lost in thought.

Underground casinos. That's a great entry point.

Casinos are places where money flows frequently. If you can control their accounts, you can understand the source and flow of the Brotherhood's funds. Moreover, the clients of high-end casinos are usually wealthy and powerful people, so you might be able to find some clues connecting them to those capitalists.

He put the card in his pocket and walked toward the nearest subway station.

At three o'clock in the afternoon, Lynn arrived at the back door of Jinsha Pavilion.

This was a building on the edge of San Francisco's financial district, and from the outside it looked like an ordinary private club—an elegant porch, exquisite decor, and two security guards in black suits standing at the door. But Lynn knew that this was just a facade.

He went around to the back of the building and found an inconspicuous iron door. After opening the door with the key, he found that there was a narrow passage leading to an elevator.

He pressed the elevator button and waited. The elevator arrived quickly, and when the doors opened, a man in his thirties stood inside. He was short and stout, with several noticeable acne scars on his face, and wore a flashy silk shirt with the collar open, revealing a gold chain on his chest.

"Are you the new guy, Jack?" the man asked.

"Yes."

“I’m A-Qiang,” the man extended his hand and shook hands with Lynn. “Welcome to Golden Sands Pavilion. Follow me, I’ll show you around.”

The elevator began to descend—not ascend, but descend. Lynn noticed that there was only one "B" on the elevator button, representing the underground floor.

“The above-ground portion of Jinsha Pavilion is legal,” Ah Qiang explained. “The restaurants, bars, and spas all have proper business licenses. But the real money-making is underground.”

The elevator stopped, and the doors slowly opened.

A completely different world appeared before Lynn's eyes.

The underground space was much larger than he had imagined, at least the size of a football field. The ceiling was high, with ornate crystal chandeliers hanging from it, casting a soft golden glow. The floor was deep red marble, and the walls were adorned with expensive oil paintings and decorative items. The air was filled with a mixture of perfume, cigar smoke, and alcohol, while deep jazz music played in the background, slowly emanating from speakers hidden in the walls.

The casino is divided into several areas. Closest to the elevators are rows of slot machines, flashing colorful lights and jingling. In the middle is the table area, with various games such as blackjack, roulette, and baccarat, each surrounded by a group of well-dressed guests. At the far end is a secluded VIP area, guarded by dedicated security personnel, accessible only to the wealthiest clients.

"How's the impression?" Ah Qiang asked, a smug smile on his face.

“It’s spectacular,” Lynn admitted.

“This is the largest underground casino in the Bay Area,” Ah Qiang said proudly. “The daily turnover exceeds five million US dollars. Those Silicon Valley bigwigs, on the surface, are respectable entrepreneurs and investors, but in private, they are all gambling addicts. They lose more money here than they pay their employees.”

They walked through the casino and came to an office area in a corner. It was a stark contrast to the luxury outside—a few ordinary desks, a few computers, and a whiteboard on the wall covered with numbers and charts.

“This is your workstation,” A-Qiang pointed to one of the desks. “Your job is simple—record daily revenue and expenses, organize customer credit records, and prepare a weekly financial report for Manager Zhou.”

"It doesn't sound difficult."

“It’s not difficult, but it’s very important,” A-Qiang’s expression turned serious. “These accounts relate to the organization’s core interests and must be accurate. Any mistakes will have consequences.”

"I see."

Ah Qiang nodded, then led Lynn on a tour of the casino, explaining the function of each area and the person in charge. As Lynn listened, he silently took notes of various information—the number and location of security personnel, the distribution of surveillance cameras, the location of entrances and exits, and those who looked like executives.

About half an hour later, they returned to the office area.

“Today is your first day, so get familiar with the place,” Ah Qiang said. “The casino officially opens at seven o’clock tonight, and then you’ll understand what this place is really like.”

"What's the meaning?"

Ah Qiang smiled mysteriously. "You'll see."

He turned and left, leaving Lynn alone at her desk.

Lynn turned on the computer on his desk and began browsing the files. These were all documents left behind by the finance department—daily revenue reports, customer lists, credit records, and cash flow details. The amount of information was enormous and would require time to organize.

But one folder caught his attention.

The folder was called "Special Clients" and contained some seemingly confidential information. Each file was named after a client's code name—"Alpha," "Bravo," "Charlie," and so on—and contained detailed information about these clients: their backgrounds, gambling records, debt amounts, and some private photos and videos.

Lynn opened one of the files, glanced at it, and then frowned.

These aren't just gambling records; they're material for blackmail.

The photos and videos show the various disgraceful behaviors of these "special clients" in casinos—alcohol abuse, drug use, and intimate contact with hostesses. If these things were made public, it would be a devastating blow to their reputations and careers.

This is how the Brotherhood controls these wealthy people—first, they get them addicted to gambling, and then they use that as leverage to blackmail them and make them their pawns.

Lynn silently memorized this information, then closed the folder and continued browsing other materials.

Time flies.

When he looked up again, the clock in the office area showed 7 p.m.

The casino outside was starting to get lively. Lynn stepped out of the office area and stood in an inconspicuous corner, observing everything.

Compared to the afternoon, the casino was now a completely different scene. Each gaming table was surrounded by people, dealers skillfully dealing cards and spinning the roulette wheel, chips piled high on the tables. The slot machine area was also bustling, with people constantly sitting down to insert coins, the machines emitting jarring music and clanging sounds. The smoke in the air had thickened, a mixture of alcohol and perfume, making one feel somewhat dizzy.

Lynn noticed that the guests here were very different from those in ordinary casinos.

In a typical casino, you might see all sorts of people—retired seniors, working professionals, tourists. But the patrons here are almost all the same type—wearing expensive suits or designer casual wear, sporting priceless watches, and subtly revealing their status and background in their conversation.

He overheard people discussing the recent tech stock rallies, debating the valuation of a startup, and flaunting their newly purchased Teslas or Porsches. These people, in the outside world, were successful individuals, business elites, and pillars of society. But here, they were merely slaves controlled by gambling. (End of Chapter)