The real life of an American police officer: Winning over others with virtue

Chapter 346 A Mess
Nighttime, the top floor of a skyscraper.

A man stands quietly in front of a huge floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the entire city, his glass of red wine swaying gently in his hand.

The lights spread out at his feet like a flowing galaxy.

The office was deathly silent, with only the low hum of the air conditioning system.

Just then, a barely perceptible sound came from outside the heavy solid wood door.

The door was pushed open, and a figure stopped a few meters away from him with cautious footsteps.

“Mr. Price, the operation has failed.”

"fail?"

Price frowned: "Three people can't even handle a mother and daughter?"

"An FBI agent got involved, and the situation was beyond expectations."

Upon hearing this, Price's face instantly darkened, and he slowly turned around to look at the person who had come.

"That FBI profiler who's still alive?"

"Yes," the security captain confirmed in a low voice.

"Damn piece of trash!" Price couldn't contain his anger and cursed aloud. His face was ashen, and his knuckles were slightly white from gripping the wine glass so tightly.

After a moment of silence, he suddenly asked:

"If I put up a bounty on the high table and hire a group of professional hitmen, could I get rid of that damned woman?"

The security captain shook his head: "I'm sorry, sir, there's an unspoken rule at the high table: never touch any official personnel."

Violators will be purged from the job through a shadow meeting at the high table, a major taboo in the industry; no hitman would take such a job.

Moreover, doing so would also expose us to significant risks, such as attracting the attention of law enforcement agencies.

"Fuck!" Price angrily slammed the wine glass in his hand to the ground, the scarlet wine spreading like blood on the carpet.

-------------

"Rhys is alive!"

Pendleton Camp.

Naval Special Operations Command building.

Major General Gamir Ricketts stood behind his desk, his fingers unconsciously stroking the silver star medal on it.

He waited so long, only to receive the news he least wanted to hear.

The night outside the window was deep, but the chants of training could still be heard in the distance.

Howard's voice followed, tinged with suppressed anxiety.

"His family members are now under FBI protection."

Major General Gamir slowly lowered his medal, his gaze sweeping over the SEAL team insignia hanging on the wall—the emblem that represented honor and loyalty.

"Have you already given the FBI the records and files you prepared?"

Howard paused, surprised. Even now, he was still thinking about this? But looking at the unusually calm Major General Gamir, his Adam's apple bobbed slightly, and he finally replied in a low voice:
"It has already been given. Those three soldiers left their posts without permission; it was their personal behavior."

"That's good." Major General Gamir nodded, sat down behind his desk, and slowly lit a cigar.

“But she won’t believe it,” Howard couldn’t help but say.

“Rice’s affair just happened right in front of her.”

"Whether she believes it or not is not important." Major General Gamir took a puff of his cigar, savoring the taste.

"The important thing is that she can't provide any evidence to prove that the person was sent by us."

Major General Gamir slowly exhaled a wisp of smoke, which swirled in the lamplight, obscuring his face.

"What you need to do now is to ensure that everyone in the know agrees on this story."

Howard paused for a few seconds before speaking, "What about Reese? He's our best sealer, and he won't let this go."

"Calm down, we'll be fine," Major General Gamir's voice remained calm.

Even if things are exposed, we can still shirk responsibility.

Tragedy on the battlefield is inevitable. Rees' actions were based on intelligence failure; the primary responsibility does not lie with us.

Howard's heart sank; he knew the major general was sensing trouble and preparing to cut ties.

But he was still worried about the most crucial point: "What about human trials? We used drugs on our own soldiers for that money, and it even caused them to develop tumors as a side effect! The court will never let this go!"

"The court?" Major General Gamir narrowed his eyes and sneered.
“As long as the procedural documents are complete, we have a position to defend ourselves. From beginning to end, we are just the executors.”

At this point, Major General Gamir said in a deep voice, "Do you really think this matter will come to that? Howard, there are people who are more anxious than we are."

The CIA and the Department of Defense will never allow the scandal of drug trials to be exposed, otherwise all their investments will be in vain.

If it really comes to that, their situation will be far more dangerous than ours.

At this point, Major General Gamir looked at Howard, who had fallen silent.

"So, have you figured out why our people failed?"

Howard pursed his lips and said, "The house she went to that night was the home of a Los Angeles Police Department detective named Eric Stevens."

Josh reported that the other side had a high level of security, they triggered an alarm and attracted patrol officers, the infiltration failed, and during the withdrawal, they encountered Stevens himself in a car accident, causing the operation to completely fail.

"So that's how she found us through the corpse?" Major General Gamir was taken aback; he had never imagined that the reason for their failure would be so simple.

This failure also affected Rhys's affairs, causing a series of events to spiral out of control.

"That's it?"

--------------

Late at night, the lights were still on in an office on the seventh floor of the CIA building.

Outside the entire bulletproof glass curtain wall, the night view of Washington, D.C. stretches to the horizon like stars.

A middle-aged man, around fifty years old, stood by the window, his brow furrowed with an inescapable weariness.

The office door was pushed open silently, and a subordinate in a dark blue suit quietly walked in and stopped three meters away from the desk.

“Price said we were needed to clean up the mess. The assassins he sent out were all wiped out, but the lieutenant is still alive.”

"A bunch of useless good-for-nothings!" The middle-aged man suddenly closed his eyes, his chest heaving noticeably.

When he opened his eyes again and turned around, his face was cold.

The man continued, lowering his voice even further: "He also said that if we can't handle this properly and it gets back to him, he'll put the entire Norths Biotechnology company up for sale and put it up for public auction."

"Open bidding?" The middle-aged man repeated the word, a sneer curling at the corner of his mouth.

"Did he think Northus was his personal toy that he could auction off on eBay at will?"

The middle-aged man walked slowly toward the desk, finally stopping beside the internal red encrypted phone, and said coldly.

"Nothers has too many of our secrets, including high-level Pentagon projects and shady Senate grants. If they were put on the market, the resulting tsunami would engulf half of Washington."

At this point, he looked at his subordinates and said, "Tell Price that we have received his threat, but also tell him to remember that once Northus is exposed to the light of day, the first to be silenced will not be us."

The subordinate took a deep breath, nodded slightly to indicate that he understood, and then said somewhat cautiously, "There is also a field member of a certain group named Ben Edwards, who seems to be investigating Lucian, who provided false information to Tabarimusa, on his own."

He has already linked Lucian to our training program.

The middle-aged man's brows were furrowed.

"An investigation revealed that he was a former comrade of Target Rhys."

The middle-aged man took a deep breath, his eyes dark: "Initiate the cleanup program, targets: those who slipped through the net and Ben Edwards."

This time, we'll use our own people to ensure a clean and efficient process.

"We've trained them for so long and spent so much money; it's time for them to step up."

The subordinate nodded in acceptance, but did not leave immediately. He hesitated for a moment, then asked in a low voice for instructions:

"What about that FBI agent? She's like a nail wedged in the middle, a huge threat to our operations. Should we consider eliminating her as well?"

"Use your brain!" the middle-aged man shouted at his subordinate, his voice not loud but his gaze carrying a powerful sense of oppression.

"Do you want the entire FBI to relentlessly attack us like mad dogs?"

The subordinate involuntarily lowered his gaze.

"Killing an active-duty FBI agent, especially one who is investigating a case, is a declaration of war."

This also means that we will no longer be dealing with a single agent's investigation, but the entire FBI.

They have the authority to mobilize all resources, including the Justice Department's Special Investigations Unit and the Congressional Oversight Committees—the latter being the last thing we want to see. The resulting storm will be far greater than the exposure of Northris Pharmaceuticals.

"What should we do then?" the subordinate asked instinctively.

"If we let her continue investigating like this..."

“Her case is about the assault that attacked her,” the middle-aged man said calmly.

"Then let her investigate, but only this."

The subordinate immediately understood the deeper meaning behind it.

“We can’t deal with her with bullets, we have to use the rules,” the middle-aged man said.

"We must strictly limit the case to the incident of three soldiers assaulting federal agents. Through our channels at the Department of Justice, we should formally challenge the FBI's jurisdiction in this case. The individuals involved are active-duty Navy personnel, and the investigation should be led by the Naval Criminal Investigative Service."

Further compliance checks on her background will be conducted, delaying and freezing her investigative authority.

Upon hearing this, the subordinate looked at his supervisor with admiration in his eyes; experience truly matters.

"You've thought this through perfectly; this will definitely disrupt her investigation."

“If she’s smart enough, she should be able to see a lot of things,” the middle-aged man said.

"If she stops the investigation, then we will give her the truth, allow her to close the case smoothly, and reward her for her meritorious service."

"What if she refuses to accept the truth?"

"That would be her tragedy, not ours."

---------------

Los Angeles.

The bathroom door slid open, and Eric stepped out, drying his still-damp hair, tossing his phone onto the bedside table.

Tifa was sitting cross-legged on the bed, with several photocopies spread out in front of her and an open laptop next to her.

"Was that your boss on the phone?" Tifa asked.

"Ah."

Eric nodded, walked to the bedside, plopped down, and squeezed next to Tifa.

Because of the FBI's letter, Costa called to ask many questions, which he fortunately handled perfectly.

In the end, Costa told him to "help the FBI with their work and remember to come back."

It must be said that Costa is indeed a good captain, still caring about his team members so late at night.

Eric glanced at his laptop; the screen displayed files from Camp Pendleton.

"They sent it?"

“Just received it, honey, take a look.” Tifa naturally moved closer to Eric and turned the computer toward him.

"The files they sent were very clean."

Eric raised an eyebrow slightly; the three soldier files displayed on the screen were indeed excessively clean.

Aside from basic information and a blank ID photo, there were no other records, including routine training and assessment records and duty logs up to a week prior.

Tifa lightly tapped the touchpad with her fingertip to bring up another document:
"This is their statement, which states that the three men left their posts without permission, and that it was an isolated incident caused by their personal behavior, and had nothing to do with the Camp Pendleton command system or any military operations."

“That’s normal,” Eric said calmly.

"The most crucial one is Robbie Becker. Have you found anything about him?"

“Hmm.” Tifa nodded, leaning against Eric’s chest, and began to retrieve Robbie Becker’s information.

"This guy is the vice president of asset management at Pinnacle Industries. His identity isn't hard to find out. But when I followed Pinnacle Industries' investigation, I discovered some very interesting things."

All of this company's market investments are just a front, including Carnival Cruise Line, Planet Fitness, and a whole host of other subsidiaries.

Because its investment pool is as high as $60 billion, which far exceeds the percentage that can be held in public ownership.

Eric squinted slightly, looking at the huge blank area of ​​funds on the screen. He understood what Tifa meant.

These shell companies on the surface don't actually need that much money; the total investment only accounts for a portion of the 60 billion.

"So where did the rest of the money go?" Eric asked instinctively.

"There can't be so much money without leaving any trace, right?"

Tifa continued tapping, bringing up a deeper financial analysis chart:

"Most of the funds flowed through a complex trust structure set up in the Cayman Islands, passing through multiple layers to reach [the destination]."

Tifa paused for a moment, then zoomed in on the final node of the funding path.

Eric saw that more than $45 billion eventually flowed into a privately held company called Northus Biotechnology.

His brows furrowed slightly, and he inexplicably thought of something, but he was just one step away from having the right opportunity.

"The registration information shows that it is a biotechnology company that focuses on physical trauma rehabilitation and neuroscience research."

While retrieving publicly available registration information and basic equity structures from Vertex Industries and Northus Biotech, Tifa said.

“Importantly, through publicly available government procurement records, I discovered that Norths had contractual relationships with the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA) on multiple collaborative projects, and the contract amounts were all classified as trade secrets.”

Eric paused, feeling that things were getting increasingly serious. Not only was the CIA involved, but the Department of Defense was also implicated.
Now, not only the military, but also the CIA, the Department of Defense, and this biotechnology company are all involved. Good heavens, it's a complete mess.

“What’s even more suspicious is that,” Tifa, perhaps thinking the same thing as him, said with a more serious tone, as she pulled up another set of data.

"Its main laboratory address does not exist in public documents at all."

Moreover, its board members largely overlap with executives at Vertex Industries' subsidiaries.

(End of this chapter)