Taxes are only within machine gun range!

Chapter 38 Overriding
A moment of blankness crossed the faces of the five men who had raised their hands in surrender.

What kind of madman is this prosecutor? Racing cars, killing people, even shooting police officers, all just to come and give them a ticket?!

One of them immediately realized something was wrong, and he instinctively opened his mouth to object: "We didn't murder the police officer, we didn't blow up..."

boom!
Before he could finish speaking, Milton raised his FN FAL and shot him in the head, shattering it.

He turned to the second person and asked in a soliciting tone, "Do you have any objections?"

The man was silent for a moment, then shook his head: "...No, I admit that I murdered the police officer and blew up the police car."

If Milton wanted to, he could even admit that he started World War II and that he caused the collapse of the Soviet Union.

"very good……"

Just as Milton was about to question the remaining four people, the sound of an engine suddenly came from the doorway.

A car is coming.

Who is it? Can the police arrive so quickly?

The two teammates immediately dispersed and took up two relatively safe positions, ready to fight at any time.

Brandon, who was setting up the cordon, immediately retreated and stood in front of Milton to provide cover.

Milton simply stood at the doorway, his brows slightly furrowed.

He recognized it as an old-fashioned car with a small engine displacement, probably no more than 2.0L.

It shouldn't be a police car...

Milton glanced at the "suspects" lying on the ground, and after confirming that they posed no threat, he looked towards the door to see who had arrived.

Soon, a low, boxy, light beige Renault 12 sedan sped up and came to a stop at the entrance.

A simply dressed blonde woman carrying various expensive photography equipment jumped out of the car, not even having time to turn off the headlights.

Hmm? This woman looks kind of familiar...

Brandon immediately raised his 81 bar and shouted sternly, "Stand there, outside the cordon, don't move! State your identity!"

Beautiful women can't lower their guard at all. In war, everything can be weaponized, especially when the enemy is already at their wits' end.

The blonde woman stopped immediately upon seeing the fully armed group, raising her Nikon camera: "I'm a reporter, and this is my camera, which I legally brought in! I heard some commotion here and wanted to follow up and report on it! May I have my credentials?"

Her pronunciation occasionally has a slight, barely perceptible trill.

He wasn't carrying any smuggled goods... so he probably wasn't carrying any weapons.

After Milton used the panel scan to rule out any danger, he continued to recall where he had seen her before, and said, "Take out your identification, take your time."

The blonde woman reluctantly reached into her bulging breast pocket, slowly pulled out a press pass, and handed it to Milton.

Milton looked at the document, preparing to ask questions in random order—this would allow him to easily determine the document's authenticity.

"Birthday?"

"April 1971, 12."

"Country of Citizenship?"

“Soviet…” the blonde beauty blurted out, then paused for a moment, her expression darkening as she corrected herself, “Russia.”

"name?"

"Dasha Ivanova Sharapova Anastasia Olya".

Seeing that Olya could recite such a long string of names so fluently, Milton believed the authenticity of the document. He nodded, returned the document, and asked, "A reporter from The New, a newspaper I've never heard of... Why come to Guatemala? This is not a good place."

Olya took back her press card and shrugged helplessly: "The newspaper is about to go bankrupt, and my salary has been stopped for a long time, but the only way I can make money is by earning article fees... You know, places with more news and higher risks have less competition, so you can barely make a little money."

"The Qing Teng Foundation volunteer you've arrested recently threatened me. If it were any other reporter, they probably would have run away by now."

Qing Teng Foundation, volunteers?
Milton's gaze faltered upon hearing this, and he immediately turned his head to look at the person lying on the ground.

Memories flooded back—this person was the "volunteer" who had previously distributed banned drugs to pregnant women and children near the Central Church.

Later, a blonde woman was arguing with him. That blonde woman turned out to be Olya.

Moreover, at the scene of the gunfight at the black drugstore, Milton saw reporter Olina reporting on the event as he crawled out of the rubble.

Daring to charge into battle, arriving at the front lines faster than the police... Milton's first impression of this beautiful woman was that she was a fearless war correspondent.

Milton nodded: "It's okay to take pictures, just don't cross the cordon." Brandon looked a little doubtful and asked in a low voice, "Boss, are you sure you want her to take pictures?"

Milton turned and walked away, chuckling, "She's clearly not an enemy, so why not let her report? You need to understand one thing: unite all forces that can be united."

Moreover, never underestimate the power of public opinion; in any case, there should be at least one platform for public opinion to be heard.

Brandon thought for a moment and then understood: "Boss, you think she has value in joining our team?"

“Not yet.” Milton shook his head. “First, she has to prove she’s not a fool. In other words, she has to survive.”

If someone is a radical leftist who causes trouble everywhere, feels good about himself but disgusts others without realizing it, hiring them into the team will only bring endless internal strife and danger.

Before this, Milton and Olya only had one common enemy.

After Milton finished speaking, he turned around and stood in front of the "volunteer".

“How do you plan to pay the fine?” Milton threw the signed ticket at him. “Based on the value of the drugs on site, you will have to pay a fine of $83.2.”

Milton can write whatever he wants on the ticket, disregarding the law, but the system won't convert the excess amount into points.

Moreover, even the legal parts must be collected to be counted as points.

$830,000 is a terrifying figure anywhere, and Milton didn't think he could acquire it for the full amount, so he didn't raise the price—if he couldn't acquire it, raising it to $100 million wouldn't make a difference.

Milton asked this question because he wanted to know where the "volunteers" had put the valuables, so he wouldn't have to search for them slowly.

To his utter surprise, the volunteer nodded and readily agreed to the fine: "Okay, how about this... I'll round it up to a million dollars, on the condition that you let me go after you take the money, how about it?"

His voice carried a hint of arrogance and condescension, as if he didn't care much about $100 million.

Milton's finger shot towards the trigger. He glanced at the expressions of his teammates around him before coldly saying, "I'm not in charge of the trial."

To everyone's surprise, the "volunteer" laughed even more easily after hearing this: "You want to take me to court? Fine. Buddy, I've lost this time, but I think we can be friends... Work with me, and I can help you make many million dollars, how about it?"

He deliberately raised his voice high so that everyone could hear him.

Milton quickly glanced at his teammates' expressions again—thankfully, none of them wavered; some pretended not to hear, while others gave a few cold laughs.

With a sense of relief, Milton decided to stop wasting time talking to the "volunteers".

At this stage, Milton cannot accept transfers from unknown sources. He can only wait and ransack the waste treatment plant to confiscate the money as a fine. The "volunteers'" promise of another million dollars is useless.

Moreover, what disturbed Milton the most was that this "volunteer," who had directly caused the deaths of countless people, seemed completely unafraid of going to court.

I don't know what kind of backing they have, what methods they use, and they even tried to sow discord within their team!
This person is terrifying, he absolutely cannot be allowed to live... Since the law can't deal with him, then let's eliminate him physically!
Sirens were already blaring outside; the police were on their way.

Milton did not hesitate and reached for the TEC-9 on his waist.

"Wait!" Seemingly realizing Milton's murderous intent, the volunteer panicked. "You can't kill me!"

Milton ignored him completely and picked up the TEC-9 to fire.

This man must have many secrets, but Milton doesn't want to know.

The volunteer finally lost his arrogant expression and screamed a warning: "I'm an American! You have no right to execute me! Nobody here dares to kill me. You have to let me go, understand, you country bumpkin from a shithole country?!"

"Even if I kill a hundred of you, you can't do anything to me, because I'm American, American, understand?!"

Just then, a police car suddenly rushed in from outside. A slightly overweight middle-aged man with a gold-plated police superintendent's rank insignia on his shoulder got out of the car, didn't even bother to look at Milton, and announced, "The police are now in charge here. Everyone else, leave... Brandon, take your men away. That's an order!"

Pedro, the police chief of Malacan, actually came in person... Milton was once again certain that the hospital and waste treatment plant issues were definitely more complicated than just troglitazone.

Pedro gave the order with an air of superiority, then looked at the "volunteer" with an extremely humble attitude: "Mr. Walker, I'm so sorry, this must be a misunderstanding."

But before he could finish speaking, a pair of blood-stained boots stepped on Walker's head.

Chief Pedro looked up in astonishment and found that Brandon had not carried out his orders, and Milton did not take the so-called "police takeover" seriously.

The bureau chief, who always kept his word, never imagined that one day his words would no longer carry any weight!
"you……"

Da da da……

Milton, expressionless, pulled the trigger, shattering Walker's skull.

Then he applied slight pressure with his feet, stepping down little by little.

Walker's skull, already fractured by dozens of bullets, could no longer withstand the pressure and shattered into pieces, which Milton then trampled into a pile of fragments.

Milton, stepping on Walker's shattered head, looked up at Pedro's shocked and furious eyes and calmly asked, "What did you just say?"

(End of this chapter)