American comic book: I, with my abundant martial virtue, love to do good to others.

Chapter 210 His game is over

The next morning, Lynn sat in the FBI's technical lab, a technician rapidly typing on a keyboard in front of a screen. The screen displayed complex strings of data and records. The technician, Tony, was Lynn's trusted technical support. He adjusted his glasses, his gaze focused, and said to Lynn as he worked, "You've really picked a tough one. This camera was indeed installed by the city, but the storage devices back then were quite old; most of the footage was stored on physical magnetic tape. Finding it is a miracle."

"I don't need a miracle," Lynn said in a low voice, his tone calm and resolute. "Just tell me, is there any way to find that video?"

Tony didn't answer, but continued working. A few minutes later, a hint of excitement appeared on his face: "Wait, I think I have a lead—there's still an archive record of this camera in the municipal database." He quickened his typing, his eyes behind his glasses fixed on the screen. "The video recording tape was transferred to an archive center in Brooklyn. I don't know if it's still there, but at least there's some hope."

Lynn nodded, a sharp glint in his eyes. "Send me the address of the archives center."

"It's already been sent to your phone." Tony stopped pointing and looked at Lynn. "But Lynn, so many years have passed, the chances of finding the video are very low. Even if we do find it, the quality of the footage might not provide any crucial evidence."

"Let me decide," Lynn said, his voice unwavering. He stood up, turned, and left the technical room.

A few hours later, Lynn's car stopped outside an old archives center in Brooklyn. The building looked dilapidated, with some of the bricks on the exterior walls crumbling from the elements and the sign at the entrance rusted, but the lights were still on, indicating that it was still in operation.

Lynn went into the archives center and found the elderly man in charge of managing the files. The man was about seventy years old and wore thick reading glasses. When he heard Lynn's request, he showed a slightly surprised expression.

"A tape from 2003?" the old man muttered, looking down as he flipped through a thick notebook. "Files that old have probably all been sent to cold storage. But you're lucky, we do have some tapes here that haven't been cleared out yet."

Lynn nodded, his tone urgent: "I need to see those videos as soon as possible."

The old man led him to the underground storage room, opened a heavy iron door, and inside was a room piled high with cardboard boxes and tapes. Lynn frowned, but didn't complain. Instead, he rolled up his sleeves and began searching according to the file numbers.

After searching for more than an hour, Lynn finally found a cassette tape labeled "July 14, 2003" among a pile of tattered cardboard boxes. He picked up the tape, his heart racing slightly, but he quickly calmed himself and took it to the player in the archives.

At the beginning of the playback, Lynn saw a blurry, grayish-white image. The camera's resolution was low, the image quality was patchy and even had some noise. But as the image adjusted, he quickly recognized the intersection where the accident had occurred.

Lynn stared intently at the screen, his eyes sharp as a hawk's. He waited quietly; the street in the video was unusually calm, with only a few pedestrians occasionally walking by.

Then, it happened.

In the scene, a blue Buick slowly drives towards us from the right. It's not moving fast, and even appears somewhat cautious. At the same time, a truck appears from the other side, moving much faster than the Buick, and showing no signs of slowing down.

Lynn held his breath. He watched as the truck hurtled straight into the Buick, followed by a violent collision. The blue Buick was sent spinning by the truck before crashing heavily into a pillar at the intersection.

He kept a close eye on the truck's movements and noticed that the truck showed no signs of braking in the seconds before the collision; instead, it seemed to have deliberately accelerated to crash into the truck.

"The truck driver lied," Lynn muttered to himself, his gaze icy. He rewound the video, slowed it down, and carefully examined the front of the truck. Just as the video slowed to its limit, he caught a detail: there was a faint logo on the front of the truck, which looked like the name of a transportation company.

Lynn quickly paused the video and took a picture of the sign. His intuition told him that the transport company might be inextricably linked to the accident.

Back at FBI headquarters, Lynn immediately gave the photos to Tony, asking him to investigate the company's background. A few hours later, Tony sent back a shocking result.

"This company was called 'West Transportation,' a small freight company that has since dissolved," Tony said, his tone turning serious. "But according to its registration records, it was once part of a larger group."

"Krox Group".

"Corlocks Corporation?" Lynn frowned. He was familiar with the name. It was a large logistics company, but in some circles, its name was often associated with illegal transactions and money laundering.

“What’s even more interesting,” Tony continued, his eyes gleaming, “is that in 2003, the Krox Corporation was undergoing an internal investigation. Around that time, rumors were rife about their employees being involved in drug trafficking.”

Lynn's brow furrowed even more. He quickly flipped through the relevant documents and discovered that the Klocks Group in 2003

He was indeed accused of involvement in illegal transactions in 2017, but the investigation was ultimately shelved due to "insufficient evidence."

"This car accident may be more than just an accident," Lynn said in a low voice, his eyes dark. "The Krox Corporation may be trying to eliminate someone or hide something, and Carl Miller may just be an innocent victim."

"What do we do next?" Tony asked.

"Investigate." Lynn's tone was icy. "I need to know all the connections between the Krox Corporation and this case. And the truck driver, Irwin Clark, it's not a coincidence, I need to know where he went."

As the investigation deepened, Lynn gradually pieced together more clues. Carl Miller was involved in a volunteer project in a school community at the time, which inadvertently came into contact with some transaction records related to the Krox Group. Although these records were not made public, Lynn suspected that Carl might have uncovered some secrets.

"This wasn't an accident," Lynn said softly, standing by the office window. His fists clenched, and Kate's stubborn face flashed through his mind.

Lynn's investigation is deepening. The connections behind the Krox Group are incredibly complex, and the disappearance of truck driver Alvin Clark seems far from coincidental. As more information is unearthed, Lynn gradually uncovers the tip of the iceberg in this case.

A week later, late at night, Lynn sat in a private archive room at FBI headquarters, surrounded by piles of documents, surveillance footage screenshots, and ledgers. He analyzed every detail repeatedly. One photograph on the screen particularly caught his eye: a young man in a suit, his hair meticulously combed, stood in the center of a lavish party, holding a glass of champagne. His smile carried a sense of superiority, as if the whole world was in his hands.

The subject of this photograph is Matthew Harlock.

Lynn pressed his finger to the photograph, his gaze sharp as a knife. Matthew Harlock—a name that initially seemed unremarkable, but Lynn had unearthed something intriguing from the files of the Klocks Corporation.

Matthew is the only son of the founder of the Krox Group, a typical "second-generation rich kid." According to the records,

He was not only the company's future heir, but also somewhat notorious for various scandals—excessive drinking at parties, illegal street racing, and even involvement in an undisclosed assault case. Each time, he escaped unscathed.

"What does this person have to do with the car accident?" Lynn asked himself in a low voice, flipping through the documents to continue searching for more clues.

Tony's voice came through the earpiece: "Lynn, I've found something new, you absolutely have to hear this."

"explain."

“Remember that truck driver, Irwin Clark?” Tony said, his voice tinged with excitement. “I tracked down an unpublished statement, recorded within two days of the 2003 accident. Clark claimed he was ‘threatened’ to remain silent. And the person who threatened him—”—was Matthew Harlock.”

Lynn's eyes sharpened instantly. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." Tony's tone was very certain. "Clark mentioned in his statement that Harlock told him to 'crash that car' and warned him that if he dared to tell anyone, he and his family would disappear."

"Why wasn't this statement included in the formal investigation?" Lynn asked, a hint of barely perceptible anger in his voice.

“Good question,” Tony continued, “because it was suppressed by the officer in charge at the time—Frank Cowles. Cowles subsequently resigned and moved to Florida with a hefty ‘retirement pension.’ And Clark, you know, he completely disappeared.”

Lynn leaned back in his chair, his mind racing through the clues. All the evidence pointed to an undeniable fact: Matthew Harlock had used the resources of the Krox Group to stage an "accidental" car crash to cover up certain secrets, and Kate's father, Carl Miller, had become an innocent victim.

"Why did Matthew kill Carl?" Lynn murmured, sensing that there was more to the story behind the car accident.

"Perhaps Carl has something he doesn't want anyone to know," Tony speculated. "Maybe it's some kind of illicit deal involving the Krox Corporation?"

Lynn was silent for a few seconds, then stood up. "Continue tracking Matthew Harlock's whereabouts. I need to know where he is now. Also, send me Frank Cowles' address."

"Understood, the address will be sent to your phone shortly."

Lynn hung up the call, tidied the documents on his desk, picked up his coat, and walked towards the door. His steps were steady and powerful, and his face carried a cold determination.

Two days later, in front of a luxurious beachfront villa in Florida, Lynn stood at the door and rang the doorbell.

The sound of the doorbell seemed particularly jarring in the quiet night.

A few minutes later, a gray-haired man opened the door. His face was marked by the passage of time, but his eyes still held a hint of wariness.

"Frank Cowles?" Lynn asked, his voice low and calm. The old man narrowed his eyes, a hint of unease in his tone. "Who are you?"

"FBI." Lynn showed his badge and strode into the house, giving the other party no chance to refuse.

Cowles was clearly intimidated by his imposing manner and took a few steps back. "I retired a long time ago—I don't know anything you want to ask."

Lynn stood in the center of the living room, staring coldly at him. "You know why I came to see you, Cowles."

"I—I don't know what you're talking about." Cowles' voice trembled, and his eyes began to dart around.

"The 2003 car accident," Lynn said bluntly. "You were in charge of that case, but you withheld a crucial statement. Why?"

Cowles' face turned deathly pale. He opened his mouth, but couldn't utter a word.

"I know you took money from Matthew Harlock." Lynn took a step closer, his tone even colder. "I know you helped him cover up the truth, letting an innocent person die in vain. And now, I want you to tell me everything."

Cowles wiped the sweat from his brow, his voice trembling. "I had no choice—the Harlock family wields too much power, and they're threatening me. If I don't cooperate, my family and I will be in danger."

"So you chose to remain silent." Lynn's voice was as icy as ice. "You caused immense suffering to an innocent family, while you hid here enjoying your comfort with dirty money."

"I—" Cowles lowered his head, his tone pleading, "Do you think I didn't struggle?"

But they are so terrifying that no one can stand up to them!

2

“Now someone can,” Lynn said coldly, “tell me, what did Matthew Harlock make Clark do? Why did he kill Carl Miller?”

Cowles paused for a moment, then sighed. "Karl Miller was involved in a community volunteer project when he stumbled upon a batch of financial documents related to the Collox Group, which documented the flow of illicit funds. Matthew was afraid these things would be exposed, so he ordered Carl killed and made the car crash look like an accident."

Lynn clenched his fist, his gaze as cold as a blade. He had obtained the truth he needed, and now, all he had left was his goal—to make Matthew Harlock pay for his crimes.

"You'd better hope that's true, Cowles," Lynn said finally, turning to leave. "Otherwise, I'll make you pay the price."

Night fell over the streets of Brooklyn, the sky low and oppressive, as if even the stars were waiting for a storm. Lynn's SUV was parked in the underground parking lot of the FBI headquarters. He slammed on the brakes, the engine gave a low growl, and then shut off.

The air inside the car was stifling. On the passenger seat lay Matthew Harlock's file, a thick stack of documents, each page detailing his crimes. These documents were not ordinary accusations, but cold, hard evidence, linking to the fall of an innocent life.

Lynn picked up the file, his fingers slowly tracing the cover, his eyes as cold as the winter wind. The scene of Matthew's arrest still echoed in his mind.

Hours earlier, he and his reinforcements stormed into the luxurious club where Matthew was hosting a private party. The lights were dazzling, the music deafening, and the elegantly dressed guests, glasses in hand, reveled in the artificial glamour. Matthew, on the other hand, stood like a king in the center of the dance floor, surrounded by a throng of people, his smile utterly unrestrained.

The moment Lynn and the agents appeared, the entire club descended into chaos. Guests screamed and scattered, while Matthew showed a brief moment of surprise, but quickly regained his typical arrogance.

“Agent Lynn,” Matthew raised his chin slightly, a mocking glint in his eyes, “you’re really making a big fuss. What is this? Breaking into a private party? Arresting someone without a warrant? That’s illegal.”

"We have every reason," Lynn replied coldly, his gaze piercing Matthew's eyes like a blade. "And we have evidence. Matthew Harlock, you are formally arrested on suspicion of murder and organizing illegal transactions."

Matthew's smile gradually froze, a flicker of panic crossing his eyes, but he quickly forcibly concealed it. He took a step back, attempting to defuse the situation with a gentle tone, "This is just a misunderstanding, Agent Lynn. You've arrested the wrong person. I'm a businessman, a law-abiding citizen."

Lynn didn't waste time arguing with him, but coldly waved her hand, "Take him away."

As his hand gripped Matthew's wrist, his face turned pale, but he still struggled. "Do you know who my father is? Do you know how much influence the Krox Corporation has? You dare touch me? You won't be able to afford the consequences!"

Lynn didn't respond; he simply stared at Matthew with a cold, indifferent gaze, as if looking at a walking corpse. Matthew tried to threaten him with words, but Lynn had never been interested in them. He simply used silence to tell Matthew that his game was over.

At this moment, Lynn stood outside the one-way glass of the interrogation room, his gaze fixed on Matthew inside. Matthew had lost the arrogant demeanor he had at the party; he sat at the table, his hands clasped together, a thin layer of cold sweat on his face.

Only one light bulb was on in the interrogation room, casting an extremely long shadow over Matthew, like an invisible lock pressing down on him.

"He's already starting to sweat," Hans said, standing next to Lynn, a hint of dry humor in his voice. "I bet you haven't really started scaring him yet, have you?"

"No rush." ​​Lynn said calmly, his fingers slowly tapping on the glass. "A man like Matthew has never experienced true fear. He thinks money and connections can make him invincible, but today, we'll show him that the law can't be bought off."

Hans nodded. "We've verified all the evidence, including Clark's statement, the CCTV footage of the car accident, and Frank Cowles' testimony. If Matthew confesses, the jury will not hesitate to find him guilty."

Lynn nodded, said nothing more, and pushed open the door to walk into the interrogation room.