People in America: My Uncle Don Quixote

Chapter 397 Remembering Li Wei's Feelings (Seeking Monthly Tickets)

Paramus, Gatorade Formulation Research Center.

When Noah arrived at the scene, the area around the R&D center had already been cordoned off with yellow warning tape.

Three fire trucks pulled up in front of the building's main entrance. As Noah got out of the truck, a man in a gray suit quickly approached him.

"Detective Brennan," the man extended his hand, "I'm Greenberg, a senior claims consultant at Atlantic United Insurance."

"Hmm." Noah shook hands with him. It's you guys again; the warehouse incident just ended.

"The situation is a bit complicated," Greenberg said as he led him inside. "The fire itself did not cause any casualties, all employees' departures are recorded, and the cameras did not record any signs of anyone entering or leaving during the fire."

"But what about it?" Noah asked.

"But... the fire department's initial report suggests arson," Greenberg led him through the hall, "but they can't explain the cause of the fire."

"Can't explain it?"

"You'll see when you go up there." Fuck, it's always like this, I always have to go up there to see.

Noah reached the stairs and turned to Greenberg: "Which floor was the fire on again?"

"4nd floor."

"Is there an elevator?"

The elevator is out of service.

"7

Noah's trembling body was drenched in sweat, the pain soaking him completely. Am I dying? What's the point of this? Why am I doing this?

If someone were to pass by and see Noah Brennan, once New York City’s fittest police officer and a future star, looking like this, what would they think?

Can I pretend to be indifferent? Can I say that I like to climb stairs on one leg when I have nothing better to do?

Fortunately, no one recognized him. As soon as Noah reached the third floor, he couldn't wait to lean against the handrail, pretending to organize documents, but actually just to catch his breath.

Back then, I could run a hundred flights of stairs carrying equipment, tirelessly and endlessly. Why did I do this? Today I'm quitting my job, going back to the countryside, back to that deserted town to be with my mother. And then? And then?

"Detective Noah Brennan," a burly middle-aged man gave Noah one last tug, pulling him up to the fourth floor, "It's nice to meet you." Nice to meet you, you bastard, not me.

Noah struggled to keep his hands off his legs and bent over, panting.

He straightened up, then hunched his back, took a deep breath, and forced a smile.

"Me too," he said. "You must be Supervisor Jacob?"

Supervisor Jacob smiled broadly: "It's me. Please take a break before looking at the scene."

As he spoke, he personally brought a chair for Noah and placed it in front of him, while Greenberg went to check on the other scenes, leaving the two of them alone.

"Thank you for your kindness," Noah said gratefully, "I do need to rest." Unsolicited kindness is always suspicious.

As he sat down, he glanced at Jacob discreetly, glancing at the cufflinks peeking out from his sleeve.

"By the way, here's my business card," Jacob took out his wallet and handed it to Noah. "This fire is rather complicated. You can contact me if you need anything."

When Noah took the business card, he immediately noticed a Pinewood Country Club membership card in Jacob's wallet.

This club's membership card is not cheap; the membership fee is $15, and the annual fee is tens of thousands. I don't believe that a lab director can afford to attend such events.

The voice in his head screamed again: "Another insurance fraud case!"

Do you think this is embezzlement?

"But he gave you a chair."

"Yes, so I don't care if he's committing insurance fraud."

Noah rested for a while, then helped himself to his feet: "Let's take a look at the scene."

He took two steps forward and carefully examined the remains of the access control system in front of him.

"This doesn't look like arson."

"Yes, there was no ignition point or path of spread."

"Like a thermal cutting knife."

"Or it could be Superman's laser beam."

Jacob noticed that Noah, who had been staring at the gate ruins, suddenly smiled and quickly asked, "How is it? Did you find anything?"

"It's nothing, I just thought of something interesting," Noah said, touching the melting edge with his gloves on. "Let's go back in and take a look."

After going inside and looking around, Noah confirmed his guess, but also felt even more confused.

Why would a perpetrator choose to use a thermal cutting tool to destroy evidence at the scene?

"I already told you, you idiot, it's Superman's laser beam."

"You're the fool, I am you, Noah."

"Shut up, Noah, I refuse to admit that you are me."

"What did your surveillance cameras capture?" Noah asked without looking up.

"We got the footage," Jacob said, "but we looked at it several times and it didn't seem quite right."

What does "not quite right" mean?

"See for yourself." Jacob led Noah to the security control room.

Noah sat in front of the monitor, while Jacob dragged the progress bar to 11:23 p.m. last night.

The image shows the view from the corridor surveillance camera.

At 23:23:07, the corridor was still empty.

At 23:23:08, the access control panel suddenly lit up, then started to smoke, turn red, and melt, all in less than a second.

There was no one in the frame, and no visible heat source. It was as if it had suddenly decided to self-immolate.

"Is your work pressure that high?" Noah pointed at the screen and scoffed, "The access control panel has even committed suicide."

Jacob chuckled twice but didn't reply.

Noah chuckled twice, as if amused by his own joke.

He went back and watched it several times, staring at each frame for at least 5 seconds.

In the monitoring room, everyone's hearts were in their throats as they watched Noah sitting in the center.

After Noah finished watching, he also checked the surveillance footage inside the laboratory.

The huge refrigerated cabinet suddenly overturned as if it had been hit by an unseen truck. The entire wall, along with thousands of sample tubes on it, flew backward, twisting and deforming the metal shelves and shattering the glass test tubes all over the floor.

Then one by one, the precision instruments in the laboratory began to catch fire and explode. The ignition point of each piece of equipment was a precise, linear burn mark, as if an invisible fire faucet had swept across the laboratory.

Noah felt the voice in his head start clamoring again: "This is fake."

"What is fake?"

"The video was photoshopped."

"Who would Photoshop a video like this, and why?"

"Do I need to say it? Of course it's for insurance fraud!"

Noah turned and glanced at Jacob.

"Give me a copy of the surveillance footage," he said. "I'll take it back and have the tech team analyze it to see if the video has been altered."

Jacob exclaimed, somewhat surprised, "You suspect this is a forgery?"

"Then how do you explain this?" Noah pointed to the surveillance footage and said, "The Incredible Hulk, wearing Harry Potter's Invisibility Cloak, holding a wand and shouting 'Firestorm!'!"

He paused for a moment: "Or was your surveillance video hacked beforehand, and the footage was altered during capture? Or did you obtain a fake video to commit insurance fraud? Which possibility do you think is more likely?"

He stood up, took the USB drive from the security guard, and put it in his pocket.

At 5 p.m., Noah returned to the police station.

He walked down the corridor, limping, and knocked on the door of the technical department.

"Pascal," he placed the USB drive on the head of the technical department's desk, "Could you please run this surveillance video for me and see if there are any signs of post-production editing, such as abnormal frame rates or pixel tampering?"

Pascal glanced up at him, then looked down again and continued looking at his screen.

"A major case?"

"no."

Are there any casualties?

"No," Noah said. "Property damage, it's covered by insurance."

"Then you'll probably have to wait a while," Pascal said dismissively, having completely lost interest.

"How long will it take?"

“A month? We have a ton of work scheduled right now,” Pascal said. “It’ll take at least a month.”

Noah stared at Pascal's profile for a few seconds, then slowly said, "Alright then, I suppose Gatorade is rich enough to wait a month."

“Yeah, they make so much money all day long,” Pascal handed Noah a bottle of LW drink. “Drink this, it’s much better than Gatorade.”

"I have some in my office too," Noah said.

He turned and left the technical department, brushing past another colleague from the department before he left.

"Pascal, you're still at get off work? That's perfect," a colleague said to Pascal, holding a laptop. "The deputy director's computer's been a bit slow lately."

"Let me see," Pascal immediately stood up, took the computer from his colleague, and said, "I'll take it to the deputy director when I'm done."

"No need, I'll go."

Listening to Pascal and his colleagues arguing about who should deliver the materials to the deputy director, Noah stepped back into his office, the Major Cases Assessment Team, amidst the commotion.

Noah sat back down in his seat and let out a satisfied groan.

Seeing that his other colleagues were all doing their own thing, Noah, feeling bored, picked up the file in front of him and started flipping through it.

As he flipped through the pages, he picked up the LW beverage issued by the office—which had now become his favorite—and took a sip.

"There has never been any false advertising," he muttered to himself, examining the label and slogan on the bottle. "If Li Wei comes to me for insurance fraud, I will definitely let him off the hook."

His colleague across from him scoffed at this and remained silent.

Noah shrugged indifferently and continued reading the file.

LW beverage did alleviate his phantom pain to some extent and also helped with his physical recovery. In any case, he accepted the favor.

The voice in my mind started calling out again.

"You're going to waste your time again, Noah."

"You haven't finished investigating the people at Onix United Construction yet, and you've already got another new case."

Aren't you curious?

"I'm curious, but I suspect this is a waste of time. Why are we doing this?"

Yes, why? Why do we need to do this?

"Why? Why do you have to do this?" Beatrice cursed angrily. "Do you know who I am? Do you know who we are?"

Inside Beatrice's upscale apartment somewhere on New York's Upper East Side.

Alistair was puffing on his cigarette as he watched Beatrice negotiate with one of the editors of the New York Times.

"Of course, Ms. Beatrice Mellon, we certainly know who you are," a female voice came from the other end of the phone, "but we have the right to freedom of the press and freedom of speech, and it is our freedom to choose what to report."

"Damn it, I won't allow you to report this!"

Before Beatrix could finish speaking, the other party hung up the phone, their attitude extremely firm.

"Fuck!" she swore, a rare occurrence for her. "Even the governor hasn't hung up on me!"

"Brilliant negotiation," Alistair said, taking a drag of his cigarette and looking at Beatrice with a dazed expression. "It's hard to imagine that your goal is to get that governor into the White House. Is this how people in politics communicate?"

"Shut up, Alistair," Beatrice said, walking to the window and opening it. "You'd better watch out so you don't get sucked to death in my living room!"

"What did Dad say?" Alistair took another drag of his cigarette and said slowly, "The New York Times is going to break the news on Monday. What does he plan to do?"

He glanced at the complicated chronograph watch on his wrist. "That means... the day after tomorrow."