American Medicine: I survived the death knell thanks to the devil.

Chapter 95 The Speaker's Political Enemy (4K long chapter, extra chapter for the Alliance Leader's name which can be twelve characters long)

Lynn walked into the open kitchen and turned on the tap.

"FBI."

He squeezed out a pump of hand sanitizer and slowly rubbed his hands together.

"Remember Emily? The nurse who trafficked organs."

"The detective in charge of that case owes me a favor. He was the one who stepped in and smoothed things over at the gym last time."

The sound of rushing water masked the cracks in the lie.

Lynn deliberately invoked the endorsement of the FBI.

Half true, half false.

He needs Victoria to remain in awe.

This official identity was also needed to completely isolate her from the underground criminal network in the South Bronx.

The less you know, the safer you are.

Victoria leaned back on the sofa, quietly watching Lynn's retreating figure.

Having spent years mingling in high society circles, she was accustomed to the exchange of power for money.

She could tell, of course, that Lynn was holding back in her words.

How could an ordinary resident physician possibly treat an FBI agent as a personal bodyguard available at any time?

This man is hiding a big secret.

But so what?

He effectively eliminated the threat to himself.

In this cannibalistic New York, there are people willing to protect you.

At this point, trying to uncover the cards in one's hand is the most foolish thing to do.

Lynn pulled out a tissue to dry her hands.

I turned around and leaned against the marble bar.

"The person who was following you before isn't as simple as they seem."

The crumpled paper was precisely tossed into the trash can.

"A retired police detective who received professional counter-surveillance training."

Victoria's breathing became rapid.

"Someone spent a lot of money to hire a professional hunting dog to dig up your secrets."

Lynn stared into her eyes.

"Think carefully, who exactly have you offended?"

To save on heating costs, the apartment was already quite cold, and now it seems even colder.

Victoria's face gradually lost its color.

A woman's face uncontrollably surfaced in my mind.

She's in her early fifties and takes good care of herself.

She married into a wealthy family through cunning means, and after her husband's death, she quickly took over his enormous fortune, becoming one of the richest women in the United States.

A disgusting, extremely hypocritical control freak.

What disgusted Victoria even more was...

This woman is never short of young and beautiful men, enjoying the power of having an entire "harem".

Yet she obsessively demands that every prey treat her as the absolute and only "king".

A memory resurfaced.

A little over a month ago, she had just finished her first video shoot with Lynn and walked out of the apartment door.

A rich aroma wafted over.

On the marble table in the foyer, there was a bunch of expensive roses with a warm, apricot-like color.

A gold-embossed card was placed next to the bouquet, bearing the family crest in floral script.

That was the Vanderbilt estate badge that woman had just bought for a fortune.

It was purely to satisfy her twisted desire to play the role of an aristocrat.

The handwriting on the card was extremely arrogant.

"Victoria, stop struggling. Be my personal physician, and Vanderbilt Estate will still be yours."

Victoria felt a wave of nausea and vomiting in her stomach.

It's like someone trying hard to prove they can earn money standing up, only to have a wad of cash suddenly thrown in their face.

She roughly grabbed the bouquet of flowers, intending to throw it in the trash can, but in a fit of pique, she shoved it into Lynn's arms.

Compared to that old woman.

The fact that Lynn, who was strong-willed but genuinely trying to help him, made him feel incredibly reassured.

Evelyn.

Victoria gritted her teeth and uttered the name, her face full of disgust.

"A crazy woman in her fifties."

"Moreover—she has officially entered politics and is preparing to run for the next New York City Council Speaker."

Running for speaker?

Lynn's mind instantly flashed to the box of top-quality Cuban cigars worth 1,300 US dollars in his hand.

And Dawson, the current Speaker whom he pulled back from the brink of death and who personally promised to "owe you one time."

Evelyn wants to run for speaker.

That was Dawson's political enemy.

The underground web of the South Bronx, the power game on Manhattan's Upper East Side.

Two seemingly unrelated puzzle pieces fit together perfectly at this moment.

A very clear chain of interests took shape in Lynn's mind.

Grant, the current Speaker Dawson's chief of staff, opened the door to the South Bronx's underground medical network for him.

Grant's introduction of Arjun led to a real boom in his illegal clinic business.

If we can follow Victoria's lead and uncover substantial dirt on Evelyn.

Then hand this chip over to Dawson —

one stone two bird.

Dawson gained the ammunition to eliminate his political enemies and a larger protective umbrella for himself.

Compared to FBI agent Miller, who could turn on them at any moment, this is a much more sophisticated and less reliable strategy.

Dawson is the only truly reliable backer.

A politician who controls the legislative power in New York City can shield himself from troubles on a completely different level.

This would completely restrain Evelyn and eliminate any future trouble for Victoria.

This would also make Dawson owe him an immeasurable political favor.

Lynn snapped out of her reverie and looked at Victoria's pale face.

"She won't dare to touch you again in the short term."

"The FBI has taken over the person who was tracking you."

"The other party is a retired police detective and a licensed private investigator. Federal agents are very interested in this type of case, which involves suspected illegal surveillance and cyber intimidation, falling under federal jurisdiction."

Lynn's words were half true and half false.

But fear doesn't lie.

Victoria raised her head, her throat bobbing slightly.

"Evelyn has a long reach; she's influential in both the political and business circles of New York—"

"Even the longest hand wouldn't dare reach out in front of the FBI," Lynn interrupted her.

"She's preparing for her election campaign, and the thing she hates most is scandal."

"Hiring someone to stalk a young female doctor? If this news breaks, her political career will be over immediately."

Victoria's slightly disordered breathing gradually returned to normal.

Lynn added at the end, "If anything seems amiss, contact me immediately."

"it is good."

She heard herself say that.

Then he paused for a moment.

it is good?

Just one word, uttered without hesitation.

Victoria Vanderbilt.

A graduate of Harvard Medical School, he is the second youngest attending physician in the Department of Orthopedics at Metropolitan Hospital.

The Vanderbilt family had long since fallen into decline, which made her independent and proud, refusing to rely on anyone.

He lost his father at the age of eighteen, and his mother was an alcoholic.

The inheritance was completely devoured by debt.

She completed medical school on a full scholarship and gradually established herself in New York with her scalpel.

Over the years, she has gotten used to shouldering everything on her own.

Even with Evelyn's disgusting harassment, she only thought of dealing with it herself.

But at that moment, she said "okay" to a man.

A resident physician who was younger than her, less experienced, and theoretically her subordinate.

The name Evelyn once weighed heavily on her chest like a boulder.

It represents the absolute crushing power of capital and authority.

But now, looking at Lynn in front of her, at his broad shoulders and cold, hard expression, she realized that he was a different person.

The boulder miraculously loosened.

An unprecedented sense of security enveloped her.

She never imagined that one day she would so naturally seek refuge from a man.

Is this the most primal biological difference between men and women?

When a truly deadly danger arrives.

The vulnerability that women inherently possess—the desire to be protected and to hide behind a strong shield—cannot be suppressed by reason alone.

She lowered her eyes, avoiding Lynn's gaze.

His fingers unconsciously rubbed the edge of the sofa.

Lynn took in her reaction.

He did not push his luck.

Taming a proud cheetah requires patience.

Even if the other person has already revealed their soft belly, rushing things will backfire.

Get some rest.

Lynn picked up her coat, turned around decisively, and headed for the door.

Leaving the apartment, Lynn walked to the subway station two blocks away.

The New York subway in the early morning has a musty smell of old, rusty metal.

The platform was deserted.

Even before getting on the bus, Lynn could already smell the pervasive stench of urine.

It had a nauseating, leafy smell.

He leaned against the cold, tiled wall and dialed Cassie's number.

"Have your hacker friend help me find someone."

"The perverted stalker we helped find last time is actually a detective."

Ten minutes later.

An empty train screeched to a halt in front of us.

Lynn entered the carriage and found a corner to sit down.

The phone screen lights up.

Cassie sent a string of encrypted virtual numbers.

Lynn's fingers flew across the screen.

A piece of text was sent out via an anonymous server on the Onion Router.

A budget motel on the outskirts of Flushing, Queens.

The room was filled with the musty smell of old carpet.

Dennis Kowalski sat on the edge of the bed.

-

He was holding a job application form for a night security guard position at the Brooklyn Cemetery.

He had lost a lot of weight, his eyes were sunken, and his hair was messy.

The spirit and energy of that tough detective have been completely drained.

Two days ago, several of his old comrades from the police station finally found him.

Seeing his withered and lifeless appearance, I asked him with concern if he needed to contact a psychologist.

It is suspected that his PTSD from his undercover period has fully erupted.

Kowalski kicked them all out.

The psychologist couldn't cure his illness.

Only he himself knew that it had nothing to do with his undercover experience.

It was a deep-seated, purely physiological fear of a demon in a white coat.

He couldn't even remember the exact facial features of the young Asian doctor anymore.

All that remains in my memory is the strong smell of chlorhexidine disinfectant.

And those long, steady hands, like precision instruments.

"Clatter".

The ballpoint pen slipped from his hand and fell onto the carpet.

Kowalski's left hand began to tremble uncontrollably again.

Phantom pain.

The tearing sensation of the periosteum being forcibly peeled away by the fingertips along the fascial spaces.

Explosive ischemia caused by Cooley clamping an artery.

Like a persistent carbuncle, it attacks his nervous system without warning every day.

He was panting heavily, pressing his right hand firmly against his convulsing left arm.

Large beads of cold sweat appeared on his forehead.

All he wants now is to find a secluded place and quietly work as a security guard.

To spend the rest of one's life hiding in a dark corner like a rat.

Stay away from all investigations, the dark web, and employers.

Stay away from that demon.

"Om one"

A very short, sharp vibration echoed in the silent room.

Kowalski froze, his breath caught in his throat.

The sound came from the bedside table.

There was an old Nokia candybar phone there.

He bought this three hours earlier, wearing a baseball cap and a mask, with cash at a Latino grocery store three blocks away.

Anonymous space card.

I didn't connect to any Wi-Fi network, and I didn't bind any identity information.

This number is probably only known to him and the shop owner in the world.

Kowalski turned his head extremely slowly, like a rusty machine.

The screen glowed with a faint white light.

An unread text message.

He swallowed hard, stretched out his right hand with difficulty, and pressed the view button.

The sender is a string of gibberish.

The message contained only two lines:

Has the 0.5 cm suture been removed?

[Your employer on the dark web is Evelyn, the most famous Evelyn. I need your cooperation for something. Wait for my instructions.]

"Clang!"

The phone was smashed directly from his hand onto the floor.

Kowalski sprang from the edge of the bed as if electrocuted, his back slamming heavily against the wall.

Extreme fear instantly pierced his heart.

It felt as if an extremely fine needle had pierced the ulnar groove of my left arm once again.

Intense phantom pain overwhelmed him like a tsunami.

He found me.

He can find me anytime!

What sent chills down Kowalski's spine and made his soul tremble was the content of the second line.

Evelyn.

That super-rich tycoon who has consistently topped the Forbes list of wealthiest women and is currently running for Speaker of the New York City Council!

He was a veteran counterterrorism investigator for 21 years.

The funds were laundered through triple dark web mixers and used IP addresses from seven sovereign nations.

There was absolutely no trace of the employer.

But that devilish doctor.

In less than two days, they uprooted this powerful figure who was hiding deep inside!

This is not an ordinary doctor at all.

This is a monster with a God's-eye view!

Kowalski slid down onto the carpet.

His eyes were fixed on the cell phone with its screen lit up on the floor.

He has to reply.

He had to immediately demonstrate his absolute obedience to that demon.

Otherwise, that cold Cooley hemostat could clamp his artery again at any moment.

He desperately tried to reach out and pick up his phone.

His ten fingers were cramped and bent like chicken claws.

His entire torso was shaking violently, and he couldn't move an inch.

He opened his mouth, and a hissing sound came from his throat.

Tears and snot uncontrollably covered his entire face.

In this secluded, cheap hotel.

This is a former veteran detective who once withstood interrogation with a Jamaican gang's electric drill.

They could only curl up in the corner in despair.

He allowed the boundless fear to slowly devour him.