Law America, the Devil's Agent

The car drove through downtown Philadelphia and turned into a cluster of detached buildings on the edge of an industrial area in the North Side.

This is the base of AnDun Security Company.

Link followed Daniel through the company lobby.

The lobby's decor is practical and minimalist, with no unnecessary embellishments.

Occasionally, you can see a few people in uniform working in the offices on both sides of the corridor, but without exception, they are all veterans.

They have close ties with local veterans.

Link made a mental mark.

The core personnel of AnDun Security Company and the Soldiers Association largely overlap, which explains why Klaus is one of the leaders of both.

Come to think of it.

These types of security companies are inherently geographically focused in the United States.

They either have federal-level contractor qualifications or have intricate relationships with local law enforcement systems.

But no matter which point you take, one fact remains undeniable:

The veterans group naturally leans towards conservatism in politics and is the core vote bank of the Ironclad Red Camp.

But Philadelphia is blue.

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These red-background veterans and veterans associations have never been a popular force in the blue Philadelphia local ecosystem.

Link could already vaguely smell the gunpowder.

Daniel did not bring him into the meeting room.

Instead, they walked through the corridor and through a series of security doors that required access cards to open.

As the last door opened, a series of crisp and rapid sounds rushed towards us.

range.

The exhaust fans on the ceiling hummed, and a dozen firing straits were lined up in a row.

Klaus, whom I saw during the day, was standing on the third lane.

He had already emptied a magazine and was looking at his score.

When the door opened, he took off his earmuffs and turned to look at the doorway.

"They're here."

His voice was casual, then he raised the gun in his hand with interest and gestured with his chin towards Link:

"Do you know how to play?"

Link looked at the gun, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"Give it a try."

He stepped forward and took the pistol that Klaus handed him.

Glock 19.

He weighed it in his hand, then naturally closed his fingers, wedging his thumb and forefinger into the groove of the bow handle.

Then, something awakened within him.

[Firearms Shooting - Expert Level]

He put on his earmuffs and raised his gun.

The movements were neither hurried nor slow.

Position yourself, breathe, aim.

"boom--"

First shot. The target is a 10-ring slightly to the upper right, and a 9-ring.

He slightly adjusted the angle of his wrist.

The second shot, the third shot, the fourth shot...

Until the last shot was fired, he turned the muzzle down, removed the magazine, and pulled back the slide to check the chamber.

The whole set of actions flows smoothly.

"Fifteen shots, one hundred and thirty-two rings. Two sets of ten rings, nine sets of nine rings, and four sets of eight rings. The spread diameter is four inches."

The target reporter's voice came through the loudspeaker.

Daniel whistled.

Several veterans who were organizing their equipment nearby stopped what they were doing and looked over.

A lawyer who wears a bespoke suit and looks very refined actually has this level of expertise.

Klaus looked at Link.

"You served in the military?"

"No. I was interested in shooting in college and practiced for a while."

Link put the gun away and made up a reason on the spot.

"Just a hobby?"

Klaus raised an eyebrow:

"That's very talented. But I didn't see your gun."

"Not yet. We're still in the queue for gun licenses."

Klaus waved his hand.

"A gun license? No big deal."

I have connections at the city hall and the police station; I'll arrange things for you and get through as quickly as possible.

"Thank you very much then." Link nodded with a smile.

Who says America lacks social skills? That's because you haven't reached the level where you can talk about social skills.

What others painstakingly wait in line for is simply a matter of a single word from someone else.

Klaus took a pistol from the gun rack next to him and handed it to Link.

The gun is jet black and very well maintained.

"A gift to mark our meeting."

He said, "A Glock 17, a custom-made version. In recognition of your courage to come here."

"Thank you, Mr. Klaus."

"To be honest, I was already prepared for you not to come."

Klaus leaned against the shooting platform, his arms crossed over his chest:

"Your superiors—the senior partners in your law firm—are all hesitant to take on this matter."

It's understandable that you didn't come.

Link looked up at him.

"They are them, and I am me."

He closed the lid of the gun case:

"Although I don't yet know the difficulty of the case, I do know—"

Even with a 99% chance of failure, there's still a 1% chance of success, isn't there?

Klaus finally smiled.

"Are you very confident?"

Link responded with a smile:

"It's just confidence in my own abilities."

I imagine you don't want to hear any of that office chit-chat, so let's get straight to the point.

"very good."

Link, carrying the gun case, followed Klaus and the others to a small conference room.

Link sat down, and Klaus sat down in the chair opposite him, pulled a brown paper file folder from the pile of documents on the table, and pushed it in front of Link.

"Let's take a look first."

Link opened the file folder and took out the documents inside.

The first page is a photocopy of a missing person notice; the paper is yellowed and the edges are frayed.

It has a baby photo printed on it, and the date of the photo is marked as eighteen years ago.

Below the photo is a bold headline: $100,000 reward for information leading to the disappearance of baby girl Ella Winthrop.

He turned to the next page. A private investigator's report, dated three months prior.

The report included a recently taken photo:

A young white woman stands in front of the porch of a dilapidated row house, holding a mixed-race baby in her arms.

Her facial features bore a striking resemblance to the baby photo on that yellowed missing person notice.

The next page contains blood type matching records and DNA paternity test reports from Philadelphia Presbyterian Hospital.

The conclusion of the identification stated: "The match rate is highly consistent, and the identification confirms a parent-child relationship."

He looked up after reading the documents.

"Winthrop?"

"You haven't heard of this surname before?"

"A manager next to Klaus said."

The executive director of Eric Anton began to explain:

"A family in the Philadelphia shipping industry, which made its fortune in the 19th century through port business on the Delaware River."

Half of the infrastructure land used by the Port Authority of Philadelphia is linked to the Winthrop family's trust fund.

Eric adjusted his glasses.

Eighteen years ago, Ella, the daughter of the Winthrop family, disappeared from her own mansion.

She was only eight months old at the time.

The case caused quite a stir, and eventually the suspect was identified:

The Winthrop family's nanny, a Black maid named Loretta.

They found the Winthrop family's missing money in Loretta's apartment, but the children weren't there.

"She sold the child before she was found."

"Yes, she sold the child to a couple living in North Philadelphia. But she can't give the exact address."

Because both parties to the transaction kept it completely confidential.

Police searched the northern district based on this lead, but found nothing. The child has been missing ever since.

"But the Winthrop family did not give up."

Eric turned to the next page, which contained a thick stack of records:

"They've been searching. But real progress came three years ago:"

They began funding projects through their family foundation to expand newborn blood type databases at major hospitals in Philadelphia.

Everyone gets sick eventually and needs to go to the hospital.

Link thought for a moment, then immediately realized:

"Blood type records? Comparison for kinship identification?"

"That's right, a person's blood type will be recorded as soon as they enter the hospital."

Eric nodded: "A female patient was matched in the Presbyterian Hospital's blood type database."

Nineteen years old, white, blood type O, Rh negative.

It matches the missing Ella perfectly.

DNA testing confirmed her identity. Her name is now Nancy Washington.

"Washington?"

She got married.

She married her husband, Desean Washington, a Black man, who was one of the leaders of a gang in the North Side.

They have a child, a two-year-old mixed-race boy.

There was a moment of silence in the conference room. Link put the report back on the table and leaned back in his chair.

He tapped his fingers lightly twice on the table.

"so,"

He said, "The Winthrop heiress, a daughter of an old money family, was sold to a black family in the North Side, grew up to marry a gang member, and had children."

Now the Winthrop family wants to bring her back.