Law America, the Devil's Agent

As Link and the White siblings celebrated their wonderful evening, the Philadelphia General Hospital, now shrouded in night, lost the hustle and bustle of the day.

In the corridor, the night shift nurse pushed a medicine cart through the empty corridor, the wheels making a soft rolling sound on the plastic floor.

Several young doctors and intern nurses were gathered at the nurses' station counter, surrounding Alan Morrison, the head of the psychology department.

Allen, wearing his ever-immaculately ironed white coat, was quietly answering questions from one of the interns.

A gentle smile played on his lips, as if he were answering a professional question about a patient's psychological assessment.

"Dr. Morrison, thank you so much. It's so kind of you to come over so late and take a look at this for us."

After the conversation, the interns seemed to have benefited greatly and were all full of gratitude.

"It's okay, it's what I should do."

Contact me anytime if you need anything.

Allen smiled and patted the young man on the shoulder.

His voice was soft and magnetic, with that relaxing tone characteristic of psychiatrists.

The crowd gradually dispersed and returned to their posts.

Allen watched the last intern's figure disappear around the corner of the corridor before the kind and gentle smile on his face slowly faded.

He stretched his stiff jaw joint, turned and walked into his office. A moment later, he opened the door, changed into casual clothes, and slowly walked deeper into the hospital.

I ran into a few more colleagues along the way.

He would nod slightly at everyone he met, his kind smile unchanged.

He has worked in the psychology department of Philadelphia General Hospital for so many years, and from the hospital board members to the cleaners, no one has ever spoken ill of him.

He has solid professional skills, is impeccable in his dealings with people, and never gets into conflicts with anyone.

It was this impeccable demeanor that made him the one "least likely to have any problems" in everyone's eyes.

He turned past the maternity ward, passed through a fire door, went down a flight of stairs, and came to a secluded corridor that he had walked through countless times.

There were no signs at the entrance to the conference room at the end of the corridor, only a broken wall lamp hanging forlornly.

He looked around to make sure no one was there, then pushed the door open and went inside.

The meeting room was dark, and even the curtains were drawn, making it seem as if the room was filled with still ink.

Only a few faint rays of moonlight peeked through the gaps in the curtains, barely outlining the silhouettes of two figures.

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A man and a woman sat on opposite sides of a long table.

He didn't react at all when Allen pushed the door open and entered; he just waited silently in the darkness.

Allen didn't greet them; he simply found his place in the darkness and slowly sat down.

In the darkness, there was a crisp metallic scraping sound, and a flame burst forth between Thomas's fingers.

The firelight briefly illuminated his well-maintained but taut face:

The head of the pharmacy at Philadelphia General Hospital was a key figure in a corruption network.

He brought the flame to his lips, lit the cigarette between his lips, and then slid the lighter across the table to the side.

Liya took the lighter. The logistics director's hand trembled slightly in the darkness, and it took him two tries to get a flame out.

The moment the firelight danced across her face, you could clearly see a layer of cold sweat beading on her forehead.

Finally, she pushed the lighter toward Allen. Allen didn't rush to light the cigarette; he simply placed the lighter and the cigarette pack side by side in front of him with two fingers.

There was silence for a moment.

"The Blood Hand Gang is gone."

Thomas broke the silence first.

"This morning, the DEA and the FDA jointly sealed off the entire northern region."

Our men attempted to approach the cordon but were stopped by federal agents.

Gerard's entire communication channels were cut off, and even the backup lines for his most trusted deputies were all down.

Some people heard bursts of gunfire; some said it was a gang fight, while others said it was a federal raid.

But whatever the reason, none of Gerard and his core members escaped; it seems the entire distribution network has been uprooted.

"Holland Quays has also gone missing."

Liya's voice carried an undisguised anxiety.

"It's been a few days."

His car was found in a ditch beside an abandoned road in an industrial area; the doors were deformed, the windows were shattered, and there was blood on the back seat.

But there was no one in the car, and they didn't take their phones with them.

There was no arrest record from the police station, and no admission record from the hospital emergency room.

He simply vanished into thin air.

Allen, with his hands resting on the table, listened to the two reports without saying a word, simply closing his eyes and thinking silently.

Silence descended once more.

It was deeper and colder than the last time.

The first crack finally appeared in Liya's voice:

"This is definitely not a coincidence."

The Blood Hand Gang has been wiped out, and Holland has disappeared...

All of these things happened in the same week.

This could not possibly be an accident.

This means someone is trying to spy on our hospital from the outside; they might already be watching us!

"Can you please stop being so neurotic!"

Thomas's voice suddenly rose a little, but he quickly lowered it again.

But his trembling lips betrayed him.

It wasn't that he wasn't afraid; he just wanted to shut Liya up, because every guess she made was something he feared most.

Just as their breathing became more rapid and their voices more frantic...

"Clang—"

Allen flicked the lighter.

A flame flickered between his fingers, briefly illuminating his face.

Unlike Thomas and Lydia, whose faces were covered in sweat and etched with anxiety.

In the firelight, Allen appeared both cold and indifferent.

That's enough.

He slowly exhaled a puff of smoke.

Smoke rose slowly in the moonlight before him, casting his face in a half-light, half-shadow.

"I already know about the Blood Hand incident. I heard it was done by the Drug Enforcement Administration in conjunction with the local South African gang."

This can be considered a normal joint operation.

It's all because those damned thugs were too flamboyant; they got targeted.

As for Holland, ha, I wish he were dead. Useless trash, utterly worthless.

Besides, even if the Bloodhand Gang is wiped out, even if Holland is really captured—

What can they possibly explain?

It was never us who were trading with Gerald, but this hospital.

The one who gave the orders to Holland was not us, but one of our subordinates.

We don't need to take this arrogant gang leader and this rogue, drug-addicted mule seriously.

He didn't know the pharmacy manager's signature process, the logistics department's export approval procedures, or how those numbers on the books were filled in.

They are all our tools, and troubles that we can discard at any time.

"If it's lost, it's lost."

He placed the cigarette on the edge of the ashtray, then gently placed the lighter on the table, making a crisp metallic clinking sound.

"Don't forget, the case we're focusing on now is about cleaning out the scum in our hospital."

Nathaniel Hawthorne!

In this hospital, weren't all the ugly and evil things he did?

Killing such scum is what we should do.

Hearing this, the other two, thinking of the inconclusive Nathaniel case, slowly breathed a sigh of relief.

"Furthermore, we also have O'Mill's legal team and the connections we've built up over the years in Philadelphia's political and business circles."

Even if someone investigates, they'll only find a few low-level operatives embedded in the system who instructed Holland and the greedy Gerard.

Hearing Allen's confident words of comfort...

Lia and Thomas slowly recovered from their tense expressions.

"More importantly,"

Allen removed the cigarette from his lips, smoke slowly escaping from his nostrils, and then added:

"We have people above us."

That gentleman—

You know who I'm talking about.

He will intervene if things really get to the worst point.

He won't let us fall.

So stop scaring yourself.

The two people opposite her didn't speak again, and Liya slowly loosened her fingers from her knees.

They whispered a few more words, exchanging the shady information they had gathered in recent days.

They also finalized the plan to tighten operations, the methods for emergency contact, and addressed a question that had been lingering in their minds:

"Should we inform O'Mill's legal team about these two matters?"

"This information should not be shared."

Our network is a top-secret operation, separate from the serial killer case, and must remain unknown to others, including O'Mill.

The group reached a consensus once again.

Then Thomas stood up first, pushed back his chair, and strode toward the door without looking back.

Liya followed closely behind, her footsteps fading into the distance outside the door.

The conference room fell into complete silence and darkness once again.

Allen sat alone at the long table, took out his cigarette case from the inside pocket of his suit, and lit the last cigarette.

The firelight illuminated his face and also a photograph that had appeared in his other hand at some unknown time.

The image quality is somewhat blurry, but it's enough to clearly see the angular Asian face in the center of the picture.

Link.

Could it be you?

He whispered into the darkness.

But no one answered.

Only the cigarette butt flickered in the darkness, like a spark about to go out but constantly being rekindled.