You're a US police officer, what are you thinking about going back to the East for?

Lyon's morning break was not interrupted by any sudden Hollywood-style assassination or explosion.

all the best.

Mia left before Lily returned.

As for Lily, she quickly bought the clothes and returned.

It was a dark gray casual jacket paired with jeans, and the size was surprisingly perfect.

After changing his clothes, Leon looked at himself in the mirror and had to admit that the girl had good taste; she looked much better than his own tactical outfit.

"See you next time, great hero."

Lily straightened his collar. Although she was a little reluctant, she knew that Leon's current status was special, so she didn't pester him too much.

With a glimmer of hope in her eyes, she made an appointment with Leon to meet again next time, gave him a few words of advice such as "take care of your wound," and then very sensibly went upstairs to see her old man who was still whimpering.

……

As I stepped out of Harborview Medical Center, the rain had stopped, but the sky over Seattle remained overcast, and the air was filled with the damp smell of earth.

Lyon took a deep breath and felt alive again.

Although there was still gauze on my side, the feeling of weakness had completely disappeared.

He pulled out his phone, opened his contacts, hovered his finger over a number labeled "Sugar Daddy/Troublesome Woman" for a second, then typed an extremely shameless message and sent it:

Leon: [Dear Chief, your top lieutenant has been fully recovered and discharged from the hospital.]

Also: Given that I am now Seattle's top hero, I feel that the apartment I live in now, where rats might have a party at any time, is not quite in line with my status.

In order to better serve you in the future, I think I need to move to a bigger house.

Ideally, it should be close to the police station, have a high safety factor, and include a jacuzzi and floor-to-ceiling windows.

Will the bureau reimburse this expense?

After sending the message, he also added a "waiting obediently" emoji.

The moment the message was sent, the status bar at the top of the screen instantly changed to "The other party is typing...".

Leon leaned against a pillar at the hospital entrance, staring intently at the screen.

The message "The other party is typing..." remained for a long time.

It lasted a full minute.

Lyon could even picture Sterling on the other end of the phone, wearing a silk robe or drinking coffee at his desk, looking at the message with a constipated expression—a face full of grimaces, wanting to curse but trying to maintain his elegance. He would type a bunch of insults on the screen, then delete them, then type them again, and delete them again.

At last.

"Ding-dong."

Sterling sent only a very concise string of characters:

Sterling: [...]

You can feel the speechlessness even through the screen.

Immediately following, a second message arrived, reverting to that cold, businesslike tone:

Sterling: [Since you're not dead, you'd better keep your skin on.]

The mayor's office called. Mayor Reynolds wants to meet with you, mainly for a press conference in two days.

Your current image belongs not only to you, but also to Seattle.

I will inform you of the specific time later. Before then, do not wander around or give interviews to any random tabloids.

Sterling: [Also, there's an annual charity gala at the West Precinct next Friday night.]

It was held to raise funds for the police foundation, and the main donors would be present.

As a hero of this operation and the face of the branch office, you must be present.

Remember to wear formal attire; don't embarrass me by dressing like a homeless person.

Charity Gala?

Lyon raised an eyebrow.

Such occasions typically mean expensive champagne, unpalatable caviar, insincere social niceties, and countless sugar daddies and socialites eager to attach themselves to him.

It sounds like a great opportunity to expand your network or make money.

Lyon: [Roger that. But, me going alone? That's no fun. Where are my ACU buddies?]

Sterling: [?]

Sterling: [ACU? Are you sure? That was a charity gala, not a strip club.]

Vance, do you really want your foul-mouthed, murderous, and alcohol-loving henchmen, dressed in ill-fitting suits, to scare those wealthy ladies and bankers with champagne cups?

Leon smiled and quickly typed:

Lyon: That won't do.

This achievement was earned with our lives. If I were the only one enjoying the good life, it would be difficult to lead the team.

Reserve a table for them, even just in a corner. Let them broaden their horizons and experience the warmth of high society.

Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on them and make sure they don't pull out guns or spit on the ground.

If you're not taking them... then I won't go either; my wound is still a bit sore.

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the chat window.

About ten seconds later, the reply finally arrived:

Sterling: Okay. I can reserve a table for them.

But listen to me, Lyon. If they pull anything out of line at the dinner party, like shoving someone's head into a cake, or harassing one of the sponsors' daughters… I'll twist your head off and use it as a football.

Leon chuckled and then gave an "OK" sign in return.

This kind of threat, which is impossible to carry out, is nothing more than a harmless joke to him. On the contrary, it would be worth paying attention to if Sterling said he would deduct his subordinates' overtime pay.

Immediately afterwards, Sterling sent a few more messages, followed by an electronic business card.

Sterling: [Also, Officer Vance. I'm the precinct chief, I'm really busy. Especially now, dealing with the mayor and those damn media.]

Sterling: [Don't keep bothering me with trivial things like housing allowances, overtime pay applications, and equipment reimbursements.]

Sterling: [Raymond Garcia, Executive Inspector. He's one of my men, in charge of the department's administrative tasks and accounts.]

For minor things like needing money or cleaning up messes, just go to him. He'll take care of it.

[Business card sent: Raymond Garcia (Administrative Police Inspector)]

Now, go and rest.

Raymond Garcia?

Leon whistled as he looked at the profile picture of the slightly chubby, amiable-looking man wearing black-rimmed glasses on the business card.

Butler? Or black gloves?

It seems Sterling has given himself another back door.

With this person around, it will be much easier to skim off the top, get reimbursed, and launder some shady money in the future.

Then, he dialed the number on the business card.

"Beep...beep...beep..."

No one answered.

Hang up and dial again.

"Beep...beep..."

Still no one answered.

Lyon raised an eyebrow. Interesting. The guy Sterling sent has quite the airs, doesn't he?

He stubbornly dialed a third time.

The call rang seven or eight times, and just as Lyon was about to hang up, it was finally answered.