Chapter 1135: Resolution, Plan, and Discussion

At this time, in this place, why didn't these people care if the accounts they were given were real or fake?

This was a core question that most people couldn't comprehend.

Even now, they were staring at Hiram and the others with hateful eyes, seemingly trying to burn their faces into memory.

As gang members, they were accustomed to this behavior. A momentary loss wouldn't teach them a lesson; they would remember the faces and seek revenge later.

Gang culture operated this way. Large-scale gunfights were rare; it was more common to secretly plot against specific individuals.

They didn't know that for them, there was no "later."

Perhaps only a very few people knew the truth. Fran could no longer maintain his composure. He cried out in desperate pleading, clasping his hands in front of his chest. "I beg you..."

Hiram glanced at him and shook his head. "This is why I dislike people smarter than me—they make you feel stupid, even when I felt quite clever a second ago."

He ignored Fran and looked at the men behind him. "Is everything loaded?"

The combat captain nodded. "Everything is loaded."

In fact, not only the items the passengers brought aboard but also the items they had on their persons had been searched.

The people who boarded the ship acted like low-level thieves and robbers in a movie, holding cloth sacks and demanding everyone place their wallets and valuables inside.

It was safe to say that aside from the ship itself, there was nothing left of value on board.

Hiram stood up. He looked at Major General Bruni's aide. "I need a moment to handle something. Wait for me."

Fran instantly stood up, ignoring the agonizing pain that threatened to tear his body apart. He forced his voice to a level Hiram could hear.

"I have a few more accounts. They total tens of millions of dollars. I just want my family!"

Hiram's subordinate repeated the statement loudly into his ear. Hiram looked amused. "First, you're too late."

"Second, we don't need them!"

He finished speaking, ignoring Fran's despair, and turned to Major General Bruni's aide. "Go back and wait for me for a bit..."

The aide nodded. The scene that was about to unfold might be somewhat... brutal, and he was uncomfortable with it.

"See you soon," he said, ignoring whether Hiram could hear him, and climbed down the rope ladder.

Just as Hiram turned to execute the order, Fran, driven by terror, rushed forward and tried to grab the pistol from Hiram's chest holster.

If he could secure the gun and take Hiram hostage, he and his family would have a chance to live. Otherwise, they were dead.

He knew clearly that these people had no intention of sparing them. The promise that surrendering the accounts would save them was a lie!

But he was an old man. He lacked the agility of his youth. Before he could even touch Hiram, he was punched to the ground.

Others on the deck looked over. Some, fueled by anger or hatred, loudly condemned Hiram from the crowd.

Since they had taken what they wanted, they shouldn't humiliate Fran further; he was just an old man!

Right.

Gangs are people too. They, too, can be old men. The speakers seemed to forget how much harm this old man had caused—how many people he had directly or indirectly killed. They forgot everything, remembering only that he was a helpless old man.

Hiram completely ignored the outcry. He walked up to the prostrate Fran, his cold, condescending eyes forcing Fran to look away after only a second.

What kind of eyes were those?

Fran couldn't describe them, but he felt that the moment Hiram looked at him, he was an animal in a slaughterhouse. The look in the man's eyes showed no respect for life!

He intended to kill him!

Under the intense, palpable threat of murder, Fran could only avert his gaze. He truly was just an ordinary old man now.

Hiram raised his pointed leather shoe and stomped on Fran's hand, grinding it hard. He noticed the growing anger and mild unrest in the crowd, and his eyes twitched slightly.

He took out a cigarette, lit it, and slowly exhaled the smoke into the air. "Get to work."

The gunmen positioned at high points immediately began firing into the crowd on the deck. The Ministry of Defense official, who had retreated to the gunboat, heard the gunfire and merely curled his lip. However, his attention was quickly drawn to the neatly arranged artwork being brought aboard.

"Damn it! Don't you know the sea breeze is corrosive?"

"Quick! Take this painting to my cabin!"

He frantically directed his trusted men to handle the wealth. As for the massacre happening nearby?

Who the hell cared?

Fran screamed in pain, but it changed nothing. Hiram smiled faintly, opening his arms as if embracing the moment of carnage.

When the very last person standing fell, the gunfire stopped. Hiram placed the cigarette in his mouth, pulled out a dagger, grabbed Fran's hair, and dragged him to the center of the deck.

The blood made the deck slippery. Stepping on it gave a brief sensation of squishiness, like stepping on... a thin layer of feces. It was fleeting but definitely noticeable.

And pulling his foot away was also noticeable. Unlike water, blood was viscous, creating a slight drag.

"Lance wants me to tell you that if you don't die, the souls of the brothers who died fighting your family will never find peace."

"Bob, and the rest of them, will soon join you!"

He said this, bit down on the cigarette butt, bent down, and under the strong sun, sliced Fran's neck with the dagger, severing his head and tossing it onto the pile of corpses.

Finished, he wiped the dagger on Fran's expensive clothes and sheathed it in his leather scabbard.

He then took a deep breath, turned, and strode away. "Job's done, brothers!"

As for whether anyone else was hiding on the ship, the answer was yes. Although it was a small cruise ship, it was large enough to conceal people who were determined to hide.

Hiram didn't intend to search for them. He didn't care what they were doing—thanking God for their miraculous escape, or plotting revenge.

The matter would be resolved soon enough.

After everyone retreated to the gunboat, Major General Bruni's aide smiled.

He didn't care how the politicians would divide the money, jewels, and artwork. He and his men had already secured their share.

The painting he stashed was worth about $100,000.

The others also received various pieces of jewelry and gold, worth at least a few thousand dollars each.

This was "found money," and they would get another cut later.

Dirty work was exhausting and risky, but the pay was excellent.

"Is it finished?" he asked.

Hiram's subordinate relayed the question. Hiram nodded. "It's finished."

Hiram's voice was loud. Because his hearing was damaged, he couldn't gauge the volume of his own voice.

And because he couldn't hear, his body instinctively assumed he was speaking softly, causing him to raise his voice unconsciously.

The official then spoke to the men behind him. The two main guns on the battleship turned and aimed at the cruise ship in the distance.

Some of the remaining people who had been hiding on the ship emerged, wondering what to do next.

Before they could even figure out how to raise the anchor, the ship violently shuddered, followed instantly by the roar of the cannons!

The cruise ship, not designed for war, immediately began to smoke, massive cracks appearing in its hull. It broke apart.

The second shot tore it in half. The two sections listed and began to sink separately.

Hiram, standing on the gunboat, looked longingly at the cannons. He decided he would fire a few rounds once his ears healed.

But not now.

The distance was immense, yet the blast still hurt his ears. Closer proximity would be even worse!

But he loved the destructive power. That was what a real man should play with.

He checked his watch. It was just after ten o'clock.

Three hours. The Perez family was completely annihilated.

Everyone following the "siege war" was stunned. This was an action that took everyone by surprise.

Clark McKaykin, the patriarch of the McKaykin family, sat with three other patriarchs, ostensibly having brunch.

In reality, they were following the battle in Old City and discussing the implications.

"I think... they needed a long time," Clark said, looking depressed. The others were mostly gloomy and listless.

Previous Federal crackdowns on gangs usually took months or even years to eliminate a large gang.

But this time, it happened too fast. They completely ignored the Federal judicial process.

"I hear... they decided to board the train first and buy the ticket later."

"They immediately contained everyone, arresting and killing."

"The ones who cooperated were spared; the ones who didn't were executed. What evidence did they need?"

"Even without hard evidence, they could coerce the survivors to fabricate evidence."

"This is not good."

Another family patriarch nodded. "Yes, this is terrible. If they do this to us, can we fight them?"

"They are using violence so arbitrarily. Their actions are more gangster-like than ours, and the only difference is they have a license, and we don't!"

Everyone was angry and terrified. If law enforcement institutionalized this method, it would be devastating for every gang in the Federation.

The oldest man there, about eighty years old, still refused to give up his power.

The old man, impeccably dressed, was not vulgar. He sat with his legs crossed, looking relatively healthy. "We must find a way to leak this to the media. The media and public opinion must pressure them."

"This must remain an exception, not a routine method."

"Furthermore, we need to watch Lance White and the FBI. I see clearly that they are our true enemies!"

The local police in the Five Families' cities were not their rivals. They were often more criminal than the gangs themselves, and they colluded with the gangs, making them friends.

But the FBI was different. Everyone knew the operation was spearheaded by the FBI, who reported directly to the Federal government.

Mayors, governors, and local legislatures had no authority over the FBI's operations. This was a vertical command structure, making them difficult to corrupt or infiltrate.

The news that Director Roland hated gangs and was the main proponent of de-gangsterization was spreading, putting all gangs on high alert against this rising law enforcement body.

The youngest patriarch of the Five Families, only thirty-two (middle-aged in the Federation, but still considered young), had just inherited power from his father. He looked at the older men and whispered, "Why don't we hire some gunmen and eliminate Roland?"

Clark coughed. "Have you considered this: Roland is Mr. Potter's man. If we eliminate Roland, Mr. Potter will take it as a personal insult."

"I can't imagine what a humiliated President might do!"

The young patriarch immediately asked, "Then what do you suggest?"

Clark was silent for a moment. "Next month is the Gang Council meeting. We will hold it in Golden Port City. We will talk to Lance White."

"Talk to him?" The young patriarch was confused. "Isn't he aligned with Roland and the Federal government?"

"I'm disgusted by what he's doing. I don't even know if he's a gang member!"

Clark shook his head. The young man's father suffered a stroke and lost his ability to work, forcing him to pass on power to his son.

The young man, having spent his life in leisure, was unsuited to be a gang leader. He was incompetent.

But no one criticized him. Everyone understood the process.

First, they must awaken, then become ambitious, and finally, a good leader.

The oldest man agreed with Clark. "Talking face-to-face with Lance is a good idea. He might not be fully aligned with the Federal government."

"Senator Cleveland is a Socialist. Mr. Potter is a Liberal. They have direct conflicts of interest."

"If Mr. Potter wins, the Congressional seats will be reorganized. I hear the Labor Party even won two seats, which means the entire power structure will be disrupted."

"The Liberals have resented the Socialists for a long time. They were suppressed when the Socialists were the majority party."

"The Liberal Party's voice in Congress will soon be louder. Those who oppose Senator Cleveland will challenge him."

"Lance is Senator Cleveland's man, so he cannot possibly be aligned with Mr. Potter and the FBI."

"Didn't your father tell you any of this?"

The young man—who was technically middle-aged, but mentally still young—looked embarrassed. "He has difficulty speaking now."

Thinking of his incapacitated father, he sighed. He lacked too many crucial details. He needed to go back and ask his father everything he knew.

He didn't even know which Senator his family was aligned with. That was terrible!

Another man, who hadn't spoken, added, "I wonder what Fran's situation is."

"I heard he fled."

"He was fast, but I wonder if he got away."

"Who knows?"

Their conversation quickly shifted from serious matters to light-hearted topics, such as whether developing in Slad was a good idea.

If possible, they might try to send people there first to establish a foothold before the situation domestically turned completely irreversible.

The "police catching robbers" scene had drawn the attention of the gangs and the Federal government.