Chapter 1137: Rumors, Wavering Trust, and Death

For Roland, such a warning held no real threat. As the FBI Director, he was actually eager for those people to come to him.

It was past ten o'clock. Though he felt intensely sleepy after being woken up, he couldn't fall back asleep.

He sat there, smoked a cigarette, and coughed a few times, then finally got dressed.

He had a lot of work to do today.

He first checked on Bob. Bob and his key subordinates were being well cared for. All items that could pose a threat to their lives had been confiscated.

Roland would not allow them to die before their value was fully extracted.

While overseeing the processing of the cases, he started thinking about the phone call he received that morning, and he began to connect some "dots."

He frowned. Just then, someone approached his office, their expression one of nervous uncertainty.

"What is it?" he asked, seated at his desk.

The visitor was a senior Agent Supervisor and one of his confidantes.

The supervisor entered the office, closed the door, and sat down opposite the desk. "I was dealing with some work just now and heard some rumors."

Roland's attention was still on the phone call. He didn't immediately grasp the significance.

If it were just an ordinary or minor rumor, his subordinate wouldn't have come specifically to discuss it. "What rumors?"

The supervisor took a deep breath. "The locals are spreading a rumor that Bob confessed to many things, including his collusion with government officials."

"They also said..." He paused, observing Director Roland's reaction. "They also said that Mr. Potter is the mastermind behind this. He wants to seize control of this evidence, this compromising material, to force more people to support him."

"They are saying you are Mr. Potter's dog, that the biting is not your purpose, but Mr. Potter's purpose."

At this, Director Roland finally snapped back to reality. He leaped up, shouting "F***!" His eyes were wide as he glared at the supervisor, his chest heaving violently!

He was keenly aware of the damage these rumors would inflict on him and Mr. Potter!

Although he didn't view himself as Mr. Potter's dog, he needed Mr. Potter's support at this stage to establish his position in Federal politics.

If Mr. Potter won, he would gain privileges granted by the Presidential Office, giving him the leverage to confront Congress until Mr. Potter left office.

Eight years was enough time for him to gather the secrets and vulnerabilities of many high-ranking officials in Congress and Federal politics. Once the new President took office, he could pivot, relying on Congress to maintain the FBI's independence, if not directly confronting the Presidential Office.

He wanted to hold this position for a long time. Perhaps one day, he might even become the President of the Federation.

Being just the FBI Director, even with expanded authority, couldn't change this dark world.

Only by becoming the Federal President could sunlight truly shine on the land!

Regardless of how grand his future plans were, they all started small.

If his relationship with Mr. Potter became strained, or if Mr. Potter felt he wasn't beneficial to the campaign and future work, Roland would quickly be purged.

He hadn't secured his position yet. He didn't have the authority to say "no" to the truly powerful figures!

He paced back and forth, his face grim. Any mishandling of this would turn into a political disaster—his disaster!

"Can you find out where this news originated?" He stopped, looking at his supervisor.

The supervisor stuttered, looking nervous, as Roland was visibly agitated. "I asked. Our local agent said it's being spread by local people. He dismissed it as ordinary gossip and didn't investigate further."

"F***!" Roland cursed again. "This is a lack of initiative and responsibility! How could he just dismiss something so serious?"

"Immediately deploy people to investigate. Find the source!"

"Now!"

In his mind, Roland already had a vague suspicion. If there was a faction that would benefit most from this smear campaign, it was undoubtedly the Socialist Party.

As a man who considered himself clever, he knew that if he alienated Mr. Potter and the Liberal Party, he would lose his only backing.

The Socialist Party, people like Lance and Senator Cleveland, would eliminate him easily.

He had to stabilize his base.

He immediately sat down and picked up the phone, dialing Mr. Potter's number.

The call was answered, but not by Mr. Potter. It was his aide, who explained Mr. Potter was in the restroom.

He didn't know when Mr. Potter would return, which meant Roland had to wait.

This made Roland reluctant to hang up. He had to report the matter to Mr. Potter immediately to prevent any unpleasant misunderstandings.

Meanwhile, two men in FBI uniforms walked through the entrance. Many FBI agents from other regions had arrived for the Old City operation, making personnel management chaotic.

As long as they wore uniforms and had ID, the security agents rarely questioned them, assuming they were part of the deployment.

This was a rare opportunity for everyone to meet and network.

The two disguised agents boldly walked into the FBI branch office.

They quickly reached the floor where Bob was held. They saw the barred window of his room.

However, an agent was guarding the door, suggesting they couldn't enter without Director Roland's permission.

The two weren't deterred. One went to look for another opportunity to enter the room, while the other headed to the break room.

The break room was crowded. Few people knew each other, so everyone was overly polite.

The tall, disguised agent patiently waited in line for the coffee machine, carrying a tray and two cups.

When he reached the machine, he made two coffees and picked up two sandwiches.

"Haven't you had breakfast?" The staff member providing the coffee and food asked curiously. It was almost noon.

Coffee was understandable; the work was taxing, and they needed a stimulant.

But sandwiches? Was it too late for breakfast?

"Is that your lunch?"

"Would you like me to give you two cans of corned beef as well?"

The Federation produced massive amounts of canned goods during the war. Many factories still had stock, but the contracts required the goods to be issued as welfare.

They would rather give away goods they didn't need than cancel the orders.

Why should goods that were consumed be returned?

The tall, disguised agent smiled and declined. "Just a quick bite. We'll go out for lunch later. Thank you."

He took the coffee and food into a fire escape stairwell. When no one was looking, he quickly poured some powder into the two cups of coffee and stirred them.

The tasteless, colorless compound dissolved instantly.

Lance's initial plan was to have the Chief eliminate Bob, but that was impossible now that Bob was in FBI custody.

He had discussed it with the Chief, who was no longer obsessed with personal revenge.

Since the Chief wasn't demanding revenge, Lance needed to ensure Bob died to prevent the rumors from dying out.

The relationship between him and Roland was based on the premise that Roland would act decisively.

The disguised agent walked to Bob's door. "They said they would come to interrogate Bob later. I'm here to drop off food and drink. They said it might take a long time."

The guard looked at the agent and the food.

He reached out. The coffee was hot. He checked the food. Nothing seemed amiss. His expression relaxed. "The coffee here is good. I have to say, they spend money wisely!"

He smiled. "You can take it in, but don't talk to the prisoner. Not one word. I'll be watching you!"

The disguised agent's composure was excellent. He smiled and nodded. "I know the rules!"

"Good!" The guard moved aside, revealing the lock. He quickly unlocked the door, then stood guard by the entrance.

The disguised agent placed the tray on the table without a word and left.

Bob had a terrible night. Fear and anxiety kept him from sleeping much. He had no breakfast because no one was authorized to serve him.

The sight of the coffee and food changed his expression.

He needed to survive. He was ready to cooperate with the FBI or anyone to give them the information they needed.

The disguised agent left without any unnecessary movement.

The guard closed the door. "They'll be back to talk to you soon. If I were you, I'd eat up first!"

The agent who delivered the food was gone.

Inside the room, Bob quickly ate the sandwich, his intense desire to survive overriding everything else. He choked slightly and immediately drank the coffee to wash it down.

The food and water filled his stomach, giving him a false sense of security. But then, he started to feel unwell.

His throat felt constricted, as if an invisible hand was choking him.

He couldn't breathe. He struggled to suck in a thread of air.

He tried to stand up to call for help, unaware that he had been poisoned, but his body had completely lost strength.

He collapsed onto the table, trying desperately to move, but failing. He quickly lost consciousness.

From the moment he drank the coffee to his death, only three to four minutes passed.

The guard outside glanced in a few minutes later. Seeing Bob slumped on the table, seemingly "asleep," he didn't worry. He turned back to chat with his colleague.

It was normal to take a nap after eating.

Meanwhile, Director Roland had finally connected with Mr. Potter. Mr. Potter, wiping his hands, returned to his desk, looking surprised at the phone.

"It's Roland."

Mr. Potter sat down, cleaning his trousers. He checked his fly to ensure no lipstick stains remained, then relaxed.

He picked up the phone. "This is Potter. What is it?"

"Thank heavens, Mr. Potter, you finally answered!"

Hearing Roland's slightly panicked voice, Mr. Potter was confused. "Has something bad happened?"

"You could say that!" Roland made no effort to conceal the truth, recounting the events of the past few days, including the shocking news he had just received.

After hearing the entire narrative, Mr. Potter paused. "I believe what you're saying is true. This might be a conspiracy by our enemies to sow distrust between us."

"Roland, I trust you, but these rumors are troublesome. I have a suggestion."

Roland immediately agreed. "Tell me."

"We will put Bob on a car, heavily guarded, and bring him here to the New Golden City. We'll arrange for people here to interrogate him. We need to involve... people who might be mentioned in the rumors, ensuring they understand the rumors are false and what the real purpose is."

In reality, this was still a sign of distrust, though couched in polite political language.

Roland was relieved. He had been so focused on securing Bob that he hadn't considered the political fallout.

"I will arrange it immediately!"

This was a mandatory task. His face was grim. The rumors weren't entirely false; he had extracted crucial information: the Perez family's ties to influential figures, and the annual cash transfer.

If Bob spoke out, Roland would be exposed. He had to speak with Bob first to ensure his silence.

This was critical. He abandoned all other work and rushed to the interrogation room.

He looked at the guard and ordered, "Open the door."

Before the guard could unlock the door, Roland looked through the small window and saw Bob slumped on the table, seemingly "sleeping." He saw the tray with two cups and a sandwich.

"Did you deliver food to him?" Roland was clearly unhappy. He had ordered no one to enter the room without his permission.

The guard who was unlocking the door paused. "Someone said you ordered food and coffee for him, saying he would be interrogated shortly..."

Roland's face twisted with fury. He shoved the guard aside, threw the door open, and rushed to Bob. He grabbed his hair and yanked his head back.

He saw Bob's face was flushed, his eyes closed. White foam gathered at the corners of his mouth. He looked eerily calm.

The moment Roland pressed his finger against Bob's carotid artery, he snapped his head back to the guard. "Secure the perimeter! No one leaves this station!"

"And you! Go find the person who delivered that food!"

"Now!"