Chapter 1141: A Race Against Time

From trying to hold out to finally compromising, everyone goes through a process, and this process isn't very long.

The moment the thought of giving up sprouts in their mind, even if it's just an accidental, passing thought, the ending of the story is already set in stone.

The guard knew the FBI's work process very well and understood that it was a privileged agency.

It wasn't quite the same as other law enforcement agencies like the police department, the Hazardous Materials Management Bureau, or the inspection office.

These agencies still adhered to the Federation's basic constitutional requirements. They are just one part of the entire law enforcement system. Even the Hazardous Materials Management Bureau, while powerful, has a very small scope of authority.

The FBI is different. It possesses more discretionary law enforcement power and is also connected to the President's Office and Congress.

What do those two departments do?

Any problem that might not conform to procedure or the federal system, whether in law or other issues, can be resolved through a “Presidential Special Order.”

If even a Presidential Special Order can't solve the problem, then Congress might even pass specific legislation for them.

Against a violent department like this, a product of centralized power, trying to resist them head-on is completely meaningless.

The guard had also participated in processing some cases. The cases weren't big; they were considered practice for the FBI after it officially began operations.

He had not yet discovered anyone who could hold out until the end after Roland made a decision. Everyone was like this; they would stubbornly hold on halfway, and then they wouldn't be able to take it anymore.

Actually... sometimes he would also consider, if they just held on a little longer, would this side give up on... continuing to interrogate them.

But later he figured, even if they held on, there probably wouldn't be a good result.

Because these people responsible for torture... have no humanity.

In other words, a humane person couldn't do this job. To make a living by frantically torturing and harming one's own kind... a normal person couldn't bear it.

Watching your own kind scream in front of you, completely abandoning dignity and personality, maybe for a select few it feels good.

But in reality, after the thrill is gone, a new thing will sprout—a kind of fear.

And those who can endure it, their minds are often already warped.

Discussing with a warped person whether you can survive their torture is probably a massive joke.

Whether Director Roland was warped, the guard didn't know. But he knew, a normal person wouldn't lock himself in here, and then use this method to force someone to say something he's interested in.

In other words, Director Roland at this moment was, in fact, already warped, perhaps only he himself didn't know it.

The guard also didn't know why he could think of so many things in such a short time. He felt the pain in his body, and his expression twisted appropriately, just like the torture his body was receiving.

But his heart, at this moment, was calm. Maybe it was because he already knew the ending?

“What do you want me to say?!”, during a break after a beating, he looked at Director Roland who was lighting a cigarette for himself, and asked with a hoarse throat.

Director Roland just looked at him, his expression somewhat grim, and also strange in an indescribable way, as if with some... apology, and also some hatred. He shook his head, “I know, you haven't reached your limit yet.”

This sentence made the guard pause, and then he exploded with his first burst of anger since being locked in here!

“You fucking aren't human, you son of a bitch! We both know I'm innocent, yet you're here saying I haven't reached my limit?”

Director Roland placed the cigarette he had taken two puffs of on the edge of the table. He licked his lips, “Look, you still have the courage and strength to curse at me. This means you are still resisting. You must understand, this is the FBI. There is nothing we can't investigate!”

He raised his fist again. The other agents at the door sighed and silently averted their gaze.

When Director Roland returned to the table, the cigarette placed on the edge had already burned out.

Only a pinch of ash remained.

He lit another one, took a deep drag, looked at the miserable guard, and exhaled slowly, “We still have plenty of time.”

Just as Director Roland had arranged for people to watch Lance , Lance had also arranged for people to watch Director Roland . When Lance heard that Director Roland had left the Old City with people, he immediately called that senior agent supervisor who had already defected to his side.

“Roland left with a few people today. Do you know where he went?”

Lance's question on the phone was very direct. This made the senior agent supervisor fail to react for a moment, but after a while, he seemed to think of something, “Roland is at the bureau right now. I heard he is interrogating an important person.”

This news made Lance feel it was somewhat interesting. “Who is he interrogating?”

Since the senior agent supervisor had already come over to his side, and they had traded information several times, he wouldn't hide anything. For him now, having Lance take down Roland was clearly more meaningful.

“It seems to be that guard who was on duty. The one who let the person in.”

The entire plan was orchestrated by Lance . Of course, he knew this person was innocent. He connected this to what Roland had said to him two days ago, and he seemed to have roughly guessed the truth of the matter.

“What reason did he use?”

The senior agent supervisor didn't know this reason at all. He hadn't specifically asked about it. He turned his body. Even though he was alone in his office, he still looked a bit guilty.

“I'm not clear, but I can go ask around.”

Lance considered for a moment, and gave him an affirmative reply, “You can, but be careful about your own safety.”

“Also, I'm considering something. Do we need to develop more people within the FBI? Whether it's for your safety, or because you also need helpers.”

This was said very nicely, with no tricks. It calmed his emotions, and then stated his purpose. A very normal way of communicating.

The senior agent supervisor was inexplicably moved. He didn't consider for too long, “You handle it.”

He paused, then added, “I will be careful.”

After hanging up, he took his coffee cup and left his office. He clearly could have had his assistant get him a new cup of coffee, but he went personally, because he needed to gather information.

And the breakroom was clearly the FBI's most popular “information exchange hub” right now, bar none.

Almost all agents, stealing a moment of leisure, would use the excuse of getting a cup of coffee here to rest, relax, smoke a cigarette, and exchange intelligence.

So this place just bizarrely became popular. When the senior agent supervisor arrived, the breakroom, which had been a bit noisy, immediately quieted down.

The senior agent supervisor smiled and poured himself a cup of coffee, “Am I not allowed to be tired for a bit?”

Federation people like humor and self-deprecation. His sentence immediately lightened everyone's mood. People laughed and expressed agreement. Who the hell can work all the time and not get tired? That's an ox, that's a horse!

Because a senior agent supervisor had joined, the conversation started to get interesting. It was more like... showing off to this supervisor. The topics they chatted about were things the senior agent supervisor wouldn't know in his office.

For example, who in the bureau was dating whom. There were female agents here too. After all, women's delicate emotions allowed them to handle many things that men couldn't patiently handle.

So people dating was a very interesting thing.

Others chatted about problems with cases, some of the strange and bizarre content found in cases. For example, one agent claimed that in a case he was chasing, there was a psycho.

He called himself “The Federation's Greatest Chef,” and his ingredients, naturally, were his out-of-the-ordinary fellow humans.

Originally, they couldn't catch this chef, but perhaps the chef felt it wasn't challenging anymore. He began to proactively provoke the police and the FBI, playing a guessing game with them.

Now, they had already grabbed the “chef's” little tail, and would soon be able to pull him out from the crowd.

This kind of topic resonated strongly in the FBI, because most of what they dealt with now were cases that local police departments were unwilling to take, or couldn't solve.

Local governments and police departments definitely didn't like the FBI's behavior of snatching cases. Since you want criminal cases so badly, that's great. The archives are full of unsolved cases. You guys go handle them!

Director Roland accepted all these cases. He wasn't seeking to solve them all; the main goal was to broaden everyone's criminal investigation thinking. Many of these case files had records of outstanding police detectives and private detectives collaborating on investigations. One could learn a lot from these records.

People talked about their things, and soon the agent supervisor idly chatted his way to the guard. He said with some emotion, “I really don't know what temptation he received, to actually sell us out!”

As a new, promising, and future-filled law enforcement agency, these agents' sense of honor was still very strong. They immediately began to condemn the guard together.

At this time, someone who knew the inside story stood out and took the initiative to explain, though it was more like showing off, “I heard a sum of money was deposited into his account. He couldn't explain the origin of this money, which is why he was detained.”

“I really don't know how much money it was, to make him sell out his job, and us, and his dreams, and honor!”

The atmosphere at this moment was a bit silent, because the content of the matter clearly conflicted with their drive.

Everyone knew their ideals should be priceless, but someone, at this time, had set a bad example. He sold his dreams... for a sum of money.

The senior agent supervisor also sighed, “Alright, I should get back. If I don't go back, they'll have to send a team here to rescue me.”

This was clearly a small joke. Everyone also proactively said goodbye to him.

He carried his coffee back to his office, locked the door, and dialed the number Lance had given him.

“I asked around. Roland said that guard received a sum of dirty money, and that's the evidence.”

Lance wasn't surprised after hearing this. This kind of framing method had the lowest cost, the fastest results, and was the hardest to explain away.

You say this money has nothing to do with you? Then who the hell would transfer such a large sum to you?

If someone transferred it by mistake, don't they know to get the money back?

So this money, must be related to you.

As long as there is a reason, an excuse to make a move, a “fabricated charge.”

Then the following matters become very easy to handle.

It's not just dogs that bite; people do too.

“Do you have this guard's personal information and account number?”

The senior agent supervisor quickly went to the records department. He looked up the guard's personal information and then gave it all to Lance .

On the other end of the line, Lance , having gotten some key information, revealed a playful smile.

If he could prove this money actually came not from himself (Lance), but from Director Roland , or someone related to him, wouldn't this plot be even more interesting to watch?

He immediately dialed the phone number of his friend at the bank. Compared to Director Roland's cautiousness, he seemed much more casual.

“Help me check an account. See which other accounts this account has had dealings with, and whether any of these accounts have had large cash deposits in the last few days.”

As a guest of honor at the bank, Lance's request was equivalent to God's request. After all, large amounts of money were laundered and deposited into the bank every year.

Never mind small banks fearing a bank run, big banks also fear a bank run. Every run is a huge loss. If Lance got upset and transferred his money away, the bank might have to terminate multiple projects at the same time.

So they quickly investigated the accounts related to the guard, and the recent status of these accounts.

“Can you trace where this... fifty thousand dollars came from?”

Because it was an out-of-state transfer, it required some time to investigate. Of course, this didn't mean they couldn't investigate it. Lance had called the main branch; they could definitely handle it.

The manager speaking with him emphasized, “It was forty-nine thousand, eight hundred dollars, and one transfer of two hundred dollars. A total of fifty thousand, in two transactions.”

Lance revealed a strange expression upon hearing this. “He planned to transfer fifty thousand, but found he didn't have enough in the account?”

The bank manager chuckled twice. “That's possible. So you still want to trace these two accounts?”

Lance considered. “Trace them. Who the two accounts belong to, their transaction histories, and the account information of those transactions. I need to know it all.”

After a brief silence, the bank manager said, “We normally do not disclose depositor information.”

“But, Mr. White, you are our bank's most honored VIP, so I will make an exception and help you investigate this information. However, I hope you will not reveal these matters. After all, it...”

He didn't finish the sentence, but the meaning he wanted to express was clear.

Lance naturally agreed. The bank manager then said he needed two hours.

And during this process, the guard finally couldn't hold out anymore. Without needing Director Roland to hint at what he should say, he proactively said, “It's Lance ! Stop hitting! It's Lance !”

They were using steel needles to pierce his more sensitive and painful areas. He finally couldn't take it, couldn't bear it anymore.

Director Roland hadn't even reminded him who to name. He knew who he (Roland) wanted him to name. This was what Director Roland considered “reaching the limit.”

He finally opened his mouth to “confess.”

Director Roland had someone take the torture tools away. He moved a chair and sat opposite the guard, who barely looked human. He lit a cigarette and stuck it in the other's mouth. “See? Since you knew you'd talk sooner or later, why suffer so much?”

“You're an old agent, you should understand.”

The guard wanted to laugh, but couldn't. He greedily took a drag of the cigarette, his whole body seeming to feel a bit better because of it.

“It's Lance . Lance made me do it. He said he'd give me a sum of money after it was done. That money is now in my... family's account.”

Director Roland was very satisfied with his answer. This kind of proactive confession from being unable to bear it had more authenticity than a coerced confession. Even if someone were to review this recording, they would feel it was real.

“So you let the person in.”

The guard nodded repeatedly. “Yes, I watched him carry the poisoned coffee and sandwich into the room. Then I urged him to finish quickly and leave. I didn't want to attract anyone's attention, but I didn't expect to still be discovered by you.”

A smile appeared on Director Roland's face. Once a person reaches their limit, they become very cooperative.

He sighed, “You've brought great trouble and difficulty to our work. That poisoner, is he also Lance's subordinate?”

The guard immediately nodded yes. This was clearly a leading confession, otherwise, he really didn't know what else to say. “I heard so. He was sent by Lance .”

Director Roland pressed his lips together. He stood up, looking down at the guard. “You failed the trust I had in you. You also sold your dreams and future cheap. You will be punished for your stupid actions. The law will give you a just result.”

“Take him down to be bandaged. Everyone else, back to the Old City with me. We're going to go chat with Lance again.”

This time, with a witness and the dirty money in the bank, even if he couldn't send Lance to court, he could at least make him shed a layer of skin.

Once he's in the FBI, he didn't believe Lance could withstand their methods!

As long as Lance couldn't take it and started to confess, even if it was just a small case, once that opening was made, it would be a collapse of the century!

Of course, before that, he still needed to talk with Mr. Potter .

He personally drove to Mr. Potter's office, in an office building in the most prosperous district of New Golden City .

A huge campaign poster was hanging on the building's outer wall. People in the surrounding area could see the huge poster here just by looking up.

It's said this oversized poster incurred a fine of several hundred dollars every day, but it still hung there, and the daily fine was paid to city hall in full.

After registering at the door, Director Roland was given the opportunity to meet Mr. Potter .

Mr. Potter's aide walked him to the office door and warned him, “You only have five minutes!”