The person just arrived, the case was reported this morning

"Sorry, Councilor, the search has already begun. I'm afraid I have to refuse."

"..."

In Sloan's office.

Lake hung up the third call that had come directly to his phone since he'd walked into this room, glanced at his device, then looked with interest at Sloan, who sat in his own office chair with his hands crossed. He smiled. "Mr. Sloan, you're quite influential—the Disabled Persons' Federation Secretary-General, our Police Superintendent, and now a City Councilor. Wow, who's calling next?"

Sloan's face was expressionless. He ignored the officers rummaging through his office and stared calmly at Lake standing before him. "Detective Edwin trusts his informant so much. Has it never occurred to you that this might be bad intel?"

Damn Carlos.

Sloan cursed inwardly. In his view, the informant Lake mentioned was undoubtedly Carlos. After all, he'd just learned what evidence the court had used to sign the warrant.

A so-called Killer Confession.

In the assassin world, besides the rule that killers must not betray their own organizations, there was an unwritten code: under no circumstances should a killer ever get involved with law enforcement.

Simply put, no ratting.

Once discovered, the entire assassin world would hunt you down to the death.

Sloan looked calmly at Lake, cursing Carlos furiously in his mind, while already deciding that the next name to appear on the Fate Loom would be Lake Edwin standing before him.

Lake chuckled. "Mr. Sloan, you've got a good temper. But I wonder—how's the temper of your few killers?"

Sloan said, "Detective Edwin, do you have evidence for that? Making baseless claims that my employees are killers, and so confidently—do you have some grudge against us?"

Lake nodded seriously. "Yes, a big one. They almost killed me. Does that count?"

Sloan: "..."

If he didn't have a grudge, would Lake go to all this trouble to bring his men here? With this time, he could be sipping coffee in his office and heading out to dinner with his girlfriend later.

Sloan fell silent.

Just then.

Lake's phone rang again.

This time it was Chief Burt, but from his personal cell, not the office line.

He answered.

"Chief!"

"Where are you?"

"Executing a search warrant."

"I won't say much. I'm giving you half an hour. If you find no evidence in thirty minutes, pull back."

"Understood!"

Lake hung up, looked at Sloan, who seemed to be feigning a doze behind the desk, and chuckled.

The New York mayor had pulled some strings.

But...

Chief Burt had come through. Even though Burt's position was appointed by the mayor, the current mayor's term was almost up, and Lake had a life-or-death bond with Burt's son. So Chief Burt had managed to buy Lake half an hour.

Half an hour was enough.

To press the advantage, Lake hadn't just prepared the plan to provoke the other side. He had one last trump card up his sleeve.

Right under Sloan's gaze, Lake removed his phone case, took out the battery, and said to an officer, "Search this desk thoroughly too, especially the chair Mr. Sloan is sitting on."

The officer replied, "Yes, sir!"

Damn it.

I'm standing here, and you get to sit?

A flicker of anger crossed Sloan's face, but under the watchful eyes of two armed officers, he maintained basic politeness, smiled, and rose from his chair.

The next second.

Bang.

An officer kicked the chair over with force, then expertly gutted it.

Ten minutes later.

Joe, who had been searching outside, walked in. He glanced at Sloan standing there, then leaned in and whispered to Lake, who was sitting on the sofa with legs crossed, arms folded, and eyes closed. "Nothing."

Lake opened his eyes, raised an eyebrow, and looked at Sloan, whose lips had just curled into a faint smile. "Mr. Sloan, did something happy come to mind? Care to share?"

Sloan glanced at his watch. "Twenty minutes left, Detective Edwin."

Lake nodded. "Don't worry, I know integrity better than you, Mr. Sloan. When time's up, I won't stay a minute longer."

Joe's expression was tense.

They'd come in full of confidence, offended a bunch of big shots—if they came up empty, this would be a complete disaster.

Lake looked at Joe. "Checked everywhere?"

Joe nodded.

"Anywhere?"

"Yes."

"Did you find anyone unusual?"

"...Uh."

Joe paused briefly, then frowned. "Unusual... there's a temp in their warehouse who's on edge."

Lake pressed on. "What's his name?"

"Something like Wesley."

"That's the one."

Lake lifted his gaze to Sloan, then strode toward the exit. "Mr. Sloan, if I told you today's my lucky day, would you believe me?"

Sloan's eyelid twitched.

Soon.

Wasteful Xiaobai Wesley was brought before Lake.

Hands in his pockets, clad in a suit, Lake glanced at the tablet with the incoming file, then looked up at the officer beside Wesley. "Arrest him."

Wesley froze, then turned to the factory manager. "Mr. Sloan..."

Sloan raised a hand to cut him off, facing Lake. "Mr. Edwin, may I ask what grounds you're using for this?"

"Assault and theft."

"..."

Lake stated flatly, then looked at Sloan. "But if Mr. Sloan admits that this Wesley here is an employee of your factory, I think the Commercial Crime Investigation Bureau might tack on industrial espionage."

Wesley had arrived this morning; the case was just filed.

Don't forget.

Before joining The Assistance, Wesley had pulled off a big stunt—at his old company, he'd gone full Keyboard Man, beating his supervisor and a coworker with an actual keyboard.

In a movie, that'd be called righteous vengeance.

But this was reality.

In reality, Wesley's supervisor and coworker had both filed reports. Wesley's actions were a crime. As a suspect, Lake had every legitimate reason to detain him.

Finished.

Lake shot Sloan a few more glances, then told the officer, "Take him away. Notify the 33rd Precinct to pick him up at the station."

Wesley was dumbfounded. As the officer led him out, he kept shouting the factory manager's name.

He'd gone for righteous vengeance to change his life, damn it—but instead of becoming an assassin, he'd become a criminal suspect.

Soon.

Wesley was taken out.

Sloan took a deep breath, facing Lake. "Ten minutes left. I'm looking forward to Detective Edwin giving our Textile Factory an explanation."

Lake's lips curled. "Yeah, ten minutes. One last place to check."

Sloan: "..."

A new week, a fresh start—asking for recommendation tickets and monthly votes.