Gathering Evidence is a Physical Labor

Pierre lay on the hospital bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

The scent in his nose was not the sterile smell of disinfectant, but rather a fresh, sun-drenched breeze.

The bedding on this cot had clearly been dried in the sun, rather than being tossed onto the bed stiff and scratchy after a cycle in a tumble dryer.

This was a luxury private room; if not for the medical equipment inside, he might have mistaken it for a hotel suite.

This was the reward for saving Harry Osborn's life, and merely one of many—there were more benefits to come.

Pierre had been wearing a bulletproof vest at the time, and since the assailant had used a silenced pistol, the impact wasn't particularly powerful. Consequently, Pierre had only suffered two broken ribs; his injuries were not severe.

This small sacrifice was truly insignificant compared to the benefits he was about to receive.

Recalling the group that had approached him with promises of wealth, Pierre had been skeptical at first. But now, everything seemed to be going smoothly.

The only surprise was that they had actually killed someone.

It was supposed to be a simple setup: he would save the target, take a bullet, and that would be the end of it. Why had they gone and killed Harry Osborn's bodyguard?

With a life lost, Pierre had been feeling uneasy, but judging by the treatment he was receiving, it seemed no one had caught on to him.

Night fell, and the room lit up with warm, ambient light. Pierre had finished a hearty dinner and was planning to turn on the TV to catch up on his favorite drama when the door to his room pushed open. The person didn't even knock.

Pierre was initially annoyed. What happened to the five-star service? Were the people at this hospital so lacking in manners?

It was true that one's environment shaped one's character; Pierre hadn't even become truly wealthy yet, but he had already cultivated the mindset of an elitist.

However, the moment he saw the two men entering, his irritation instantly transformed into a fawning, sycophantic smile.

"Mr. Osborn, why are you here?" Pierre struggled excitedly to sit up and greet him, but he quickly tugged at his injuries, causing him to gasp in pain.

This was, of course, an act. While the movement did aggravate his injuries, it was nowhere near as agonizing as he made it look. But if he appeared to be in more pain, perhaps Osborn's reward would be even more generous.

His wishful thinking was destined to fail, however, because following closely behind Norman Osborn was a young Asian man.

Pierre didn't recognize Luo Xia's face—to him, all Asians looked the same—but as a professional security guard, he recognized the clothes Luo Xia was wearing.

Wasn't this the same Asian man he had chased away earlier that day? He seemed to have been at the scene when the shooting occurred.

"Pierre, stay in bed. I have some questions for you," Norman Osborn said, his tone far from friendly.

Pierre felt a sudden, ominous premonition, but he dared not show it.

"What would you like to ask, Mr. Osborn? The doctor said I might have suffered a concussion when I fell, so I don't remember everything clearly," Pierre said cautiously.

Luo Xia nearly laughed out loud; this guy was already making excuses for himself.

Luo Xia had no intention of playing games or wasting time. He spoke bluntly: "You will definitely remember, because I'm not asking about today. About two months ago, your account received a transfer of two hundred thousand dollars. Can you explain the origin of that money?"

"What two hundred thousand dollars? I don't know what you're talking about," Pierre said nervously.

"Do you want me to print out the documents and throw them in your face? I'm asking you now because I want you to confess voluntarily and not waste our precious time. But if you're still harboring any delusions that you can get away with this by denying it, I'll have no choice but to use other methods," Luo Xia said to Pierre in a stern tone.

Using S.H.I.E.L.D.'s resources, Violet had easily uncovered the recent irregularities in the security guard's accounts. Although the two hundred thousand dollars had been transferred in several installments from different accounts, the final source appeared to be linked to a conglomerate called the United Global Investment Company.

The timeframe was too short for Luo Xia to find precise details on the company, but he could confirm it was a massive financial group nearly on par with Stark Industries, and it had numerous business ties to the Hell's Kitchen district.

"No, you can't do this! Mr. Osborn, please don't listen to this yellow-skinned monkey's nonsense! I saved your son!" Pierre cried out agitatedly.

"If those people wanted to kill Harry from the start, why would they kidnap him later? You idiot, they just used you to lure the bodyguard out of the car so they could kill him. The spot where he was hiding was exactly within your patrol route!" Norman Osborn shouted.

Hearing this, Pierre realized he had been played.

They had actually kidnapped him? Wasn't it supposed to be just a scare tactic to make the stock price of Oscorp fluctuate so they could make a quick profit?

Even so, Pierre stuck to his story: "No, Mr. Osborn, I really don't know anything. I didn't do anything."

Norman Osborn almost wanted to strike him. The man was still trying to argue—was he insulting his intelligence?

Luo Xia waved his hand. "Norman, gathering evidence is manual labor. Leave it to me; I'm a professional."

As he spoke, Luo Xia walked to the side of the hospital bed. Although Luo Xia's build didn't look as imposing as Pierre's, he made the big man tremble with fear.

Luo Xia showed no mercy, grabbing the man's arm. Even though Pierre struggled, he had no strength with his two broken ribs and was quickly subdued by a grappling technique that twisted his arm behind his back.

Pierre was pressed down onto the bed, his face buried in the pillow, letting out muffled whimpers of pain.

Luo Xia snapped a metal cuff onto the man's wrist and said, "The device on your wrist will tighten continuously. You have about three minutes to decide to confess; otherwise, this thing will crush your wrist, or even snap it off entirely."

After saying this, Luo Xia released Pierre.

The white man had barely caught his breath when he felt his wrist tighten. The metal cuff was indeed constricting, quickly leaving deep indentations in his skin.

No matter how he thrashed or shook his arm, the metal cuff continued to tighten at a steady, relentless pace, completely unaffected.

Pierre gritted his teeth and held out for a moment, but soon let out a blood-curdling scream. As he wailed and tried to crawl toward the call button to summon help, Norman Osborn uttered a sentence that broke him completely: "Pierre, this is an Oscorp hospital."

Pierre's hand froze in mid-air, and he said in despair, "Take this thing off! I'll tell you everything! That money came from a group of Russians. They never told me it was a kidnapping!"