A Counterattack from the Shadows
Daniel Crawford practically fled back to his top-tier mansion outside Seattle, overlooking Lake Washington.
The Armani bespoke suit, soaked in whiskey and reeking of its pungent odor, was ripped off the moment he entered, as if a layer of shame had been peeled off, and thrown onto the gleaming Italy marble floor. The expensive silk tie was torn and deformed, and two buttons on his shirt popped off.
He was shirtless, his chest heaving violently with anger and the pent-up frustration of driving back at breakneck speed, his skin flushed red, and the veins on his forehead throbbing.
Seeing their master in such a disheveled state, the butler and servants were all so frightened that they lowered their heads, held their breath, and dared not even breathe loudly, let alone step forward to ask questions or offer help. Crawford didn't even glance at them, but rushed straight into the study, slamming the door shut with a loud bang that echoed throughout the high-ceilinged hall, making all the servants tremble in fright.
The study was dark, with only the dim glow of an antique Tiffany desk lamp illuminating rows of finely bound books and the various medals and photographs on the wall, symbolizing his business achievements. This space, once his most comfortable and private sanctuary, a place that showcased his power and wisdom, now felt suffocating. The air seemed to still carry the lingering scent of cheap whiskey, and countless gazes, a mixture of astonishment, pity, and mockery, seemed to pierce his back.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!!!" Crawford growled, pacing back and forth on the thick Persian carpet like a wounded beast trapped in a cage. He slammed his fist against the mahogany bookshelf beside him with a dull thud, knocking several heavy hardcover books askew. Pain shot through his knuckles, but it did nothing to quell the raging anger and humiliation that threatened to explode within him.
That Great East boy! That yellow-skinned bastard! How could he?! How dare he?! At the "Night of Enlightenment"! In front of so many prominent people! He poured wine over his head! Like treating a disobedient dog! No, he was treated worse than a dog! This was the most thorough trampling on his reputation, status, and personal dignity built up over decades!
He rushed to the liquor cabinet, grabbed a half-full bottle of Macallan 25 Year Old without even taking a glass, and gulped it down. The amber liquid flowed down his trembling lips, soaking his gray chest hair. The icy liquid slid down his throat, but it was like gasoline poured on a fire in his heart, making that evil fire burn even more fiercely.
"Lin... Feng..." He gritted his teeth, squeezing out the name from between his teeth, each syllable soaked in venom. He had lived for more than fifty years, climbing step by step from Wall Street intern to the CEO of "All-American Express," experiencing countless business battles and seeing all kinds of opponents, some cunning, some tough, and some unscrupulous.
But never before had anyone displayed such rudeness, directness, and undisguised malice and violence as Lin Feng, completely disregarding the unspoken "rules of the game" of their social class.
On the way back, after the initial outburst of rage, a deeper, colder chill began to creep up his spine. Lin Feng's last words—"Cooperation must continue." "I'm taking your company's defense transportation business." "You can try, I won't give it to you."—were not just angry words; they were a notification, a verdict. And the calm, cruel look in the other's eyes, as if he were appraising an object, made Crawford have no doubt that if he refused, the other party would indeed take action.
But defense transportation! That's the core, most profitable, and most strategically important segment of "All-American Express"! It's his biggest asset on the board, and the long-term contracts he secured from the military and a few top defense contractors after countless efforts and pulling strings! It involves the transportation of sensitive materials, with extremely high security and reliability requirements, and the profits are astonishingly high. This is practically tearing a piece of his heart out!
"Absolutely not!" Crawford growled at the air, but his voice lacked conviction. He recalled the powerless feeling of being easily shoved back into his chair by the two bodyguards (one with eyes as fierce as a wolf, the other as calm as ice). That absolute, overwhelming power...
No, we can't just give in like this. Daniel Crawford isn't some pushover! No matter how arrogant that Great East kid is, this is United States! A place where law, rules, and the power of capital matter! He must have weaknesses, and we must find a way to deal with him!
With this in mind, Crawford forced himself to calm down. Anger wouldn't solve the problem; it would only cloud his judgment. He needed information, he needed to understand the origins of this suddenly appearing, dangerous enemy.
He walked back to his desk, sat down heavily, picked up the intercom, and dialed a number. The call was quickly answered, and the crisp voice of his personal assistant, one of his most trusted confidants, Calvin Lee, came through. "Mr. Crawford."
"Calvin," Crawford's voice was still a little hoarse, but it had regained some of its usual coldness, "Immediately, right now, use all the resources at your disposal to find out everything about Lin Feng, the new owner of ' NLG Logistics '! I mean everything! From when he came to the United States, the source of the funds to acquire NLG, to the people under him, especially the bald man and the Asian bodyguard with the cold eyes beside him! Also, whether he has any secret relationships with Seattle, or even higher levels! The sooner the better! At any cost!"
Calvin, on the other end of the phone, clearly sensed the unusual urgency and suppressed anger in his boss's tone, and immediately replied solemnly, "Understood, sir. I'll take care of it right away."
After hanging up the phone, Crawford leaned back in his large, high-backed leather chair, closed his eyes, and rubbed his throbbing temples with his fingers. Only his heavy breathing and the monotonous ticking of the antique clock filled the study.
Time ticked by, each second feeling incredibly long. The humiliating images and the other person's cold words flashed repeatedly in his mind like a slideshow, tormenting his nerves.
After what seemed like an hour, or perhaps longer, the internal phone rang again. Crawford practically jumped up and grabbed the receiver. "Speak!"
Calvin's voice came through, tinged with a barely perceptible tension and... disbelief. "Sir, the initial intelligence is back. Faster than expected... Some of the information seems... not particularly secretive, especially within certain circles."
"Stop talking nonsense and get to the point!" Crawford growled impatiently.
"Yes." Calvin took a deep breath and began his report, speaking quickly but clearly, "Lin Feng, Great East Country, his specific background is unknown, but it is certain that he has extremely substantial funds, and the sources are... complex. He arrived in Seattle about four months ago, and then quickly completed the acquisition of NLG Logistics in an all-cash transaction, with the acquisition price far exceeding the market valuation. The former owner of NLG, Old Walton..."
Calvin paused, seemingly choosing his words carefully. "... Shortly after selling the company, he reportedly went to South Korea to 'handle private matters,' but just two weeks ago, South Korea police reported a 'gang shootout' that resulted in several deaths, including an elderly Asian man who, according to preliminary investigations, is suspected to be Walton, who entered the country using a false identity. The scene... was horrific. South Korea police are still investigating, but it is widely believed that Walton was involved in a local gang conflict."
Crawford's heart sank. Old Walton... dead? In South Korea? Gang fight? What a coincidence? He recalled Lin Feng's arrogant demeanor at the banquet, and everything that followed after he said "Never mind what I said"... A chill ran from his tailbone straight to the top of his head.
"Go on," he said, his voice hoarse.
"Yes. After acquiring NLG, Lin Feng conducted a 'strong reorganization' of the company. Several minority shareholders who had previously opposed the acquisition or attempted to manipulate the finances changed their attitudes one after another and 'cooperated' in selling their shares. One of them moved his entire family to Europe after selling his shares. According to those who had contact with him, his mental state seemed unstable, and he had a strong fear of Seattle. In addition, several senior executives from the Walton era within NLG also 'voluntarily' resigned or were reassigned for various reasons. Currently, NLG is completely controlled by people brought in by Lin Feng, and its operations are... unusually 'stable.'"
Calvin's voice grew softer and softer. Every "coincidence," every "suspect," felt like a heavy block of ice hitting Crawford's heart. This wasn't a normal business acquisition and integration; it was a purge, a power shift carried out in the most primitive and violent way!
"And," Calvin added, his tone more serious, "We tried to investigate his two main bodyguards, especially the Asian man registered under the name 'K.' But there's very little publicly available information. 'K' seems to have appeared out of thin air; he has no complete entry record (at least not by conventional means), no bank account, and no Social Security number. But there are some... scattered, unconfirmed reports suggesting he might be connected to a very well-known, but now defunct, private military contractor in Asia. And that bald guy, named Lü Yi, has multiple violent crime records, all within Great East University, and he seems to have resolved them 'properly' each time. He only entered the country a week ago on a tourist visa."
Private military contractor? Violent crime record? Crawford felt his shirt soaked with cold sweat, clinging to his skin. This wasn't an ordinary, slightly wealthy Great East Tokyo University. This was a ruthless outlaw with an armed team, acting without restraint and taking lives at the drop of a hat! He had previously thought the man was just an unruly nouveau riche, but now he realized the man wasn't there to play business games; he was there to rob him! In the most direct and bloody way possible!
"Sir," Calvin asked cautiously on the other end of the phone, "We also found out that Lin Feng's NLG seems to be in contact with several small but specially qualified transportation companies, their business scope... vaguely pointing to ports in California and some sensitive routes. He may... not be satisfied with Seattle."
Crawford's fingers gripped the receiver so tightly his knuckles turned white. Not only was the other party trying to steal his current core business, but they were also planning for the future—their appetite was astonishing! And he himself had actually gone to the banquet, adopting a condescending attitude, trying to "get a piece of the pie" from this beast... Looking back now, it was utterly suicidal! Perhaps the other party hadn't killed him on the spot simply because... the occasion wasn't right? Or perhaps, he still had value to them in terms of "cooperation"?
A profound sense of lingering fear and an even deeper dread gripped his heart. He had no doubt that if he refused to "cooperate," the "lesson" they spoke of would be far more than just commercial suppression. He thought of Old Walton's fate, and the few minority shareholders who had "voluntarily cooperated"... Daniel Crawford, though wealthy and well-connected, was ultimately a businessman, a "civilized man" accustomed to resolving issues in conference rooms, negotiating tables, and dinner parties. He had never truly faced such a blatant, deadly threat from the dark jungle law.
"Sir? Are you still listening?" Calvin's voice pulled him back from his frightened thoughts.