A Chain of "Accidental" Deaths
Daniel Crawford sat in his luxurious office on the top floor of the All-American Express headquarters building, yet he felt none of the sense of control and security he once had. Outside the huge, curved floor-to-ceiling windows, the Seattle evening sky was rapidly darkening, and the city lights were gradually coming on, outlining the bustling skyline.
But he had no interest in appreciating it; his gaze was blankly fixed on the already black screen of his phone, his forehead beaded with cold sweat, and his palms were slick with moisture.
Cohen's final words, "Take care of yourself," and the crisp sound of him hanging up, pierced his heart like an ice pick, their echoes lingering. He knew that Cohen's connection was severed. It wasn't a simple suspension of cooperation; it was a unilateral and resolute withdrawal, even carrying a hint of... warning and distancing.
Why? Just because Zhao Zhiyong was kidnapped and two agents went missing? Was Cohen scared? Or... was the situation worse than he imagined, so bad that even Cohen, a seasoned and powerful figure in the IRS, felt a fatal threat and was willing to immediately sever ties to protect himself?
Daniel felt a surge of intense panic, like a chilling tide, creeping from his feet throughout his body. He recalled Cohen's barely suppressed rage and a barely perceptible fear as he described the "disappearance." Two ambulances, several healthy people, including federal agents—just vanished right under the IRS's nose? How terrifyingly powerful and ruthless must that have been?
Lin Feng... that seemingly young and unruly Great East, could he really possess such a terrifying background and execution ability? Not only did he dare to publicly humiliate me at the banquet and pour wine over my head, but he also dared to attack an IRS agent? Just who is he? What's behind him?
Daniel grew increasingly fearful. He had previously clung to a sliver of hope, believing that with the sheer size of "All-American Express" and his connections in the local political and business circles, coupled with Cohen's IRS support, he could slowly manipulate and destroy Lin Feng, or at least force him to submit and protect his core business. But now, Cohen's retreat and that bizarre "disappearance" case had completely shattered his illusions.
He wasn't facing a business rival he could fathom through conventional wisdom. Instead, he was dealing with... a Madman? A desperado? Or some predator from the dark world he couldn't comprehend?
It's not safe to sit here. Even Cohen is scared and wants to go home. Is Daniel Crawford tougher than Cohen? Who knows who Lin Feng's next target will be? Could it be Daniel?
He had to leave immediately, find Cohen, and ask him face-to-face, or at least confirm whether Cohen had truly abandoned the project or had other plans. He needed information, he needed reassurance, even if it was just a false one.
"I can't wait any longer." Daniel jumped up from his large leather office chair, the movement so abrupt that he knocked over a fine brass paperweight on the corner of the desk, which landed on the carpet with a dull thud. Without bothering to pick it up, he grabbed his suit jacket draped over the back of the chair, hurriedly put it on, picked up his phone and car Key, and headed out of the office.
"Mr. Crawford?" Outside the door, his senior executive assistant stood up in surprise when he saw his boss come out looking flustered and walking hurriedly.
"I'm going out for a bit, it's urgent. Postpone all appointments, you handle the unimportant things." Daniel spoke very quickly, without pausing, and headed straight for the private elevator. He didn't even have time to explain anything more, he just wanted to leave this building that might be under surveillance as soon as possible.
The assistant watched his slightly unsteady Back View, opened his mouth, but ultimately didn't dare to ask any more questions, only replying, "Yes."
The elevator descended. The smooth, mirrored wall reflected Daniel's anxious, pale figure. He loosened his overly tight tie, feeling a little short of breath. The elevator was quiet, with only the faint sound of mechanical operation, but this silence only made him more uneasy. He kept pressing the close button, even though the doors had already closed.
"Bite."
The elevator finally arrived at the lobby on the first floor. The doors slid open, revealing a bright, spacious lobby filled with modern art. The receptionist, the briskly moving staff, the visiting guests... everything seemed normal. But Daniel felt that every glance that happened to sweep over him carried a different meaning, and that danger might be lurking in every inconspicuous corner. He tightened his suit jacket, lowered his head, and strode through the lobby toward the side door leading to the underground parking lot.
Just as he passed a rest area in the center of the lobby, near the corner leading directly to the elevator hall in the underground parking garage—
"Oops!"
A figure hurried over from the side, seemingly looking down at a tablet in his hand, and unexpectedly bumped into Daniel!
"Bang!"
The impact was considerable; Daniel stumbled and took half a step back before regaining his balance. Already agitated, the impact ignited his anger even more.
"Watch where you're going! Don't you have eyes?!" Daniel yelled, looking down at his left chest where he had been hit—there, a large patch of hot, dark brown liquid was rapidly spreading across the front of his expensive custom-made suit! The strong, pungent aroma of coffee instantly filled the air, mixed with the cloying sweetness of caramel and creamer.
It was coffee! A piping hot, freshly brewed, steaming latte had been spilled almost entirely onto his suit! The sticky liquid quickly seeped into the expensive wool fabric, creating a hot, wet, and uncomfortable sensation as it clung to his skin.
The person who bumped into him was a young white man in his twenties, wearing a plain suit and a name tag, who looked like a junior analyst or assistant at the company. He was holding a spilled paper cup, coffee still dripping from the rim, and his other hand was gripping a tablet computer, which he nearly dropped. He was clearly terrified, his face pale, and he was flustered, repeatedly apologizing.
"I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry, sir! I'm so sorry! I was looking at a report and didn't notice you! I'm really so sorry! Are you alright? Your suit... I... I'll pay for it! I'm so sorry!"
The young man was incoherent and looked panicked, appearing to be just an ordinary employee who had accidentally caused a mess. He even tried to wipe the coffee stains off Daniel's chest with his sleeve, but Daniel pushed him away in disgust.
"Get out of here!" Daniel stared at the rapidly expanding, unsightly stain on his chest, feeling the sticky, damp sensation and the burning pain on his skin. The fear, anger, and frustration that had been building up inside him exploded as if finding an outlet! "What the hell department are you in?! What's your employee number?! Who's your boss?! Do you even know how much this suit cost?! You idiot! You moron!"
He pointed at the young man's nose, spitting and cursing. Some passing employees and visitors glanced at him, but no one dared to approach. The young man shrank back, head bowed, and kept apologizing, almost crying.
Daniel vented his frustration, looking at the young man's pathetic state and then at his own disheveled suit, feeling even more irritated and unlucky. He wanted to clean up the damn stain and change his clothes immediately, but he was even more eager to see Cohen. Besides, getting entangled with such a nobody would be beneath his dignity.
"Fine! Get lost! Don't let me see you again!" Daniel finally waved his hand impatiently, like shooing away a fly. He didn't want to waste any more time; he just wanted to get away as quickly as possible.
The young man felt as if he had been granted a pardon, apologized several times, then lowered his head, picked up the spilled cup and tablet, and hurriedly left, his Back View looking disheveled and flustered.
Daniel glared at the young man's Back View, then looked down at the glaring stain on his chest, his anger and frustration finding no outlet. He tugged at his soaked, sticky clothes, feeling even more agitated. This damned accident seemed to foreshadow a night of misfortune.
He didn't linger. His face was grim as he strode into the elevator leading to the underground parking lot. As the elevator descended and the numbers ticked down, his mood sank deeper and deeper with each decreasing number.
Upon reaching the second basement level, his private parking area was found to be dimmer and quieter than the lobby upstairs. His car—a black Mercedes-Benz S600 —sat there silently, like a silent behemoth.
Daniel took out his car Key and unlocked the car. He opened the door and got into the driver's seat. The familiar leather and fragrance inside the car calmed his agitated nerves slightly, but the damp, sticky feeling on his chest and the strong coffee smell emanating from his suit kept reminding him of the bad luck he had just experienced.
He started the engine, and the car emitted a deep, steady roar. He shifted into Drive, released the handbrake, and the car slowly drove out of the parking space, heading towards the exit ramp of the underground parking lot.
The exit was not far ahead, on a slope leading uphill, where he could see the increasingly bright sunlight filtering through the street. Once he drove out of this underground space and merged into the traffic, he could temporarily escape this feeling of being "trapped".
However, just as his car was about to reach the exit ramp, with the front wheels already on the bottom of the slope—
His gaze was drawn to something at the exit, lying across the middle of the ramp.
It was a grayish, dirty-looking thing, like some kind of heavy canvas or industrial waterproof fabric, crumpled up there, about half a person's height, blocking about a third of the ramp exit. There seemed to be some unidentified debris hanging from the edge of the fabric.
"What is that?!" Daniel frowned, instinctively slamming on the brakes, and the car stopped at the ramp. Who's so inconsiderate as to throw this kind of trash at the exit? What's the property management doing?!
He was already in a bad mood because his suit had been splashed with water, and seeing this eyesore only added fuel to the fire. The rag not only blocked his way, but it also looked filthy, and he didn't want his new car wheels to run over it, dirtying the chassis or getting their tires punctured by something sharp.
"Damn it! What a nightmare today!" Daniel cursed, unbuckled his seatbelt, pushed open the car door, and got out. He was going to move this nuisance himself, or at least kick it aside. He was wearing an expensive suit soaked with coffee and Italy handmade leather shoes as he walked toward the dirty rag.
As he approached, the cloth looked even more worn and dirty, emitting a faint smell of dust and mildew. Daniel frowned in disgust, stretched out his foot, and tentatively kicked a corner of the cloth with the tip of his shoe. The cloth was heavy and didn't move. He kicked it harder, and the cloth shifted slightly, as if something was pressing underneath it, making a slight rubbing sound.
Daniel lost his patience. He bent down, reached out and grabbed the relatively "clean" corner of the dirty cloth, and with all his might, fiercely and angrily, pulled it downwards! He wanted to tear the rag completely away from the exit and throw it aside.
The instant he ripped the cloth off—
"Whoosh whoosh whoosh--!!!!!!"
A deafening, continuous series of sharp, crashing sounds, like a waterfall cascading down or countless glasswares shattering simultaneously, suddenly came crashing down from directly above the exit ramp, like a mountain collapsing and a tsunami crashing down upon us!
Daniel looked up in horror!
Along the edge of the concrete ceiling of the exit ramp, an astonishing number of discarded glass pieces of various sizes and shapes were piled up and hanging, layer upon layer! There were broken window panes, shards of car windshields, glass bottles, and even whole pieces of glass with jagged edges! These pieces of glass were haphazardly stacked and wedged into the gaps in the ceiling and the drains, cleverly connected, concealed, and... supported by a dirty cloth!
At that moment, the support (the dirty rag) was violently ripped off by Daniel, losing its balance and last vestige of support. The mountain of heavy, sharp shards of glass, under the force of gravity, crashed down like a deadly avalanche finally freed from its restraints! In the last rays of the evening sky and the lights of the parking lot exit, they gleamed with a cold, dangerous, and deadly light!
"No--!!!" Daniel only managed to let out a short, terrified scream, his body instinctively trying to back away, but it was too late!
"Whoosh—Pfft! Pfft! Crack! Clang!!!"
The first and most intense wave of glass rain solidly covered and struck Daniel Crawford, who was standing directly below with nowhere to hide!
Countless shards of glass, varying in size and with sharp edges, rained down on his head, face, shoulders, arms, and body like hail, creating a dense, chilling sound of impact and cutting. His expensive suit was instantly ripped open, and his skin was slashed open with countless deep and shallow cuts, from which blood gushed out like a fountain.
But that's not the most fatal thing.
In the cascading mountain of glass, a particularly large, thick, jagged triangular glass slab—likely the remains of a large glass display case—adjusted its angle as it tumbled down. Its sharp, spear-like base, accelerated by gravity, carried unparalleled kinetic energy, and with perfect precision, deeply and brutally pierced Daniel's unprotected left neck, which was arching backward in fear and agony!
"Puff--!"
A sound far more muffled and chilling than the shattering of glass, a terrifying sound of a sharp object piercing deep into flesh, severing the trachea and blood vessels!
Daniel's body stiffened abruptly, as if frozen in place. All his movements, all his sounds, all his consciousness came to an abrupt halt at that moment.
His eyes widened, pupils dilating instantly, filled with disbelief, horror, and the deepest fear of his life slipping away so quickly. He opened his mouth wide, as if trying to breathe, to shout, but only weak, desperate "hoarse... hoarse..." sounds escaped his throat, and copious amounts of blood and foam gushed uncontrollably from his mouth and from the horrific wound on his neck.
Hot, dark red blood gushed out like a burst dam from around the triangular glass plate deeply embedded in his neck and from the countless glass cuts all over his body! Instantly, it stained his tattered suit and the concrete floor beneath him, forming a rapidly expanding, shocking pool of blood.
His body lost all support and slumped backward, crashing heavily onto the cold, dirty ground strewn with shards of glass. His body twitched slightly a few times as a reflex, but soon became completely still.
Only those wide-open eyes, devoid of all light, remained fixed on the dimly lit, pipe-filled ceiling above the parking lot, as if questioning, accusing, and silently recounting the cruelty and absurdity of this "accident."
"Splash..."
Smaller, lighter shards of glass continued to fall, striking the bodies around him and the ground with a crisp sound, like paper money scattered at a funeral.
The parking lot lights shone a stark white light on everything. The black Mercedes-Benz S600 still sat quietly in front of the ramp, its engine humming softly. The car's fragrance system continued to emit a tranquil and elegant aroma, creating an extremely eerie and ironic contrast with the bloody, chaotic, and deathly silence outside.
In the distance, deep within the underground parking lot, in an inconspicuous, shadowy corner piled with discarded building materials.
A figure dressed in dark overalls and wearing a baseball cap, almost blending into the darkness, slowly lowered his high-powered binoculars. Speaking softly into a miniature Mike hidden under his collar, in a steady, clear, and emotionless voice:
"Target confirmed dead. Plan A successful. Execute evacuation procedures."
Having said that, he turned and disappeared silently into the deeper, darker labyrinth of the parking lot, like Ghost merging into the shadows, leaving no trace.
At the exit, only that lone luxury car, that gradually cooling corpse, the glittering, blood-stained shards of glass scattered on the ground, and the thick, nauseating stench of blood silently permeated the increasingly dark twilight.