Shadows in the Sunlight

The collapse of Anderson Capital was like a boulder thrown into a calm lake, creating ripples throughout Seattle's financial circles.

But for the vast majority of ordinary people, this is just another topic of conversation about the "rich getting into trouble." People discuss Mike Anderson's greed and stupidity in coffee shops, forward various jokes about his escape on social media, and then are quickly drawn to the next celebrity gossip or sports event, leaving this once-glorious financial tycoon behind.

However, for those at the center of the storm, the storm is far from over.

Eagle Creek Ranch, early morning.

Lin Feng, dressed in simple sportswear, jogged slowly along the dirt road on the outskirts of the ranch. The morning mist had not yet completely dissipated, and glistening dewdrops clung to the blades of grass. The air was filled with a fresh scent of earth and grass. A few early birds chirped in the distant treetops, and everything seemed peaceful and serene.

But his heart was not at peace.

On the surface, the Mike Anderson case appears to have been settled. Some of the funds have been recovered, enough to cover the losses of the investors he defrauded, and a considerable profit has been made. Anderson Capital has been liquidated, and Mike himself has disappeared from the world; no one will come forward to accuse him anymore.

But Lin Feng knew very well that the aftermath of this matter was far more complicated than it appeared on the surface.

He ran to an Old Oak at the edge of the pasture, stopped, put his hands on his knees, and breathed slightly. Sweat trickled down his forehead and dripped onto the grass at his feet.

Footsteps came from behind, neither hurried nor slow.

Lin Feng didn't turn around. He simply straightened up, took a towel out of his pocket, and wiped the sweat from his face.

"Did you find it?" he asked.

K walked up to him, holding a tablet computer, his expression as calm and focused as ever. "I found part of it."

"A part?" Lin Feng turned his head and glanced at him.

"Before we 'invited' Mike here, he met someone," K said, handing the tablet to Lin Feng. "This is footage we captured from surveillance cameras near the motel."

The screen displayed a somewhat blurry screenshot. It was around 3 a. m. In the image, Mike, wearing a dark trench coat, was walking hurriedly into an alley with his head down. At the other end of the alley, a black sedan was parked. Due to the angle and lighting, the license plate number and the person inside the car were not clearly visible. Only a blurry figure could be vaguely seen sitting in the driver's seat.

"That's all?" Lin Feng frowned.

"That's all," K said. "Their counter-surveillance capabilities are very strong. That alley happens to be at the intersection of the blind spots of two cameras. We were lucky to be able to capture footage of Mike going in. As for who he met with and what they talked about, there's absolutely no record."

Lin Feng stared at the screenshot for a while, then handed the tablet back to K: "Continue investigating. Don't miss a single one of that car's or Mike's communication records before that."

"It's already being done," K said. "Also, there's one more thing."

"Explain."

"This morning, the Seattle Federal Prosecutor's Office reported that someone anonymously provided the FBI with a new list of evidence, claiming that there is an even bigger 'mastermind' behind Anderson Capital's illegal operations."

Lin Feng stopped in his tracks.

He turned around, looked at K, and his gaze sharpened. "What's the content?"

"The specifics are still unclear. It's said the document was sealed and only a few senior agents in charge of the case had access," K said. "But sources say the document mentions several names, including... Washington State Senator Allen Crawford."

Lin Feng was silent for a few seconds, then smiled softly.

"Interesting," he said. "Looks like some people are getting restless."

He started jogging again, continuing his slow run along the dirt road. K followed beside him, keeping a half-step distance.

"Boss, should we do something?" K asked.

"No need," Lin Feng shook his head. "Let them make a scene. The bigger the better."

He paused, then said, "Go and arrange a meeting with Senator Crawford for me. Tell him I have a business deal I'd like to discuss with him."

K paused for a moment. "At this time? Isn't that too sensitive?"

"That's precisely when it's a sensitive time to talk; that's when it's more interesting." Lin Feng smiled. "Don't worry, that senator is even less willing than I am to make the contents of this document public."

Meanwhile, in downtown Seattle, at the federal office building.

The meeting room, which had no windows, was filled with smoke.

Three men in suits sat around a long table, the ashtray on it overflowing with cigarette butts. None of them looked well.

Seated at the head of the table was a middle-aged man in his fifties, with graying hair, a thin face, and gold-rimmed Glasses. He was Allen Crawford, a senior senator from Washington State. At this moment, he was tapping his fingers lightly on the table, producing a dull "tap-tap" sound, revealing his inner anxiety.

"Who sent that document?" he finally asked, his voice low and hoarse.

The two people sitting opposite him exchanged glances but remained silent.

"I'm asking you a question!" Crawford slammed his hand on the table, making the water glasses jump. "Who did this?!"

"Senator," one of the slightly younger men began, forcing a smile, "We've investigated. That document was sent to the FBI's public tip-off email address via an encrypted email. The IP address went through at least three layers of proxy servers, making it impossible to trace its origin."

"Untraceable? Then investigate those who know!" Crawford roared. "Only a very few people know the contents of that document! Investigate them one by one, and we'll find out who leaked the information!"

"Senator..." another person began cautiously, "I feel... this matter might not be so simple."

Crawford turned to him. "What do you mean?"

"While the information in that document touches on your behalf, there's no direct evidence pointing to your involvement. It's mostly indirect connections and speculation," the man said carefully, choosing his words. "Furthermore, the timing of this document being delivered so soon after Anderson Capital is rather coincidental."

Crawford frowned. "You mean...?"

"I suspect someone is pulling the strings behind this," the man said. "The goal might not be to bring you down, but rather... to send a warning."

A silence fell over the meeting room.

Crawford took off his Glasses and rubbed his temples with two fingers. His mind raced, connecting everything— Mike Anderson's sudden disappearance, Anderson Capital's rapid collapse, that mysterious anonymous whistleblower report... It seemed as if an invisible hand was pulling the strings behind it all.

He could vaguely guess who the source of that hand was.

"That China man..." he murmured to himself, "Lin Feng..."

Just then, his phone vibrated.

He picked up his phone, glanced at the message on the screen, and his pupils contracted slightly.

The message was very short, only one line:

"I've heard that the senator has recently encountered some trouble. Perhaps we can have a chat. -- Lin Feng"

Crawford stared at the message for a long time, his expression shifting.

Finally, he put down his phone and let out a long sigh.

"Return a message to him for me," he said to the person beside him. "Tell him I'll be waiting for him at the private club in Bellevue at three o'clock tomorrow afternoon."

Eagle Creek Ranch.

Lin Feng received a reply, and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly.

He stood in front of the French windows in his study, gazing at the pastures outside, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, a profound glint in his eyes.

The chess pieces on the board are being placed one by one into their proper positions.

And he had only just begun to make his moves.