Bait and Hook

The transaction was held in an unassuming office building in the suburbs of Seattle.

The building looks no different from the other ordinary business parks around it—a four-story concrete building with beige tiles on the exterior walls. A few cars are sparsely parked in the parking lot downstairs, and there's a coffee shop still open on the ground floor, with the staff behind the counter idly wiping cups. Everything seems normal, so normal that it wouldn't attract anyone's attention.

K arrived ten minutes early. He was wearing a dark gray casual suit with a white shirt underneath, and no tie. He looked like an ordinary businessperson who had come to a company in this building to discuss business.

He bought a cup of black coffee at the coffee shop, then took the elevator to the third floor, walked to the end of the corridor, and pushed open a glass door with a sign that read "Brighton Consulting Co., Ltd.."

A young woman was sitting in the reception room. Seeing him enter, she stood up and gave him a professional smile, "Mr. K? Mr. Hines is waiting for you in the conference room. Please follow me."

K nodded and followed her through a short corridor to the door of a conference room. The young woman knocked, then pushed the door open and stepped aside to let K in.

The conference room wasn't large, with an oval conference table in the center, on which sat a projector and several bottles of mineral water. Robert Hines sat by the window, wearing a dark blue striped suit, a document spread out in front of him, and a pen in his hand. Seeing K enter, he put down his pen, stood up, and gave K the same perfectly timed smile he had seen once before.

"Mr. K, we meet again." He extended his hand.

K grasped it, the pressure just right, the duration perfect. "Mr. Hines."

The two sat facing each other across the conference table. The young woman poured K a glass of water, then left the conference room, closing the door behind her.

Robert didn't rush into the main topic. Instead, he made some small talk first—the weather was nice today, was the traffic going smoothly, would you like some coffee?—these were all warm-up exercises before the negotiations, designed to relax the atmosphere and pave the way for the substantive dialogue that followed.

K responded cooperatively, neither enthusiastic nor cold, maintaining a polite distance.

A few minutes later, Robert finally put down his coffee cup, placed his hands folded on the table, and got to the point. "Mr. K, we have received the information you provided. After verification, its authenticity is not in question."

He paused, a hint of scrutiny in his eyes. "To be honest, I'm a little surprised. I didn't expect you to be so cooperative, and the information you provided was even more complete than we anticipated."

K leaned back in his chair, his expression calm. "I've said it before, I'm a realistic person. Mr. Lin is already in there; I can't go down with him. Since you've offered a better option, I have no reason to refuse."

Robert smiled and nodded, seemingly quite satisfied with the answer. He picked up the document on the table, flipped to a certain page, turned it around, and pushed it in front of K: "This is the return we promised. Take a look, and if there are no problems, everything can be implemented today."

K glanced down at it. It was an asset transfer confirmation and a deposit slip from a Switzerland bank account. The amount was slightly higher than he had expected—it seemed the other party had indeed gone to great lengths to keep him in check.

He closed the file, not bothering to examine the numbers closely, but instead looked up at Robert: "Thank you. But I have one more request."

Robert raised an eyebrow slightly, but his expression remained friendly. "Please speak."

"I want to leave the United States as soon as possible." K's tone carried just the right amount of urgency. "Once I have the money, I don't want to stay here anymore. I plan to buy a small island, the more remote the better, preferably one without an extradition treaty. For the rest of my life, I just want to sunbathe, fish, and stay as far away from all this mess as possible."

He paused, then gave a bitter laugh, "Staying in United States only makes me feel increasingly dangerous. Mr. Lin's situation has taught me a lesson—in this country, people like me can become pawns at any time."

After listening, Robert remained silent for a few seconds, then slowly nodded. A barely perceptible hint of satisfaction flashed in his eyes—K's request proved that he genuinely wanted to quit. Only someone who truly wanted to retire would want to hide away at the ends of the earth. If K had said he wanted to stay in the United States to continue his career, he would have been more wary.

"No problem," Robert readily agreed. "We can help you arrange a new identity and travel route. Where do you want to go? The Caribbean? The South Pacific Ocean? Southeast Asia? We have the channels for all of them."

"I haven't decided yet." K shook his head. "Let's secure the money first, and then we'll think about the rest."

Robert smiled and didn't press further. He stood up and extended his hand to K again. "Well then, I wish you a pleasant life as the future island owner."

K stood up, shook his hand, and smiled, "Thank you."

Their hands clasped briefly in the air, then parted.

Robert didn't immediately change the subject, but instead added in a somewhat sincere tone, "To be honest, Mr. K, my boss behind the scenes really admires your talent. If you change your mind and don't want to be the island owner anymore, you can contact us anytime. Perhaps... you could try finding a different boss."

This statement may be said lightly, but it carries great weight. To be "appreciated" by people at that level is a tremendous honor for most people.

But K just smiled and shook his head, "Forget it. Right now, I just want to take this large sum of money, find a place where nobody knows me, and live a quiet life. I've had enough of this fighting and killing."

Robert didn't seem surprised by the answer. He shrugged, indicating understanding and respect. "Alright then. But if you change your mind, this invitation is valid indefinitely."

He released his grip, took a half step back, and said in a relaxed tone, "You don't need to worry about Lin Feng anymore. He's already in prison and has lost all his assets. He's like a toothless tiger, completely at our mercy. He can't cause any trouble now."

K's smile remained unchanged, but a very subtle glint flashed in the depths of his eyes.

He nodded, replying in an ambiguous tone, "Who knows?"

Robert didn't understand the true meaning of those words. He took it as just a casual, polite remark and didn't pay it any mind.

K turned and walked towards the door. He paused at the doorway, but without turning back, simply said, "Mr. Hines, until we meet again."

Then he pushed open the door and went out.

The conference room door closed gently behind him.

Robert stood there, looking at the closed door, a satisfied smile appearing on his lips.

He was indeed very satisfied with this outcome. K handed over the assets, took the money, and fled far away—this was the most ideal ending he could imagine. A person who knew too much inside information would ultimately be a hidden danger if he stayed in the United States. But if he took the money and ran off to an unnamed island in the Pacific Ocean, never to return, that would be the safest solution.

More importantly, K was not favored by the boss behind the scenes.

Robert secretly breathed a sigh of relief. He said, "My boss behind the scenes admires your talent," but that was just a polite remark.

If the boss really takes a liking to K and wants to include K in his inner circle, then Robert's position may be threatened.

After all, K's abilities were evident to all—to manage Lin Feng's vast asset network so well, this person was definitely not simple.

A capable subordinate is an asset to a superior, but a threat to a peer competitor.

Now that K has chosen to withdraw, it's the best outcome for Robert.

He sat back down in his chair, reopened the documents in front of him, picked up his pen, and signed his name in the places that required it.

Meanwhile, K had already walked out of the office building.

Without turning back, he walked straight to the parking lot, opened the car door, and got into the driver's seat. He started the engine and slowly drove the car out of the parking lot, merging into the traffic on the main road.

After driving for about ten minutes, he stopped at a red light. He reached into his briefcase on the passenger seat and took out a palm-sized black device—a portable signal detector. The screen displayed several green waveform lines, indicating that there were no abnormal radio signals in the vicinity.

After confirming he wasn't being followed, he took another phone from a compartment in his briefcase—an old-fashioned smartphone with no brand logo and a few minor scratches on the screen. He turned it on, entered a sixteen-digit password, and then opened an application whose icon was a green dot.

The application's interface is very simple, with only one input box and one send button.

He typed a line of text into the input box:

"The bait has been cast. Tracking the fishing line."

He pressed the send button. The screen displayed the words "Sent," and then the message disappeared automatically without leaving a trace.

He turned off his phone, removed the SIM card, broke it in half, and stuffed it into his pocket. He put the phone back in the lining of his briefcase.

The green light is on.

He stepped on the gas, and the car drove smoothly forward, merging into the afternoon traffic in Seattle, and soon disappeared into the sea of cars.

Those assets are bait.

Those concessions were bait.

Those gestures of weakness and concessions were all bait.

Every document, asset, and piece of information that K handed over was carefully selected and processed. They appeared authentic, complete, and valuable—but in reality, each document contained an extremely hidden clue, like a thin thread, one end tied to those assets, the other extending to some unknown destination.

As long as the other party incorporates these assets into their system—transferring, transferring, integrating, and redistributing them—those clues will, like pollen, cling to everyone involved, tracing back step by step along the flow of funds.

The process traces back from bank accounts to shell companies, from shell companies to trust funds, and from trust funds to the actual beneficiaries behind them.

Layer upon layer, link upon link.

Ultimately, it will bring to light the name hidden deepest within.

This is K's real mission.

Lin Feng never needs anyone to kill for him. He has assassins, an intelligence team, and enough means to make any physical enemy disappear. A bullet, a car accident, an "accident"—there are plenty of ways to solve problems.

But the question is: who should the bullet be fired at?

So far, what they've seen is just the tip of the iceberg. Philip Winslow is a pawn, Robert Hines is a pawn, and Steven Harris is a pawn. Behind them are even higher figures—the one who warned Jonathan Lee through members of Congress, the one who could mobilize the judicial system to expedite the prosecution, and the one who had the power to arrange special treatment within prison.

Who are these people? How many of them are there? What are their connections? What is their ultimate goal?

These are the questions Lin Feng truly needs to answer.

The answer lies at the end of that funding chain.

K drove his car across an overpass. Below the bridge lay the shimmering waters of Lake Washington, the afternoon sun casting its golden rays across the surface.

He glanced at his rearview mirror to make sure no vehicle was following him.

Then he stepped on the gas and sped off into the distance.