"Is it really that difficult to let a police chief go down?" Armstrong looked at Sean, puzzled.
For legal reasons, evidence obtained illegally cannot be presented in court, which is why McIntosh Quinnier simply resigned. He still retains his money and faces no legal repercussions.
As for digging deeper into the matter, no one was pushing for it. Quinnier had served as chief of police for many years, and his extensive knowledge and connections made him untouchable. Moreover, the police had a close relationship with the local prosecutor's office, complicating any attempts to investigate further.
Politics isn't just about serving the public; it's about navigating a complex web of interests. The situation here is so intricate that it escapes the understanding of ordinary citizens.
"Of course, it's not that straightforward," Sean sneered. "But don't worry about it."
Armstrong frowned, contemplating the implications, then nodded in agreement before turning to leave.
Night, Trenton.
McIntosh Quinnier's Cottage.
Two figures dressed in dark gray stealthily approached the villa's door. One of them produced a set of tools and, after a few attempts, successfully unlocked the door with a soft 'click.' They quietly pushed the door open.
Once inside, one pulled out a small flashlight, casting a faint beam across the room. Using the light, they moved stealthily upstairs.
After signaling each other, one drew a handle crossbow and prepared it, while the other took out lockpicking tools to tackle the bedroom door.
After a nod indicating success, one of them took a deep breath and forcefully kicked the door open, quickly stepping aside. The other aimed the crossbow at the figure on the bed and pulled the trigger.
A soft thud echoed as the triangular bolt struck its target.
McIntosh Quinnier stirred awake, momentarily disoriented, when a flash of light caught his attention. Before he could comprehend the situation, a second bolt pierced his head.
The woman lying next to him, startled by the noise, raised her head to scream, only to be silenced by another bolt.
Blood pooled on the bedding as both victims lay motionless.
After confirming their deaths, the assailant stowed the crossbow, drew the curtains closed, and began searching for valuable items.
"Found anything?" the other asked, exasperated after searching for over ten minutes.
The leader remained focused, stating, "Look for anything—notes, bribes, anything we can use. If we don't find something solid, we'll have to fake it."
"Come on, nobody keeps a diary these days."
"Exactly. But is McIntosh Quinnier a decent man?"
They continued to search, exchanging banter.
"Why would anyone document their crimes?" one scoffed.
"It's called a diary. I heard from Bill that the higher-ups love that sort of thing."
"Why? Afraid people will find out?"
"No, if nothing happens, it stays hidden. But if trouble arises, it serves as a safeguard."
The conversation paused as one of them noticed a glimmer behind the sofa. "Found something?" he asked excitedly.
"Who knows? Let's check." He yanked the skirting board away, revealing a small hidden space containing a notebook.
"Well, look at this! He really wasn't a serious person," one said, astonished.
"What's in it?"
"I don't know, but it's not in the safe—this is a hidden stash. What could it contain?"
"Great job!"
"Let's get out of here."
Sol sank into the sofa after entering the room, lighting a cigarette from the coffee table. He then pulled out a large kraft paper bag from his satchel. "This cross-shareholding plan is ridiculously complicated. It took me a whole week to piece it together."
"This was designed by Lamb. According to him, cross-holding shares in nine companies across three tax-free locations will drive Fobole into despair," Sean replied as he moved to the bar to wash his hands. "Want a drink? I'll make you something special."
"Angel's Kiss," Sol said with a sigh. "Forget the drink; helping me secure more legal business is what I really need."
"Sure." Sean grabbed cocoa liqueur, fresh cream, and cherries. "What's the deal? Are you thinking about joining a law firm?"
Sol fell silent. After a moment, Sean placed the drink in front of him. "What's wrong? Still against the idea?"
"Yes," Sol replied, his expression darkening.
"Want to know why?" Sean leaned back casually, feigning indifference.
"You know?!" Sol sat up straight. "What's the reason?"
"Do you believe your brother is against it?" Sean asked quietly.
"That's impossible!" Sol exclaimed, grabbing Sean's shoulder. "How do you know?"
"Why not? Life is full of surprises. Just because it seems impossible doesn't mean it isn't true. Think about it: Akomo Apple and his daughter-in-law having an affair, twins being half-siblings—stranger things happen."
Sol's expression shifted, doubt clouding his features. "But how can he envy me? I'm just a nobody, while he's a respected barrister. What do I have that he would feel jealous about?"
"I don't know the ins and outs of your family, but let me share an example. When I was growing up, often the mischievous kids—the ones who caused trouble—were the ones who received the most attention from parents and teachers. The obedient ones seemed to fade into the background."
"Those troublemakers don't have any real merits. Why would anyone prefer them? Shouldn't it be the good, obedient kids who get the love?"
"Exactly. But sometimes, those who seem to have it all—the ones who excel—can be overshadowed by the attention the 'bad' kids attract. It creates envy."
"But... Chuck has always been good to me," Sol said, still in disbelief.
"That's your family dynamic, not mine," Sean replied. "But here, take this." He handed Sol a business card. "This psychologist is well-regarded. He might help you figure out your brother's mindset."
Sol clenched the card tightly, his mind racing. The implications of Sean's words weighed heavily on him, and he felt a mix of confusion and anxiety swirling within.