American comics: I am full of martial virtues and I love to be kind to others.

Chapter 721 The Next Scene of an Accident!

Rachel looked at the table, and after a while, nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “The rest are just side issues.”

At 11:22 p.m. that night, Evelyn Morrow was officially transferred to federal custody.

At 00:09, the first round of publicly announced lockdown lists was issued, freezing all three institutions—Saint Alban, Northport, and Green Ark—and their related shell companies. Personnel involved were restricted from leaving the country, and all those being transferred entered the identity verification and medical protection process.

At 1 a.m., the lockdown of the bank building was lifted.

The Morningbridge Bank board finally erupted in anger, but after seeing the search warrant and federal freeze order, no one dared to actually confront Blake. The G-17 vault area was resealed as a federal evidence scene, to be subject to long-term court-supervised examination. Helen, accompanied by her lawyer, signed a supplementary cooperation agreement, and the bank's headquarters security office handed over all anomaly summary access logs overnight. Michael, meanwhile, signed a plea agreement in another room, barely able to hold a pen.

The next morning, the sky finally cleared up.

The water stains outside the branch building hadn't dried yet, and the glass still bore traces of last night's rain. The whole building carried a kind of sluggishness after a long night; empty cups piled up next to the coffee machine, and people were everywhere in the corridors, some asleep in their coats and then woken up. But beneath that sluggishness lay a rare kind of relief—not ease, but the relief of finally sealing off a gap that needed to be closed.

When Lynn came out of the conference room, she was holding the final briefing. Jason was sitting on a bench outside, wearing a new shirt and with braces wrapped around his sides. He still looked unwell, but at least not as pale as last night. He held a cup of black coffee in his hand, the cup almost cold.

"All done?" he asked.

“Basic.” Lynn handed him the briefing.

Jason flipped through two pages, whistled softly, and said, "Rachel is now the main culprit, Evelyn's case is being consolidated, Adrian has been identified as a key witness after his death, all three facilities have been sealed off, the twenty-one people being transferred have been confirmed, the identities of seven missing persons have been recovered, and four are still alive but their names don't match. We need to continue investigating. Not bad."

He turned to the last page and smiled.

"Blake finally spelled his name correctly this time."

“He yelled at Samantha for five minutes over this,” Lynn said.

Jason looked up at him: "You didn't sleep all night?"

"You weren't asleep either."

“I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes for ten minutes,” Jason said seriously. “That was quite a luxury.”

Lynn sat down next to him without saying a word.

At the end of the corridor, a technician was pushing an empty evidence box back into the storeroom, the wheels making a soft clatter. Morning light filtered through the blinds, casting pale lines on the floor. Last night's names, those rooms, those damp, cold alleyways and mezzanine passageways seemed to be left behind in this early morning.

Jason took a sip of his now lukewarm coffee and suddenly said, "We've managed to get Raphael back on his side."

“Yes,” Lynn said.

"The things in the gray box weren't left in vain after all."

"Ah."

Jason turned to look at him, his tone a little softer: "Last night you asked me if that was 'the piece of heart Raphael had been hiding.' Now it seems pretty much so."

Lynn looked out the window at the sky that was just beginning to brighten, and after a while, he said calmly, "At least it's not a dead thing."

Jason chuckled.

After sitting for a while, Blake came up the stairs, carrying three paper bags. His face was still sour, but his steps were much lighter than yesterday. He threw two of the bags onto their laps.

"The delicatessen downstairs just opened," he said. "Don't say I'm not sincere about cross-departmental cooperation."

Jason took the paper bag, opened it, and glanced at it: "I'll remember this for three days."

"Enough with the nonsense." Blake sat down himself, stretching his aching shoulders. "The media narrative is set. The bank case will be described as involving illegal intrusion, internal collusion, and a cross-state criminal network involving unusual populations. As for the grey box, the screening index, and how those foundations will be described, those will be revealed gradually."

“It’s better to release them slowly,” Jason said. “At least those who are pulled out will have time to catch their breath.”

Blake nodded, unusually refraining from arguing.

The three of them sat there in the early morning corridor, unwrapping paper bags and eating perfectly warm sandwiches. No one talked about who nearly fell into the mezzanine last night, who almost had half their arm sliced ​​off by a cutting tool, or who chased each other like madmen in the rain. No one talked about how the names in the interrogation room would be written into the case files and the news. The case was closed; the subsequent courtroom proceedings, transports, liquidation, and administrative noise would be handled by another, slower machine.

All they need to know is that this phase has come to an end.

Halfway through her meal, Samantha, carrying a stack of newly printed follow-up lists, hurried down the corridor. Seeing the three people sitting side by side eating breakfast, she paused, her expression a complex mix of wanting to laugh but feeling too busy to do so.

“Don’t tell me you’re really planning to sit here until noon,” she said.

Jason held up the sandwich in his hand: "At least sit here until I finish eating."

“You don’t have that kind of luck.” Samantha slammed the top page onto Lynn’s lap. “Sign. Case closed, transfer to main file. Also, the bureau has given you a mandatory half-day break, starting from now.”

Blake chuckled upon hearing this: "That's rare indeed."

Lynn glanced down at the page.

The title is simple: Summary of the joint investigation into the abnormal intrusion into Chenqiao Vault and the illegal transfer chain.

The row below, awaiting signatures, already contains several names.

He picked up the pen and signed his name at the bottom.

The ink dries very quickly.

Jason peeked over and signed, his handwriting as messy as ever. Blake took it and signed it heavily, as if afraid no one would notice he'd actually done the work this time.

Samantha took the file away, hugged it to her arms, and finally breathed a sigh of relief.

“Okay,” she said. “This page is turned.”

She turned and left.

Blake stood up and patted the wrinkles on his trousers: "I'm going to clean up the last mess at the bank. You two better actually go to sleep with them, or next time I see you, I'll suspect you're using illegal drugs to maintain your functions."

Jason waved to him: "Take care, don't bother seeing me out."

Blake rolled his eyes and left anyway.

The corridor fell silent again for a moment.

Lynn finished the last bite of her sandwich, folded the paper bag, and threw it into the nearby trash can. Jason also finished his coffee, crumpled the empty cup, leaned back against the wall, and closed his eyes for a moment.

“A half-day rest,” he murmured. “It sounds like a myth.”

“You can try believing me just once,” Lynn said. Jason opened his eyes and looked at him, then suddenly smiled: “You’re going back to sleep?”

"Let's go back and wash off this dust and rain smell."

“That’s true.” Jason stood up, supporting himself on his knees, though his movements were still a bit slow. “My jacket from last night should be able to stand up on its own by now.”

The two walked together toward the elevator.

As I passed the observation room, the lights were still on. The last image frozen on the screen was the alignment of the dark box and the etched slide. Those things that had been dismantled, hidden, resold, fought over, and silenced were now finally lying obediently in the light, and no one could stuff them back into the wall, the well, the dentures, or some seemingly respectable foundation drawer.

The elevator doors opened.

They went inside, and the door slowly closed.

The mirror reflected the two men, both pale and cold after a sleepless night; neither could be described as dignified. But before the door closed completely, Jason glanced at Lynn.

"Is it really over this time?" he asked.

Lynn watched the floor numbers keep dropping and calmly answered.

"It's really over."

It wasn't until three days after the case was completely closed that Lynn truly felt that it was "over."

It wasn't signing a document, nor being escorted away, nor the long, drawn-out aftermath of the formal commencement of court proceedings, but rather the fact that he finally woke up in his apartment, unshaken by a phone call, and without instinctively reaching for his gun and communicator in a half-awake state. Outside, the sky was bright; New York had unusually clear mornings. Sunlight fell on the kitchen counter, casting an almost excessively calm glow on the unwashed mug from the previous night.

This tranquility is actually quite unsettling.

Lynn sat quietly on the edge of the bed for a while before remembering the promise she had made to Gwen the day before yesterday.

"Once this page is turned, I'll take you away for a few days."

At that moment, Gwen leaned against his office door, peeling an orange while watching him, as if she already knew he would most likely change his mind: "Every time you say that, you always end up turning 'going away for a few days' into 'taking me to the branch office for a decent dinner.'"

“This time is different,” Lynn said.

"What's different?"

"I've already booked the tickets."

Gwen even forgot to continue peeling the orange, and squinted at him, asking, "What did you order?"

“Not a ticket, a room,” Lynn said. “In the mountains, a quiet place. No reporters, no bank boardrooms, no philanthropists who suddenly fly abroad, and no madmen who like to crawl into walls.”

Gwen was silent for two seconds, then suddenly laughed.

That smile was different from others; it didn't light up instantly, but rather seemed to relax her entire being first, then a softness slowly surfaced from her eyes. She looked more like their mother, especially when she was quietly looking at people; the contours of her brows and eyes always carried a gentleness that made it difficult to immediately be wary of her. But Lynn knew very well that this gentleness was just a facade. If Gwen really wanted to be serious, her temper might not be much better than his.

"You'd better not change your mind at the last minute," she said.

"will not."

"You said the same thing last time."

"I'll send you the address this time."

“You sent me the address the time before last, and then left me alone at that restaurant for forty-five minutes.”

"Not this time."

Gwen stared at him for a while, then finally chuckled, "Fine. I'll trust you this once, sir."

So three days later, they really set off.

It wasn't about flying far away, but heading north, leaving the city, driving through the gradually thinning highways and town edges, and then into the mountains. The destination was a mountain lodge built on the edge of the highlands, called "Grey Ridge Lodge," which sounded like some kind of overly dramatic literary image, but the place was much better than its name. The lodge wasn't large, with woodlands and ridges behind it, and a lake in front. The main building was constructed of old stone and dark wood, with several independent cabins scattered around, as well as stables, a glass greenhouse, a hot spring pool, and a wooden walkway leading to a viewing platform at a higher elevation.

When Jason heard the name, he paused for two seconds on the phone before saying, "Grey Ridge? Do you have some kind of post-traumatic attachment to the word 'grey'?"

“Shut up,” Lynn said.

"I'm just reminding you that the vacation spot sounds like the next scene of an accident."

"Say it one more time and I'll hang up."

“Okay.” Jason chuckled smugly on the other end. “Then I wish you and your sister a good time. And I wish everyone in the manor peace.”

Lynn died instantly.

Gwen, sitting in the passenger seat, overheard most of the conversation. She waited until he put his phone down before speaking: "He's not wrong. Your taste in choosing places does have a slightly ominous quality."

"You can get off now."

“No.” Gwen reclined her seat a bit and leaned lazily against the window. “I’ve already taken a liking to that rooftop pool photo you sent me. If the actual place is too different from the photo, I’ll be sarcastic all the way back to the city.”

"Then you probably don't have a chance."

"So confident?"

"Ah."

Gwen tilted her head to look at him and smiled: "Then I'm starting to look forward to it."

They didn't talk much about the case along the way.

Lynn deliberately avoided mentioning the branch office, the people who were taken away overnight, and the ongoing follow-up procedures. Gwen rarely asked either. She had always been like this, knowing there were too many unspeakable aspects to his work, so she never used the "you can tell me" approach to pressure him into revealing anything. She would only silently leave a light on for him when he came home late at night, looking as pale as if he had just gotten up from a body bag, or the next day she would deliberately send him some irrelevant messages, such as "If you don't rest, I'll start to suspect you're maintaining your physiological functions by cursing."

This sense of proportion makes one feel relaxed, but also makes one feel more guilty.

Because Lynn knew that he hadn't kept many of the promises he'd made to her.

Behind their childhood home was a small hill that would accumulate a thick layer of snow in winter. When Gwen was seven, she ran outside carrying a plastic sled longer than her leg, turning back to shout at him, "Hurry up!" Lynn already knew he had to grow up earlier than his peers in many things, so he was more used to saying "okay" than his older brother. But that year, the snow was heavy, their mother was sick, and their father wasn't home. In the end, he couldn't play with Gwen for the whole afternoon; he only took her down the hill before being called back by a neighbor to fetch coal and find medicine. When he came out again, Gwen was sitting alone on the sled, her scarf soaked, her face red from the cold, but she still looked up at him and said, "It's okay, I just slid down three times by myself, and it was fun."

Lynn still remembers the words "It's okay".

Remembering it for too long makes it feel like something has never truly passed.

So, unusually, he relaxed completely on the road, as if he genuinely intended to treat these few days as a normal vacation. Gwen switched the car stereo around, finally settling on an old jazz disc. The higher they climbed the mountain road, the colder the air became. Tree shadows swept past the car window, and the distant lake's surface shimmered with tiny, shimmering spots of light in the wind, appearing almost unreal in its tranquility. (End of Chapter)