louisehourcade Chapter 714 Medical Waste!
Chapter 714 Medical Waste!
The air inside the vault wasn't hot, but standing there for a while still gave one the illusion of dryness in their breath. The fine, grayish-black powder around the edge of the opening dimmed silently under the light, like bits of old coal ash that hadn't been cleaned properly. The empty G-17 in the safe deposit box area lay open, silent and unassuming, but it was precisely its quietness that made it all the more clear what had happened there the night before.
Lynn put her phone back in her pocket and looked up at the door.
“Blake, lock down the building until noon. I need all the bank's account opening documents, video archives, and duty rosters from two years ago. Jason, have the branch transfer all the old records of Rachel's shell identity to me, especially those related to insurance, storage, and transportation. Also, have someone check Adrian and ‘Mole’s’ connections to see if anyone has recently taken on a ‘box retrieval’ order.”
Jason texted, "And that white-gray repair truck too."
“Yes, and the car,” Lynn said. “I need to know which road it was on within the last three hours.”
Blake nodded: "I'll go and pawn the bank."
After he left, Jason looked at the cave entrance and suddenly said, "Do you think the person who came last night knew he was taking Raphael's things?"
"Not necessarily," Lynn said.
"What if they're just doing things for money?"
“Then they’ll show themselves,” Lynn said, “because someone will be eager to confirm whether they’ve got the stuff.”
Jason tilted his head to look at him: "You want to fish for phone calls?"
"I want to hook anyone who's eager to see the results."
"Internal bank communications, lawyers, head office security, outsourced consultants, black market middlemen, even Raphael's own people?" Jason clicked his tongue. "That's a long list."
“It’s good to be tall,” Lynn said.
Jason smiled, the sleepiness in his eyes dispelled somewhat: "Alright. Then let's see who was the most eager to know if G-17 was empty last night."
Lynn didn't say anything more, but just looked back at the hole.
The last rays of the flashlight lingered on the sealed concrete surface at the bottom of the cave, like an open eye. The cold white light from the vault made everyone's faces pale. The technicians whispered and exchanged numbers, the plastic bags rustling softly. Jason glanced at Lynn for two seconds, knowing he was no longer looking at the cave, but at the outside.
"Which side do you want to fish on first?" he asked.
“Fish the greediest one first,” Lynn said.
"Does it work internally, or do you take orders from outside?"
“Everyone wants to know the result, but the first to act will definitely not be the same type of person.” Lynn turned to look at him. “The bank will first confirm ‘whether the pressure has been contained,’ while the person taking the order will first confirm ‘whether the goods are correct.’ The way they ask the questions is different, and the pace is different as well.”
Jason nodded: "Then give them two different baits."
"Correct."
He raised his hand and called over the two technicians who were still making records in Zone G: "From now on, the initial screening results of G-17 will only be kept verbally and will not be released into the system. If anyone asks, just say that there is residue in the box that has not yet been genotyped."
The technician paused for a moment: "Including your own internal systems?"
“Including,” Lynn said. “If you need to write something, write it on paper and give it to Jason.”
"clear."
Jason had already dialed the branch's encrypted line and was speaking quickly: "Samantha, give me two sets of things. The first set is real, something the bank can find internally, saying 'Private box G-17 suspected of containing paper scraps and traces of wax sealing resin, presumably containing documents.' The second set is fake, only leaked through channels we control, saying that a bloodstained injection cap and half a poorly burned shipping label were found in the box."
There was a pause on the other end of the phone: "Do you want to see who reacts to which message?"
"Yes. The real one, which is closer to the inside, will make those who know the significance of the box nervous. The fake one, which is more anomaly-like, will make those outside think that the contents haven't been completely removed."
“Understood,” Samantha said. “Which ports?”
"First, monitor the keywords in the emails linked to the head office security, legal department, internal audit, and Adrian's old interface. Then, spread rumors among our underground informants." Jason glanced at Lynn. "How dirty do you want the information from the black market to be?"
Lynn said, "It should be tempting enough, but not too detailed. Make it feel like there's a chance to salvage it."
“Understood.” Samantha’s keyboard clicked rapidly on the other end. “I’ll give you the first batch of listening tags and decoy text within fifteen minutes.”
“It’s not for me, it’s for him,” Jason said. “He’s in a worse mood today.”
The person on the other end of the phone chuckled and hung up.
Blake came back in from outside the warehouse, holding several newly signed documents for the continued on-site lockdown, his brow still furrowed: "The bank has already started complaining that we're holding onto the second floor, and they're going to explode this morning."
“Let them blow it up,” Lynn said.
“That’s what I said too.” Blake slammed the file on the table next to him. “But you’d better tell me right now what you’re planning to do next. I can hold out for two hours, three hours is fine too, any longer and the media and the board will be crawling all over me.”
“Two hours is enough,” Lynn said. “You divide everyone who might have come into contact with the G-17 list into three layers.”
Which three floors?
"The first layer consists of people who know the mailbox number and the account holder's identity. The second layer consists of people who do not know the mailbox number but can see the clear list and know the identity field of 'ethics advisor'. The third layer consists of everyone who came into contact with the automatic digest, system anomaly, and old interface credentials around midnight."
Blake picked up his pen and wrote: "And then?"
"Then you let them think that the building is starting to soften its stance."
Blake looked up: "How loose?"
“Don’t let your guard down completely,” Lynn said. “Send out two signals. One internally: there may be paper scraps left in G-17, and we are tracking the opening images. The other externally: traceable biological traces have been found on the cave wall, and preliminary screening may be available before tonight.”
"Isn't this similar to the two rumors you had the branch release?"
“Similar, but the audience is different,” Jason continued. “You’re in the near field, for those who are restless on-site and in the banking system. The branch office is in the far field, for those who might be waiting for news tonight.”
Blake thought for a moment, then slowly nodded: "You want to force them to come and confirm it themselves?"
“We’re forcing them to believe that something will go wrong if they don’t confirm,” Lynn said.
Blake muttered under his breath, "You guys are really shady."
Jason glanced at him: "Thank you for the compliment."
They emerged from the vault, the door resealed. The corridor between the equipment floor and the second basement level was even busier than before, a cacophony of ringing phones, footsteps, and printer spitting out paper. A young officer was blocking the bank's executive vice president, who was trying to rush downstairs. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he suppressed his anger, insisting he needed to understand the clients' risk exposure. Blake walked past without a second glance, simply tossing out, "If you take another step, I'll include you in the list of people whose movements need to be recorded separately."
The other person stopped abruptly, their face turning pale.
Jason tilted his head and whispered, "I'm starting to like him."
“He has a bad temper,” Lynn said.
"People with bad tempers are more suited to work today."
They returned to the temporary command area on the first floor. The area in the lobby that had originally been reserved for VIP clients had been cleared out, and two long tables had been put together, covered with old city utility network maps, current bank structure diagrams, printed communication forms, and on-site photos. Several federal agents had also arrived and were receiving assignments. Reporters were still outside the glass doors, raising their cameras through the security tape. It seemed like rain had started again; the floor tiles outside were damp, and the gray sky felt even lower.
Lynn stood by the table and directly called on people.
“Angela, you take two people and keep an eye on Helen Page, the deputy legal counsel at headquarters. Record all her phone calls, all her emails, who she asks to delete what, and who sends her documents. Don't stop her; let her do it herself.” “Understood.”
“Cole, take the NYPD and get all of Adrian Cooper’s municipal outsourcing, access control integration, and building security contracts from the past four months. Focus on finding out who he saw in the week before he went missing.”
"it is good."
"Marcus."
"exist."
"Go to the underground network and find three middlemen who are best at selling information and most afraid of dying. Spread the word: the hole that was opened in Chenqiao's vault wasn't empty; half of something was left inside. Whoever cleans up last night's deal will be tried again before tonight."
Marcus's eyes lit up: "That's a really venomous remark."
“When you spread it, don’t do it like we did,” Lynn said. “Say it like you can smell it yourselves.”
"Understand."
“Sarah, sit with the bank's IT department. I need the read times, forwarding records, screenshot traces, and download actions for all automatic digest recipients. Circle who viewed it using a personal device first.”
"receive."
Jason added, "Don't forget that white-gray repair truck, the last two digits are K. Have the traffic department run through the entire area from 2:00 to 3:30 in the morning, including all vehicles with license plates from the downtown financial district, municipal vehicles, temporary license plates, and those covered in mud."
A technician nearby responded, "It's already being screened."
“And one more thing,” Lynn glanced at everyone, “From now on, don’t say the designation G-17 anymore. Call it Gray Box.”
The detectives nodded in unison.
“Another euphemism is ‘capping,’” Jason said. “If you hear anyone mentioning terms like ‘injection capping,’ ‘blood sample,’ or ‘label not burned properly,’ don’t panic. Remember the person, the time, and the source.”
Blake leaned against the table, watching them give orders without taking a sip of his coffee. He waited until Lynn stopped before saying, "Is this how you usually force people to do things?"
“No,” Jason said. “It’s more annoying most of the time.”
Blake chuckled. "Well, I guess I'm lucky today."
Suddenly, someone at the front desk raised their voice. Helen Page was talking to a city police officer; her phone had been asked to remain in evidence mode for registration, which clearly annoyed her. She looked up and saw Lynn, who came straight over in her high heels, her steps steady and quick.
“Agent, I need to make an internal call to headquarters under confidentiality privileges,” she said.
“Open,” Lynn said.
Helen was taken aback, as if she hadn't expected him to agree so readily.
“But when you use our room, we record metadata, not content.” Lynn looked at her. “We record who enters and exits, when it starts and ends, and who you text after the call.”
Helen's lips tightened: "Are you treating the entire bank as a suspect?"
“It is now,” Lynn said.
Helen stared at him for two seconds, as if trying to see any intimidation in his face, but she couldn't detect anything. She could only say, "Give me the room."
Blake nodded to the side, and someone immediately led her to a small conference room.
Jason watched her retreating figure and whispered, "She'll definitely ask three things first. How much does the police know? Has the container number been exposed? And who on the board will be the first to take the blame?"
“Add one more,” Lynn said.
"what?"
"Will this bring up old interfaces?"
Jason raised an eyebrow, his smile a little cold: "You've got feelings for Adrian."
“It’s not a feeling,” Lynn said. “It’s that this kind of person won’t just sell to one place. When he makes access control and compatibility systems, the most valuable thing is never the craftsmanship, but the oldest parts, the laziest parts, and the parts where the blueprints don’t match reality.”
“And this bank happens to be in an old building,” Blake added.
"Correct."
The rain gradually intensified. Flashes of light from outside the lobby shone through the glass, casting flickering shadows on the marble floor. Someone brought in a new coffee pot, and stacks of paper cups were placed on the table. The whole atmosphere had that forced, prolonged morning feel; it was clearly dawn, but time seemed stuck in the early hours of the morning.
Twenty minutes later, the first sounds came.
It's not a telephone, it's a printer.
Sarah hurried over with a newly printed system log: "The head office security director logged into the summary backend three times in a row at 7:21, 7:23, and 7:27, looking at the section on the abnormal underground surveillance at night. At 7:29, he sent a screenshot with only a number and no text to a private email drafts folder for archiving. It wasn't actually sent, but the trace is still there."
"Whose private email is this?" Jason asked.
"Under investigation. The domain name is an encrypted relay service, which is uncommon."
Lynn reached out and took the order, glancing at it: "What about Helen's?"
"She entered the room just six minutes ago, dialed two headquarters numbers, and that was it."
"What's the name of the security director?"
Michael Dean.
Blake frowned. "I've seen him. He's the bald guy upstairs who keeps yelling, 'This is a blow to the credibility of the financial system.'"
“Keep him in sight,” Lynn said.
"Someone is already watching."
Before they could even finish speaking, Marcus got a call. He had come back from the rain, his trench coat shoulders soaked, and the first thing he said as he walked in was, "Someone's taken the bait down there."
Jason immediately turned his head: "Which way?"
“A person selling information about unusual parts, named ‘Cicada Tail,’ said that a little after eight this morning, someone asked him to inquire whether ‘the bank had found medical waste that shouldn’t have been found.’”
Several people in the hall stopped at the same time.
"The exact words?" Lynn asked.
“Basic words. He said the person who asked didn’t leave their name, and only used a public phone on a street corner, asking him to call back from another location in fifteen minutes. Chanwei didn’t dare to actually call back; he came to find us first.”
“Describe,” Jason said.
“A male voice, low-pitched, age impossible to discern. A light local accent. His questioning style was steady, not like something hastily put together.” Marcus wiped the water from his forehead. “The key point is he didn’t ask about the cave, the gold, or whether anyone had been caught; he immediately jumped to ‘medical waste.’” (End of Chapter)