My Lethal Company System

Chapter 8 : A race to the badge

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The man had finally arrived in New York. The plane ride had been rather stressful, the parachute escape had gone wonderfully, and the few hours' drive to his destination had been punctuated by the distant sound of police sirens that seemed to always be on his tail.

But he had finally arrived without a single patrol car behind him.

He kept driving his van toward Manhattan before parking it in front of a house with an imposing facade.

The house in front of him was undoubtedly worth millions of dollars, not to mention the several luxury cars in front of the entrance.

He got out of his van with several shoulder bags and a leather briefcase in hand, and a valet came to meet him.

"Please follow me, Sir is waiting for you by the pool."

He didn't even bother to greet him or wait for him. He had already returned inside the house as quickly as he had come.

The interior of the mansion was crafted from white marble, and the crystal chandeliers enhanced its classical vibe. There were certainly some modern elements, like the robotic cookers in the kitchen or the huge flat-screen on the living room wall, but the rest was designed to evoke the extravagant homes of the 19th century.

The exterior was not the same story.

The owner must have been pure English because the lawn appeared to be cut every morning without fail. He was sitting by his pool on a folding chair, a beauty mask on his face, seemingly in the midst of a relaxation session.

Two women in swimsuits were massaging his feet.

Unfortunately for him, his little nap was about to end.

Because business matters were more important than rest.

"Melissa, Scarlet, could you help me take off my mask? I wouldn't want to keep my guest waiting too long."

The two women were probably professionals. They skillfully removed the mask before slipping away from the scene.

"It's very pleasant to enjoy the sun. Please take a chair and join me, Mr. Omega."

The man codenamed Omega took a chair and sat next to him.

Now that his beauty mask was removed, his face was clearly visible.

It was the face of a man in his fifties, remarkably well-preserved, with salt-and-pepper hair that must have made him incredibly charming to women of his age.

Omega had worked with him several times before to move his loot and knew now why this man was so effective at his job.

This man was trustworthy and honest, a quality few of his ilk could boast, making him well-liked by everyone he met, regardless of their background.

He could sell jewels to politicians, high-tech equipment to the nouveau riche, cars to middle-class families, or even football balls to underprivileged kids.

The man must have been responsible for selling nearly 50% of all stolen items in New York from his folding chair by the pool.

But even with the immense profits he was making, he was starting to have problems with the FBI, which had found a trace of his involvement in a case over ten years old.

He could have pressured politicians with his lobby or even blackmailed them to stall the case. He could have also hired hitmen to eliminate the evidence and its bearers, but he did not want to get to that point.