Chapter 313: The Swindlers
With the situation finally under control, everyone began dealing with the aftermath.
"Dad!"
Sammi and Fiona, who had been hiding behind cover, were the first to rush toward Frank.
Jimmy had only dragged Frank halfway before everything was already over.
It felt like the chaos had lasted forever—but in reality, from start to finish, only a few minutes had passed.
Frank, still under full anesthesia, knew nothing of what had happened. His expression was calm and peaceful, as if he were simply asleep.
He hadn't been seriously injured either. No stray bullets had hit him. Aside from a few scrapes and shallow cuts—mostly from Jimmy dragging him across the floor—he was fine.
Ironically, if not for Jimmy's "heroics," Frank might not have been hurt at all.
"Dad, are you okay?" Terry Milkovich's two sons asked as they helped their father up.
"Fuck…" Terry lay on the ground for a long moment before finally catching his breath, cursing through clenched teeth.
After all these years in the streets, he had nearly been taken out today. That doctor had been a goddamn freak—strong like a monster.
"Dad, these are the ones we caught." His sons held four men at gunpoint.
Not all of Johnny's crew had escaped.
Two of them had simply been unlucky—tripping while fleeing and spraining their ankles. The other two hadn't even tried to run, instead curling up behind medical equipment, shaking in terror until they were dragged out.
"How's Frank?" Terry asked first.
"He's fine," Sammi replied.
"Good." Terry nodded, then turned sharply toward the captives. "Now explain something to me. You said this was a liver transplant—so why the hell was a kidney taken out?"
The four men weren't exactly made of steel. Faced with guns and Terry Milkovich's glare, they folded immediately. Everything spilled out—what they should've said and what they shouldn't.
The truth was simple.
They weren't a professional medical team at all.
Johnny and a few of the others did have some medical training and could perform surgeries—but their expertise had nothing to do with liver transplants. They didn't have a liver specialist. They didn't even have a real transplant protocol.
This so-called "team" was nothing more than a hastily assembled, fraudulent operation—built to scam desperate people out of their money.
They specialized not in liver transplants at all, but in kidney removal surgeries.
They worked with organ traffickers, cutting out kidneys for profit, and occasionally took on other underground jobs—treating gunshot wounds for gang members and the like.
Sammi had been desperately searching everywhere for a way to save Frank, asking around among all kinds of people—legitimate or otherwise. That was how word reached them.
Johnny deliberately had someone approach Sammi, claiming they could perform a liver transplant. Once trust was established, they arranged the meeting and lured her in.
After that, Johnny hastily threw together a makeshift crew and built a convincing-looking "operating room."
He understood people like Sammi perfectly.
Family members of terminal patients were clinging to hope—grasping at straws. Even if something felt off, they would rather believe than give up, constantly reassuring themselves that this might be real.
All Johnny had to do was act professional enough, and they would bite.
The so-called liver transplant was never the goal.
The real objective was harvesting kidneys.
They had done this many times before and were extremely practiced at it—each operation letting them profit several times over.
First, they sold hope to the patient's family and collected a hefty "surgery fee."
Then, during the operation, while everything looked legitimate, they secretly removed a kidney instead.
Johnny wasn't afraid of being watched. Even when Terry Milkovich insisted on staying, Johnny didn't mind. Let them watch—ordinary people wouldn't understand what they were seeing anyway.
Medicine, especially surgery, was far too complex for laypeople.
Unfortunately for them this time, they ran into someone who did understand.
Jimmy's years in medical school hadn't been wasted.
Though, truth be told, even without Jimmy, Terry would never have allowed them to touch Frank.
Worse still, Johnny didn't just steal the patient's kidney—he also removed the donor's kidney.
The donor wasn't an accomplice. He was another victim.
They found donors on the fly. The world never lacks poor people—and there are even more undocumented immigrants desperate for money.
All they had to do was "tell the truth": they needed an organ for a transplant, the donor would be paid afterward, losing one organ wouldn't affect their life, and other comforting lies.
Someone desperate enough would always take the bait.
That way, Johnny's crew collected the surgery fee, plus two kidneys—one from the patient, one from the donor. Both could be sold for a high price.
Three profits from a single job.
As for the money promised to the donor?
Empty words.
They always said payment would come after surgery. Once the kidneys were taken, they disappeared—never to return.
The four men who were caught confessed everything, without holding anything back.
"Scum," Terry growled, kicking one of them to the ground.
"So what now?" someone asked.
"Call an ambulance," Fiona said. "Get Dad and that poor guy to the hospital for checks."
Of course, they couldn't call one here. The warehouse was riddled with gunfire damage—an ambulance showing up would almost certainly bring the police.
They loaded Frank and the unlucky donor—now missing a kidney—into a vehicle, drove several blocks away, and only then called emergency services.
The four captured men were taken by Terry Milkovich. Whatever came next, he would handle it.
Calling the police was never an option. If the cops got involved, none of them would walk away clean.
"This stuff's all legit," someone said, patting the abandoned medical equipment. "Should sell for a decent price. Medical gear isn't cheap."
Terry would take care of the cleanup.
---
Meanwhile, several blocks away from the warehouse, a black sedan was parked on a quiet street.
The passenger door opened, and the square-faced doctor—Zabo—the man with terrifying strength—climbed into the seat.
His condition looked awful.
Veins bulged on his forehead and neck. His eyes were bloodshot, radiating an unsettling intensity.
In the driver's seat sat a woman wearing a long dress resembling a cheongsam. She had shoulder-length wavy hair, brown skin, and an indescribably mysterious aura.
A cigarette rested between her fingers as she leaned against the window, calmly watching the street across from them.