Late autumn in New York, 10:30 AM.
John Crane had his secretary, Benson, send an urgent letter—one that could be said to be staking everything—requesting a face-to-face meeting with Felix.
"Will he see me, Benson?" Crane asked, tying his cravat, as if seeking a sliver of comfort.
"Of course, sir," Benson replied with unusual certainty, even stepping forward to help Crane straighten his hat.
"The leverage you hold is enough to interest him. After all, no one wants a viper hidden behind their back."
"Yes, yes," Crane grasped at a lifeline.
"Leverage, I have leverage. I'm not going to beg, I'm going to... negotiate."
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. Then he picked up his cane and took one last look at the office where he had toiled for half his life.
Perhaps when he returned, everything would be different.
"Prepare the car, to the Argyle Bank."
...Meanwhile, east of Fifth Avenue, in Flynn's command center hidden on the second floor of a tobacco shop, the atmosphere was equally tense.
"Minister, we found it."
The Ghost's figure emerged from the shadows, placing several papers on Flynn's desk.
"Two days before the article was published, a five-thousand-dollar anonymous cash deposit appeared in Martin Slavin's personal bank account. It was transferred through a small trust company in Greenwich Village, and the source cannot be traced for now."
Flynn looked at the figure and let out a cold laugh.
"Five thousand dollars for a front-page headline, plus an editor's conscience. That's not an expensive deal."
"Our people also contacted the reporter who first spread the rumors in the tavern," the Ghost continued.
"He confessed. It was someone he didn't know who bought him a drink at Poet's Corner tavern, gave him a hundred dollars, and told him to tell those 'stories' about Miss O'Brien to a few tabloid colleagues."
"A carefully planned, multi-pronged public opinion attack."
Flynn walked to the window, looking at the bustling crowd on the street below.
"They are very professional, and very... vicious."
Just then, another messenger rushed in, knocking.
"Mr. Flynn, news from the Argyle Bank. John Crane just sent an urgent letter, saying he has a huge matter and needs to see the Boss immediately. He's already on his way."
Flynn was stunned for a moment. Crane, wanting to see the Boss at this time—he also knew about the Union Pacific Railroad Company board forcing the other party to handle the matter himself.
But he didn't expect the other party to proactively seek out his Boss so quickly.
Suddenly, Flynn remembered the report about Catherine, and he immediately understood Crane's urgency.
"Tell the brothers around the bank building to stay alert and keep a close eye on Crane's carriage."
...10:50 AM.
New York, Broadway.
This was New York City's most bustling artery. Four-wheeled carriages, public carriages, freight wagons, and hurried pedestrians packed the wide cobblestone road.
Beside commercial buildings, newsboys still shouted hoarsely the latest news about the Nebraska Massacre.
Seamus O'Malley was curled up in the cold Stone Wall shadow of Trinity Church graveyard.
He had been waiting here for almost an hour.
The bitter autumn wind cut like a knife through his thin, worn coat, triggering fits of violent coughing.
Each cough brought a warm, rusty-tasting fluid to his throat.
Seamus knew he was dying.
But he couldn't collapse, at least not now.
He pulled the cold Colt Navy revolver from his In my arms, and glanced again at the itinerary with John Crane's photo printed on it.
Wall Street office... via Broadway... Argyle Bank.
It was here, on this unavoidable path, that he waited for the villain to appear.
He wasn't committing murder; he was delivering justice. He was punishing the culprit who had insulted Miss O'Brien with ink. Mr. Bowen was right, this was God's will.
Seamus's purple-frozen hand trembled as he cocked the gun's hammer.
Just then, a stately private carriage, emblazoned with the Union Pacific Railroad Company emblem, slowly rounded the corner from Wall Street, slowing due to the congested traffic.
Seamus's heart pounded. He squinted, clearly seeing the pale-faced man inside the carriage, anxiously looking out the window.
John Crane.
It was him.
Seamus used the last ounce of his strength to rise from the shadows.
An astonishing power erupted from his body, hollowed out by illness.
He gripped the revolver in his arms tightly, blending into the passing crowd, like a staggering drunk, moving step by step towards the slowly advancing carriage... Inside the carriage, John Crane was irritably tapping the floor with his cane.
"Faster! Damn it, can't you go any faster?" he growled at the coachman.
He had to see Argyle as soon as possible, he had to tell him about Morgan's conspiracy. This was his only way out.
Outside the carriage window, a figure suddenly approached. Crane frowned in disgust, thinking it was another beggar asking for money. He was about to pull the curtain.
The figure lifted his head. It was a face pale and horrifying from illness, but in those sunken eyes, an intense, fanatical flame burned, one he didn't understand.
Crane's heart sank, sensing danger.
But it was too late.
Seamus violently pulled the already loaded revolver from his large coat pocket, aiming it at the terrified face inside the carriage window from less than three feet away.
"Bang bang... bang bang bang..."
A series of gunshots exploded amidst the clamor of Broadway.
The carriage window, along with Crane's astonishment, shattered into pieces.
John Crane lowered his head, disbelievingly watching dark red, scorching dots rapidly bloom across his pristine white shirt.
He opened his mouth to scream for help, but only a gurgling, leaking sound escaped.
Outside the carriage, chaos erupted.
Pedestrians screamed in terror, horses neighed in fright, trying to break through the crowd. Two New York City police officers on the street corner blew their whistles, desperately trying to push their way through.
Seamus O'Malley stood still.
He looked at the figure slowly collapsing behind the carriage window, a strange, relieved smile on his face.
He did it!
For Mary, for Liam and Bridget, for ten thousand dollars and a farm in Switzerland.
Then he quickly aimed the still-smoking, hot barrel at his own cold temple.
"Stop him!" a police officer shouted from the crowd, trying to get closer.
But Seamus gave them no chance.
"Bang."
The sixth gunshot, short and resolute.
Seamus's body, like a sack from which all strength had been drained, fell heavily onto the wet cobblestones.
Blood and brains slowly oozed from beneath his head.
Everything happened in a flash... Flynn's agent, codenamed 'Badger,' stood in the crowd twenty yards away, witnessing it all.
He saw Seamus's resolute action and Crane's astonished expression when he was shot.
He instinctively reached for the gun at his waist, but reason told him it was all too fast, and he was just an observer.
When the two police officers finally pushed through the terrified crowd and rushed to the scene, everything was over.
"Oh shit... Motherfucker!" A young police officer looked at the body on the ground, his face pale.
"What the hell happened?"
"Secure the scene first, you go check on the person in the carriage," the older police officer said, a bit calmer. "I'll examine the killer."
He knelt down, enduring the stench, and began to search Seamus's worn coat.
Soon, in Seamus's breast pocket, he found a blood-soaked envelope.
The police officer carefully opened it; it was a letter.
He read the first few lines in the daylight, and his eyes suddenly widened.
"My God..." he exclaimed, "Pat, come look at this!"
"What is it?"
"This... this killer."
The young police officer's voice trembled with shock.
"He... he left a suicide note. He said... he killed because he couldn't bear Crane's malicious slander against Felix Argyle and Miss O'Brien."
...Meanwhile, in Felix's study at the Argyle Bank building.
Flynn had just received an urgent report from Badger and burst in without even knocking.
"Boss, John Crane was shot on his way here."
"What?" Felix suddenly stood up from his chair.
"Just five minutes ago. Broadway, in front of Trinity Church," Flynn reported quickly. "Dead on the scene."
Felix's heart sank.
Dead? While he was coming to negotiate?
"What about the killer?" Felix's voice instantly turned cold.
"The killer... is also dead," Flynn said with difficulty. "He committed suicide on the spot. He was an Irishman, Boss. A dying man from Five Points named Seamus O'Malley."
Felix's pupils suddenly contracted.
Seeing this, Flynn hesitated, then whispered, "And, the police found a 'suicide note' on him."
"The note said... he decided to assassinate Crane because he couldn't tolerate Crane's malicious slander against you and Miss O'Brien."
Fifth Avenue, Argyle' Residence.
The fire in the fireplace crackled softly, but its warm glow could not dispel the icy chill in the room.
Felix stood by the window, his back to Flynn and Frost. He was motionless, like a petrified statue.
There was no fury or panic, not even a sigh. He just quietly watched the street below, where crowds and police carriages, chaotic after the assassination, began to gather.
Flynn and Frost exchanged a look, both seeing extreme gravity in the other's eyes.
They had never seen their Boss like this. This calm was more terrifying than any thunderous rage.
"Crane."
Felix spoke, his voice very low, as if stating something completely unrelated to himself.
"He sent me a letter, saying he had something important to tell me, but was assassinated on his way here."
Flynn's heart sank, "Boss, do you mean…"
"I suspect he very likely knew who the mastermind was and was preparing to defect to me, to betray the person behind him."
Felix slowly turned around, his eyes, usually so calm, now held an unfathomable darkness.
"But he was 'righteously executed' by a fanatic Irishman on his way to see me."
He looked at Flynn and asked, "Flynn, do you think such a perfect coincidence exists in this world?"
"No, Boss," Flynn replied immediately, "This is a trap. A… meticulously planned trap."
"Exactly."
Felix walked to the desk. He didn't look at the reports of the massacre, but instead picked up the several tabloids attacking Catherine, holding them up with two fingers in disgust.
"They first used this dirty ink to create an image of me as a victim and an insulted person. They planted a seed of anger in the hearts of all Irish people."
He threw the newspapers into the fireplace, watching the flames instantly consume them. "Then they arranged for a perfect martyr, a poor Irishman from Five Points, terminally ill and grateful to me. They made him publicly execute this 'justice' in the most extreme way."
"Crane is dead."
Felix continued his analysis. Under immense pressure, his thoughts became clearer than ever before.
"He took his secrets, which he was preparing to betray, to his grave. And I, Felix Argyle, became the… mastermind who disdained the law and incited fanatical believers to assassinate a business rival on the street."
"What a move," Felix's eyes revealed wisdom. "Killing four birds with one stone."
"Crane is dead, with no one to corroborate. I lost the only witness who could bring down the mastermind."
"And Union Pacific Railroad Company. They were originally preparing to throw out Crane as a pawn to 'reconcile' with me. But now, their director has been assassinated on the streets of New York by 'my people'. For the company's face and stock price, they must declare war on me. The door to reconciliation has been welded shut."
"More importantly, Secretary Stanton and Chairman Clark just vouched for me on Capitol Hill. Today, I slapped them hard with a street assassination. My credit at the War Department is about to go bankrupt."
"Public opinion has shifted from an accused butcher to a proven murderer. My reputation will be completely ruined."
Frost listened to his Boss's chillingly calm analysis, feeling a shiver run down his spine.
"Boss… so what do we do now…"
Felix didn't answer; he looked at Flynn. "This chess player seems to understand me somewhat. He knows my weaknesses, my way of doing things, and even predicted my reactions. Like a venomous snake hidden in the deepest shadows, only revealing its fangs at the most fatal moment."
"Flynn."
"Yes, Boss."
"I want you to dig this snake out for me."
Felix's voice was not loud, but it carried an undeniable command, "Split into two teams."
He pointed to the still-burning ashes in the fireplace.
"First, investigate Martin Slavin, the editor-in-chief of the World newspaper. I want to know who gave him those five thousand dollars. Follow the money trail, dig upwards. Whoever it is, whichever banker it is, I want his name."
"Second, where did Seamus O'Malley get the new gun? Does he have a family? Where are his family members now? Who was the last person to contact him before he died?
Go and dig out everyone who had contact with him. A person doesn't commit suicide for an ideal, unless… his family received an assurance he couldn't refuse. Investigate, I want to know who provided this 'assurance'."
"I don't care what methods you use."
"Pry open their mouths, or… pry open their safes. I must know who this person is, hiding behind the scenes, trying to make me and Union Pacific destroy each other."
"Understood."
Flynn nodded, his figure silently retreating into the shadows… In the study, only Felix and Frost remained.
Frost broke the silence, his voice filled with worry, "Boss, Mr. Flynn's investigation will take time. But the reactions from Washington and Union Pacific… are likely imminent. How should we respond?"
"You're right."
Felix sat back down at his desk.
He knew that what the mastermind wanted to see most was for him to immediately launch a full-scale retaliation against Union Pacific Railroad Company out of anger.
That would play right into his hands.
He couldn't do that.
"Edward, immediately draft three statements."
"The first one, for Washington."
"Immediately send telegrams to Secretary Stanton and Chairman Clark. The wording should be… heartbroken, but even more firm. Tell them that Crane's death is a despicable conspiracy, intended to frame me and disrupt the stability of the federal military-industrial system.
Tell them that I personally have nothing to do with Crane's death, and I was even waiting for him to clarify some misunderstandings about the Nebraska conflict."
"Tell them that I will spare no effort to cooperate with the congressional joint investigation team to uncover the truth. And, I will personally offer a ten-thousand-dollar reward for anyone who can provide clues to capture the true mastermind behind this assassination."
Felix hesitated for a moment, then continued dictating.
"The second one, for Union Pacific Railroad Company."
"In the name of my private attorney, Mr. Hoffman, send a strongly worded but reserved official letter to Chairman Ames.
On the one hand, express regret for the unfortunate demise of Director Crane. On the other hand, also clearly warn them that any attempt to maliciously link this criminal case to me or my company will be considered… the most serious provocation."
"They must understand," a cold glint flashed in Felix's eyes, "that I, Felix Argyle, am not a scapegoat to be arbitrarily blamed. If they dare to declare war on this basis, I will fight to the end. But if they still want to protect their company's stock price, they had better shut up and, together with me, first catch the real venomous snake."
"The last one, for all newspapers in New York."
"Including those who have just slandered us. Issue a public statement in the official name of the Argyle Group. Strongly condemn this act of violence that occurred in broad daylight.
Express condolences to Mr. Crane's family. At the same time, reiterate our reward. We must put on a strong front.
We are not only innocent, but also, like Union Pacific, victims of this conspiracy."
Frost wrote furiously, feeling his heart accelerate.
His Boss's three moves had almost instantly transformed him from a suspect into a victim and a seeker of truth.
"Boss…" Frost was still a little worried, "But what about that suicide note? That… damned suicide note in the police's hands. That's solid evidence, will the public believe our statement?"
"That's the most troublesome part."
Felix's brow was also tightly furrowed. "That suicide note is like a thorn, stuck firmly in my throat."
Just then, the study door was knocked on again.
Flynn's figure returned, a very strange expression on his face.
Felix wondered why Flynn had returned so quickly.
However, what Flynn said next changed everything.
"Boss, a priest from the Trinity Church parish just secretly contacted our people through church channels."
"He said... the two police officers who first arrived at the scene on Broadway, Patrick Flanagan and Michael McGuire, are both devout Catholics and are our people."
Felix suddenly looked up.
"Before the medical examiner from the city government and the reporter from The Herald arrived," Flynn's voice was extremely low, "they did a little 'processing' of that suicide note."
A smile that only he understood appeared on Flynn's face, "The letter was completely soaked in blood and mud when the killer fell to the ground. The handwriting on it... was completely illegible."
"The only piece of evidence is gone."
When Flynn said these words,
A flicker of imperceptible surprise flashed in Felix's bottomless black eyes.
He stared at Flynn, making sure he hadn't misheard.
"Patrick Flanagan and Michael McGuire," Flynn repeated the names, his voice very low.
"They are both old-timers from Five Points, their families work in the food factory, and their children were among the first students to enroll in Williams School. According to the priest, they don't believe you would do such a thing... and they cannot tolerate your and Miss O'Brien's reputations being damaged."
"So, before the medical examiner arrived, McGuire accidentally slipped and stepped the blood-soaked suicide note into the dirtiest carriage rut on Broadway. By the time they rescued it again, it was just an unrecognizable pulp."
Felix slowly sat back in his leather chair, looking at the flickering flames in the fireplace, remaining silent for a long time.
He had originally thought he was trapped in a dead end, a meticulously laid and irrefutable trap by an enemy hidden in the shadows.
He had even prepared to use all his political and public opinion resources to fight an incredibly difficult comeback battle.
Yet, he never expected that this dead end would be forcibly broken by two Irish police officers in the simplest, most brutal, and most effective way.
They weren't doing it for money, nor for orders.
It was simply out of the most basic emotion, stemming from fellow countrymen, and the protection of hope.
"Good, well done."
Felix's tone carried a complex and unclear emotion.
He glanced at Frost's equally shocked face.
"Edward, the plan needs a small adjustment."
"Yes, Boss." Frost immediately picked up his pen again.
"The statements to Washington and Union Pacific will be issued as is. But the wording of the public statement to all New York newspapers needs to be changed."
"Add a sentence." A cold glint flashed in his eyes, "Strongly urge the New York City Police Department to thoroughly investigate the so-called 'killer's suicide note' case. We have reason to believe that the letter was fabricated from the beginning. It is a carefully orchestrated deception by the true mastermind to frame me."
"Now that the 'evidence' is gone, no one can prove what was actually written in that letter. So, whoever speaks first will define the truth."
Frost instantly understood, "You mean... to portray yourself as the victim instead?"
"Exactly." Felix nodded.
"I am not only a victim, but a victim of a double conspiracy. I want the public to believe that an invisible hand not only killed Crane, but also tried to use a forged suicide note to provoke a war between Union Pacific Railroad Company and me."
Looking at the flames in the fireplace, "Now it won't be my headache."
Then his gaze turned to Flynn.
"Your mission remains unchanged."
"Keep digging for me. Martin Slavin, and Seamus O'Malley's family. I want to know who that poisonous snake truly is."
...Meanwhile, in the magnificent brownstone building in Gramercy Park.
John Pierpont Morgan stood in his study, enjoying his breakfast meticulously prepared by his private chef.
On the table in front of him, all of today's morning newspapers were spread out. But he didn't look at the old news about the "Nebraska Massacre"; instead, he was patiently waiting for news he had long anticipated.
"Sir."
Saul walked in silently, a look of near defeat and confusion on his face.
"Is it all done?"
Morgan asked without turning his head, as he elegantly cut a soft-boiled egg with a small silver knife.
"Crane... is dead," Saul replied softly.
"Oh dear, what a pity." Morgan nodded, everything was under control.
"Seamus O'Malley is also dead, a suicide on the spot."
"Perfect."
"But sir..." Saul's voice showed a hint of hesitation, "There was an accident."
Morgan's movement of cutting the egg stopped.
He slowly turned around, his sharp gray eyes falling on his most capable subordinate.
"An accident?"
"The suicide note..." Saul said with difficulty, "was... destroyed."
"What?"
Morgan's voice was not loud, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees instantly.
"The two police officers who first arrived at the scene accidentally destroyed the suicide note, which was the core piece of evidence, before reinforcements arrived. Now... it has become an unrecognizable pulp."
"Clink."
The silver knife in Morgan's hand fell onto the expensive porcelain plate, making a crisp sound.
The composure and confidence of being in control of everything on his face, at this moment, showed cracks like a shattered mirror.
"Two... police officers?" He almost squeezed out the words through gritted teeth.
"Yes, sir." Saul lowered his head.
"According to our urgent investigation, both of these men are Irish. Their families work in Argyle' factories, and their children attend Williams School."
"They... are Argyle' loyal followers."
Morgan slammed his fist onto the mahogany desk, an uncontrollable rage surfacing on his face.
He had calculated everything.
He had calculated Crane's fear and Seamus's despair, he had calculated Union Pacific's reaction, and Felix Argyle' anger.
But he had never accounted for two street police officers, whose names he wouldn't even bother to remember, destroying the most crucial part of his entire plan out of a kind of... foolish loyalty that he could neither understand nor measure with money.
Without that suicide note, this assassination transformed from a conspiracy with irrefutable evidence into a... Rashomon that could be interpreted in any way.
That damned Argyle could now easily portray himself as a victim.
"Sir," Saul broke the suffocating silence, "Seamus's family..."
"Proceed as planned."
Morgan took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. "Send them away, give them the money. Even if it's... for the dead."
"Then... our next step..."
"Wait."
Morgan walked back to the window, looking out at the tranquil park, a more dangerous glint than ever before shining in his eyes.
"Although Argyle narrowly escaped this time. The conflict between him and Union Pacific has already been established. Crane, after all, died on his way to see him."
He glanced at the newspaper on the table.
"And the Martin Slavin line should be reeled in. Doesn't Argyle want to know who is behind him?"
"Then give him an answer." The corners of Morgan's mouth curved.
"Saul, arrange it. Have those rats under Flynn, who dig three feet deep, 'accidentally' discover some clues."
"Some clues that can direct all the blame towards that poor... Mr. Crane, who can never speak to defend himself."
Outside Trinity Church on Broadway.
The bloodstain, which had already begun to congeal and blacken, was quickly washed away by municipal cleaners with cold water and sand, as if the assassination and suicide that occurred in broad daylight were merely an insignificant interlude in the city's busy pulse.
Carriages still flowed incessantly, and people in a hurry still scurried for a living.
But beneath the surface, the undercurrents grew even more turbulent because of those two gunshots.
The statement from the Argyle family, like a giant rock, completely stirred up the muddy waters of Wall Street and Washington.
"Evidence disappeared? Accidentally destroyed by the police?"
Oliver Ames, Chairman of the Union Pacific Railroad Company, almost crushed the cigar in his hand when he read this latest report in his office.
"Argyle... he actually dared to bite back, offering a ten-thousand-dollar reward for the 'mastermind'?"
"Mr. Chairman," his secretary whispered, "The public opinion outside... has completely gone wild. Many people are actually starting to believe that Argyle is also a victim. They think that some unknown third party is maliciously instigating a war between us and Argyle Company."
"Foolish." Ames snorted, "Besides him, who else has the motive? Who else has the guts?"
"Then... should we continue to push the board to declare war on Argyle?"
Ames fell silent.
He paced back and forth in his office irritably.
Without that suicide note as irrefutable evidence, the situation became complicated.
Declaring war now, the reasons were no longer so sufficient; instead, it looked more like anger and embarrassment.
Moreover, Argyle still held Durant and those damned account books.
"For now... stand pat."
Ames finally made the decision, albeit reluctantly.
"Let the legal team contact Argyle' lawyers. Let's see what he really wants to do. Also, send people to Washington to lobby the investigative committee with all their might. No matter what, we must dissociate the dirty deeds of that idiot Durant from the main body of the Union Pacific Railroad Company."
...Meanwhile, east of Fifth Avenue, in Flynn's command center hidden on the second floor of a tobacco shop.
"Minister, this just came back from Wall Street."
Ghost placed a document on Flynn's desk.
"Crane's office was temporarily sealed by his secretary, Benson, after his death. But our people, last night... still managed to get a look inside."
"Any discoveries?" Flynn asked.
"Some... very interesting things."
Ghost's tone carried a hint of confusion.
"In an unlocked drawer of his desk, we found several unpaid bills. They were for several small newspapers in the city, under the guise of publicity fees. And those newspapers were precisely the ones that first published Miss O'Brien's rumors."
"And this." Ghost handed over a note, "This was found in a wastebasket. It has Martin Slavin's name and a bank account. It looks like... Crane was planning to wire money to Slavin."
Flynn looked at these "evidence," but his brows furrowed tightly.
"Too simple. So simple... it's like it was deliberately left for us to see."
"Crane is an old fox who has been on Wall Street for decades."
"Even if he really wanted to do something so despicable, he would never use such crude methods, casually throwing evidence in drawers and wastebaskets. This is more like a... trap. A trap designed to make us believe Crane is the mastermind so we stop digging deeper."
"You mean... these are fake?"
"No, these might be real." Flynn shook his head, "But it's very likely that someone deliberately guided Crane to do it and intentionally left these clues. This person wants us to follow this clue and then close the case on a dead man."
"What about the editor-in-chief of World News, Martin Slavin?"
"Checked. The source of that five-thousand-dollar anonymous deposit is a trust company. Behind that trust company, the equity structure is very complex, ultimately pointing to... several shell companies. The trail is broken."
"Broken?" Flynn sneered, "Then go pry Slavin's mouth open for me. I don't care whose money he took, I must know what the person who gave him the money looks like."
...That afternoon, in Felix's study.
Flynn reported all the investigation results to Felix in detail.
Including the suicide note that was accidentally destroyed, and the overly simple evidence found in Crane's office.
Felix listened quietly, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the smooth mahogany tabletop.
"Crane was about to come to me to pledge allegiance and expose a 'mastermind.' Then he was assassinated by a fanatical Irishman. And all the evidence so 'coincidentally' pointed to himself."
"Flynn," Felix looked up at his intelligence chief, "Do you believe this story?"
"I don't, Boss." Flynn replied, "It's too perfect. Like a carefully choreographed play. Crane was just an actor pushed onto the stage."
"I think so too." Felix nodded, "The real director is still hidden behind the scenes. He not only directed this assassination but also the public opinion attack against Catherine, and even... possibly the conflict in Nebraska. He wants us and Union Pacific to destroy each other in anger and misunderstanding."
"He almost succeeded."
A trace of lingering fear flashed in Felix's eyes.
"If it weren't for those two policemen, Flanagan and McGuire... if that suicide note had really been made public..."
He took a deep breath, knowing he had to dig out this enemy hidden in the shadows.
"Seamus O'Malley." Felix shifted his focus to the suicide assassin.
"His family? Have they been found?"
"Not yet, Boss."
Frustration showed on Flynn's face.
"My men have turned Five Points upside down. Neighbors only know that the night before the assassination, Seamus's wife Mary and their two children suddenly disappeared. Someone said they saw an unmarked carriage pick them up late at night."
"A dying pauper, whose family was secretly sent away, then goes to carry out a suicidal assassination."
Felix connected all the clues.
"Behind this, there must be a deal. A deal to exchange his life for his family's prosperity."
"Find the person who sent his family away!" Felix said in a low voice.
"Understood." Flynn accepted the order.
Just then, Frost knocked and entered. His expression was a little strange.
"Boss, just now... there was a somewhat strange message from the New York City Customs."
"Speak."
"Didn't you offer a ten-thousand-dollar reward for clues about the mastermind behind the assassination?"
"Just now, an Irish low-level clerk from Customs, named Timothy Finn, contacted our people. He said he might... have some clues about Seamus O'Malley's family."
Felix and Flynn suddenly exchanged glances.
Frost continued, "Finn said that on the morning of the second day after the assassination, which was yesterday. When he was on duty, he saw a woman and two children who strongly resembled the blurred portraits of Seamus's family published in the newspaper. They... boarded the 'Artemis' cruise ship bound for Liverpool, escorted by several people."
"Liverpool." Felix's gaze instantly sharpened, "They really went to Europe."
"Yes, Boss. But the most crucial thing is..."
Frost's tone grew even more solemn.
"The reason Finn was so impressed by those people was because he recognized one of the people escorting them away."