The Wolf of Los Angeles

[Chapter 236: A Thorn in the Eye]

In the early hours of the morning, 20th Street in Santa Monica had quieted completely, with streetlights automatically dimming significantly.

Inside a villa, three individuals quietly entered the neighboring house, coordinating their efforts as they stealthily made their way towards the master bedroom on the second floor.

Time was on their side, so there was no rush. They dismantled a security alarm and entered the master bedroom.

It appeared someone was sleeping soundly in bed, but instead of approaching right away, the trio first inspected the room and then opened the closet door.

The man who should have been sleeping in that big bed was instead lying on a mattress in the closet, a handgun resting beside him.

Without needing to check, it was clear there was an alarm device by the bed.

The remaining work became simple. Making sure they had the right target, one person pulled out a drug and pressed it against the target's mouth and nose.

After a short while, the target slipped into a deep sleep.

Soon, another two accomplices arrived to assist and they directly carried the target into the neighboring villa.

They didn't leave immediately, instead thoroughly searching the house, taking all monitoring and alarming equipment, erasing all traces before retracing their steps.

As dawn began to break, a business vehicle drove away, carrying people out of Santa Monica.

...

When the sun rose, several buckets of seawater were poured over Tim's head. He slowly opened his eyes to see a familiar face standing across from him.

It was a neighbor who had recently moved into 20th Street.

Then he heard a familiar voice say, "Is he awake? Perfect timing."

Tim turned at the sound to find a very familiar face -- Hawke Osment.

Next to him stood a woman with stylishly kept golden-brown hair.

He recognized her too, Erica Ferguson.

A pair of bastards!

Tim instinctively closed his eyes, hoping he was dreaming, wishing this wasn't real.

But when he opened them again, that bastard pair still stood before him.

And he found himself bound hand and foot, unable to move at all.

Tim lost all hope and tightly shut his mouth.

...

Hawke didn't waste a word and produced a large photograph of Miller Collins alongside an unfamiliar face, placing it in front of Tim, asking, "Who was in contact with Miller Collins?"

Tim said nothing.

"Clearly, that won't yield answers," Erica, never one to play nice, remarked, "Let's go straight to electric shock; the FBI really excels at this kind of thing."

The golden-haired Guti approached with an artsy flair and smiled at Hawke, "Boss, should I give it a try?"

Hawke cautioned, "Don't kill him."

"I won't," Guti replied with a chuckle, pulling a small wallpaper knife from his pocket. He moved in front of Tim and said, "Buddy, you better keep your mouth shut and hold out a little longer; it'll be more fun that way."

He gripped Tim's arm, digging his fingers down the length of it until he seized his wrist, signaling Morentes to straighten the arm out.

...

Tim was a dirty workman from the BlackRock San Francisco branch and had dealt with many people.

But being subjected to this was a first for him.

His wrist involuntarily trembled.

...

[T/N: Warning for torture.]

Guti didn't strike immediately; instead, he casually stated, "Do you know what I used to do? I was a surgeon, a very promising one at that. But why would a doctor end up in this line of work? There's obviously a story behind it. In my hometown, narcotics organizations ran rampant. Because my fiancee publicly called for anti-drug measures, a bunch of thugs cold-bloodedly shot her dead in the street. She got hit with 32 bullets, and she was pregnant with my child!"

He chuckled darkly, "From then on, I stopped saving lives and started taking them. Killing scum is, in fact, saving other lives. I found the bastard who killed my fiancee, quietly knocked him out, and bound him up, using a scalpel to chop off his hand that held the gun!"

At this point, Guti swiftly swung the wallpaper knife.

With Tim's scream of agony, a chunk of flesh fell to the floor.

A small piece of flesh was taken off the middle finger of Tim's right hand.

Guti didn't seem to be joking: "I chopped his shooting hand's fingers down to the bone, and every slice took away some flesh, ensuring I didn't hurt any bones."

Erica shot a glance at Hawke, sensing that the bodyguards Hawke hired all had stories.

Considering they were from Mexico felt right.

"I guarantee that each of your fingers will get 32 slices, and bones won't be harmed," Guti cut into the second slice.

A sickening sound rang out, the knife scraping along bone.

More bloody pieces landed on the floor.

Guti then covered his face, as if embarrassed, and apologized to Tim, "Sorry, sorry, I haven't done this in a while, and I'm rusty. Forgive me this one time."

This was a sentiment shared not just by him, but even Hawke and Erica couldn't bring themselves to look at Tim.

The job was too rough!

But rough work had to continue; there was no stopping now.

Tim's cries echoed, while a middle finger gradually transformed into a bloody white bone.

Not a single person present felt sympathy.

Yesterday's collision could have seen Hawke in a far worse situation.

Tim was tough as nails; even after Guti sliced two fingers, he still gritted his teeth, refusing to speak.

Hawke, however, had all the time in the world, allowing Tim to catch his breath before resuming.

Guti wasn't bluffing; he truly had been a doctor in Mexico. Before starting the next round, he gave Tim a nerve-stimulating injection.

When he resumed, Tim was alert, screaming louder.

With only a slice left on the index finger, Tim couldn't hold out anymore, yelling, "I'll tell you, I'll tell you! I'll say everything!"

Guti shook his head, "Could have said it earlier, now you're just wasting time."

Tim's face turned pale, sweat beading down his forehead as he glanced at his tragic right hand, pleading, "Help me bandage it up, just help me stop the bleeding."

Hawke shot a look, and Raul fetched some bandages to assist him in stopping the blood.

Guti observed for a moment, confirming that Tim's mental fortitude had completely crumbled before signaling to Hawke.

...

Hawke once again presented the photograph, asking, "Who was with Miller Collins?"

"It's Coulson! His name's Coulson Serna." As Tim uttered this name, his mental defenses fell completely, and he shut his eyes again, as if trying to distance himself from reality. "Coulson is the founder of a detective agency in the San Fernando Valley. He has always been my contact in Los Angeles, specifically helping me handle some dirty business."

Without waiting for Hawke to ask, he continued, "Coulson went to Puerto Rico through my channels!"

Hawke had someone note everything he said.

This private investigator named Coulson would surely need to settle the score.

Hawke seized the moment, "And what about you?" To prevent the guy from holding out hope, he added, "What's your connection to Douglas from BlackRock?"

Upon hearing Douglas's name, Tim lost any remaining hope, still frightened to open his eyes. "I'm Tim Wilson, from the BlackRock San Francisco branch, and I'm the assistant to the branch president, Douglas Coster. My main job was managing some dirty work for him."

Hawke queried, "So I was your target this time?"

"Yes, no... it was forced on me by BlackRock!" Tim quickly defended himself. "If I didn't follow their orders, I'd be sent to prison or even killed!"

Hawke didn't linger on this point: "Explain your and Coulson's specific plan with Miller Collins."

Tim said, "When we targeted Twitter in San Francisco, we prepared plans in two aspects. One was for Emma Batson to engage you in financing negotiations through proper channels. The other was if that was refused, to force your acceptance of BlackRock's investment. However, as Emma made contact, BlackRock realized the fundamental conflict in core interests was unresolvable, so they decided on drastic measures."

He laid out how they intended to exploit Miller Collins, a drug addict drifter with a grudge against Hawke, to orchestrate a devastating outcome against him.

These details aligned closely with what Hawke had surmised.

Twitter's rapid growth and expanding influence inevitably drew hungry wolves to its door.

When interests were large enough, individuals became mere hindrances.

One thing still puzzled Hawke: "Even if you manage to deal with me, my shares won't end up going to BlackRock."

Tim slowly opened his eyes, stating, "BlackRock had a mature plan. Douglas once ran the Wyoming office for BlackRock, and he sourced someone from there -- to be precise, he manufactured someone. That person would be your relative, with local witnesses, capable of passing testing and win in a probate lawsuit within California's judicial system."

Erica murmured, "California's judicial system is more inclined toward deep blue."

This political environment was a key reason BlackRock had the audacity to act as they did.

Hawke further inquired about the identity of this manufactured person.

Tim didn't have much clarity on that.

As for the mercenary team that had died at Citrus Square, he didn't know much either, only realizing they came from Colombia.

Hawke pressed on: "Was Douglas the one steering BlackRock and Vanguard International's marginal groups initiative in California?"

"Yes, he was. I'm the one who does the dirty work; I'm not clear on the specifics of how the plan is implemented." Now hitting that point, Tim shared whatever he could: "This is a time-consuming, labor-intensive long-term plan that cannot be realized in the short term."

Hawke clearly understood it would take at least four to five years for such a plan to yield results.

Moreover, it aligned perfectly with the prevailing trends of Western society.

In this regard, BlackRock and Vanguard International were indeed formidable.

Hawke began asking the most critical question: "Who else is involved or preparing to be involved in this plan against me?"

Tim pondered for a moment before responding, "The real mastermind is Douglas, but his plan must have the consent of the higher-ups at headquarters. Without support from headquarters, it wouldn't be possible to mobilize such large forces in California."

Recalling his previous private conversation with Douglas, Tim added, "The people I know who might participate include former California Speaker of the Assembly Willie Brown, who tacitly approved this matter, and San Francisco prosecutor Hamas, who would serve as a liaison to Los Angeles federal prosecutor Garrison; that's all I know..."

Erica quietly told Hawke, "That's the backbone of the Donkeys."

Hawke remarked, "It seems I've become a thorn in many people's eyes."

Erica understood the reason: Hawke's stake in Twitter was too valuable.

*****

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