"You want me to investigate myself? Now this should be fun."
Lian smirked inwardly.
He was still technically on administrative leave. Taking on a little side gig like this? Fine. A decent way to kill time.
"Sure," he said with a relaxed nod.
Detective David's eyes lit up with a subtle gleam.
My gut's never wrong. I know he's involved. If I pull him into the investigation, maybe—just maybe—he'll slip.
Samuel from the FBI and Thomas from the DEA exchanged glances but didn't object—in fact, they seemed intrigued.
They already knew Lian was a monster in combat.
What they didn't know was whether he had investigative instincts too.
If he did, he'd be a rare gem—someone who could both fight and deduce. And that kind of agent? That was gold-standard talent.
Besides, none of them had any solid leads in this case. Throwing Lian into the mix could only help—or at the very least, test him.
So they headed straight to the Blood Revolver hideout.
Lian requested to tour the scene personally.
All three agreed.
David, because he was hoping to catch Lian slipping.Samuel and Thomas, because they wanted to see if this rising star could actually analyze a case.
Lian stepped into the building, expertly feigning unfamiliarity with the place.
He moved slowly from the basement upward, floor by floor—meticulously scanning every detail.
Finally, he stopped in front of the vault.
David had been watching him like a hawk the entire time, and his brow furrowed in frustration.
Damn it... he really does seem unfamiliar with this place. Then again, why does every fiber of my instinct scream—he's the guy?
Thomas broke the silence first.
"Lian, any initial thoughts?"
Lian looked up, tone casual. "You've confirmed who the perpetrator is?"
Thomas shook his head. "No. All we know for sure is that it was one person. And that person was a top-tier operative."
Lian raised an eyebrow. "And operatives of that level… rare, aren't they?"
Thomas nodded gravely."Extremely. Most are cultivated from childhood by major powers. Survival-of-the-fittest training—ruthless, brutal. You don't just become one. You're bred to be one."
"Like the CIA?" Lian asked.
"Exactly. We've got a few in the DEA as well. We only deploy them for high-value targets—top cartel leaders."
Lian pointed to the now-empty vault. "On the way over, you showed me the intel on Blood Revolver—top ten cartel in L.A., right?"
All three nodded.
"Then I assume this vault once held... quite a fortune?"
Again, the three men nodded grimly.
Of course they'd considered that the motive could've been the vault.
But the logistics didn't add up.
That much cash and treasure? One person couldn't possibly haul it all out. Even with large luggage—it would've shown up on surveillance. But they'd already combed through every camera in a two-block radius.
Not even a single backpack.
Then Lian dropped the bomb.
"I think... the real culprit is the big fish behind Blood Revolver."
The room fell silent.
Lian pressed on.
"One person couldn't have cleared out this vault. But there's no trace of a second outsider."
"That means there was an inside man."
"They emptied the vault first. Probably funneled it all out through the ventilation shafts."
"After that, the hitman and the insider eliminated the entire cartel—clean sweep."
He pointed up at the ventilation port.
The others had noticed those markings already—scuff marks, signs of climbing—but had dismissed them for lack of evidence.
David frowned. "Possible. But even if they were after the vault... why are you pinning this on their boss?"
L.A. had thousands of gangs. Small-time outfits had no protection. But the big ones? Nearly all had someone in their corner.
Samuel and Thomas both knew this all too well—hell, they were protection for certain gangs.
Lian pointed downward, toward the underground garage.
"The cocaine," he said simply.
"You all saw what I pulled up during that fishing trip—500 kilos in one bag."
"Well, the five torched vehicles down there? All had the capacity to carry exactly that amount."
"So in total? 2.5 tons of powder."
"That's a street value of... what, fifty million?"
He let the number hang in the air.
"Anyone targeting Blood Revolver for the money would never leave that kind of cash behind."
"But the attacker did."
"They didn't just leave it—they burned it."
Lian's tone was calm, but his words struck like a dagger.
"There's only one reason someone would do that: to completely sever ties."
"The mastermind behind Blood Revolver wanted a clean break."
"They took the clean money—cash, gold, jewels. Then they burned the drugs to wash their hands of it."
He looked perfectly serious. Methodical. Analytical.
If you want me to investigate myself... I'll give you a narrative. Let's see if you've got the guts to follow it.
After all, during his interrogation of Oliver—the now-dead cartel boss—the man had confessed everything.
Including the name of the man who protected him from the shadows.
And Lian could barely hold back his laughter.
Praise be to the great American system.
Because Blood Revolver's secret patron was none other than...
The Mayor of Los Angeles.