Lawson's words were like arrows piercing through Rupert's heart, suffocating him.
America allows personal bankruptcy, sure. But bankruptcy is an endless abyss.
A bankrupt man's only future is homelessness. No chance to bounce back, completely cut off from mainstream society.
The final destination? Dying on the street or in a sewer, likely leaving behind an incomplete corpse.
Fun fact: America is the world's largest plasma market. Israel is the world's largest organ market.
Rupert nodded with great difficulty.
"I'll do it."
"Excellent. I need one more favor. Contact your General Manager, David Abbott, for me."
Rupert's eyes widened. He didn't expect them to target his boss.
"Hey, why do we need to contact the GM?"
Lawson turned to look at Rupert, exhaling a perfect smoke ring.
"Why? You didn't know your bank recently suffered a massive financial loss?"
Rupert instantly connected the dots. David Abbott had been acting strange lately—irritable, constantly snapping at staff.
Rupert had even joked with colleagues that David must be having trouble in the bedroom to be acting so moody, like he was going through menopause.
"How do you know that?"
"We have our channels. You just need to give this number to David Abbott. And memorize it yourself. This is how you contact us."
From Rupert's perspective, Lawson, Phil, and Dennis suddenly looked terrifying. He began to suspect the trio belonged to some deep-state criminal organization.
Don't doubt it. In America, every conspiracy theory has a market. Area 51, aliens, Lizard People in government, "Birds Aren't Real" surveillance drones...
The Federal Government's track record of being inhumane is, frankly, world-leading.
Rupert stumbled out of the car in a daze, barely registering when he got home.
Driving the car, Dennis looked at Lawson curiously.
"How did you know all that intel?"
Lawson repeated the answer he gave Rupert.
"I have my channels. Being prepared benefits everyone, doesn't it? That's what I call professionalism!"
"You're damn right! Too bad you aren't Italian!"
Bearded Phil couldn't hide his admiration for Lawson.
Lawson raised an eyebrow. What did being Italian have to do with anything?
But Dennis seemed to disagree with Phil.
"Phil, I think someone as capable as Lawson could become 'a friend of ours,' even if he isn't from the family!"
"Maybe you're right. But given the current situation, we need to be careful."
Lawson sharply picked up on the subtext. The phrase 'a friend of ours' carried specific weight.
So, Lawson tested them with a joke.
"Hey, are you guys speaking in riddles?"
Phil turned to look at Lawson.
"Lawson, there are things we can't discuss yet. Once you've earned more trust, we can tell you."
Lawson narrowed his eyes, piecing it together.
Italian heritage. "A friend of ours." This pointed directly to one notorious organization.
The Mafia!
Connecting this with the fact that there was an undercover cop near Phil and Dennis, Lawson's guess was pretty much confirmed.
Ever since the RICO Act passed in 1970, the American Mafia had been on a downhill slide.
The law allowed authorities to detain suspected organized crime members for 48 hours on suspicion alone.
And once you got out? They could find an excuse to hold you for another 48.
Bosses and capos couldn't handle the heat, so the organization began to crumble.
Since 1970, the smart Dons started going legit or retiring. But while the top brass retired in luxury, what about the soldiers on the bottom?
Low-level mobsters didn't have the wealth or assets of the bosses. Most had no marketable skills. They only knew one way to live.
Phil and Dennis were clearly in that boat.
"Drop me here."
Dennis stopped the car. Lawson got out, not far from Sangiovese.
"Brother, wanna grab a drink?"
"Why not?"
Phil shook his head. "Unfortunately, we have a sit-down. Otherwise, we'd definitely join you."
"Another time."
Lawson walked toward Sangiovese with his hands in his pockets. After verifying the intel on Rupert Lawrence, he wanted to buy another file from Svafa.
But just then, his phone rang.
"Hello, Auntie wants you home for dinner."
"Sorry, Peter isn't here."
It was a code to verify identity.
"Lawson, got anything useful?"
It was his FBI handler, Neal. The guy called unilaterally every week, regardless of whether there was actually intel.
Lawson thought about the gig he picked up two days ago and decided to test the waters.
"I picked up a job recently. A crew planning to rob a bank."
Pfft!
The sound of liquid spraying came from the other end of the line.
"Wait! Lawson, weren't you just catching petty thieves? How did you suddenly jump to major crimes?"
"Mr. Neal, I wanted to show my appreciation for you sorting out my identity issues. Decided to put in a little extra effort."
A little extra effort leads to bank robbery? What happens if he actually tries?
"Tell me what you know."
Lawson gave a vague overview, carefully omitting anything related to the System's intel.
"Those two are Mafia? LA mob... Bonanno family? Hiss! This is a golden opportunity!"
Lawson listened quietly as Neal muttered to himself. After a long pause, Neal spoke again.
"Listen, Lawson. I want you to use this chance to infiltrate the Bonanno family!"
"Huh? What about the bank robbery?"
"That's just a small branch bank! Who cares! Dismantling a criminal organization like the Bonanno family is the real prize!"
"Mr. Neal, that sounds incredibly dangerous. I don't have the skills for that!"
Lawson feigned a complete lack of confidence.
"Lawson, my dear Lawson! I knew from the start you were special! Pull this off for me, and I can get you a badge! A real FBI position!"
"What if the LAPD interferes?"
"We're the FBI. The LAPD can't touch us!"