Chapter 1153: Discovering a Secret

Whether in New Golden City or other places, or even other states, the atmosphere of the presidential election was becoming increasingly intense.

The teams of the major presidential candidates had begun a frenzy of promotion and publicity. Posters of those "exemplary" presidential candidates could be seen posted everywhere.

They showed off their snow-white teeth, which likely cost dozens of dollars a month to maintain, wore exquisite clothes, and directly promoted the concept that they were the "most suitable choice" to the people.

Devon leaned against his car, smoking. When he saw someone hurriedly walking toward him from across the street, he tossed the cigarette in his hand to the ground and got into the car.

The guy who had jogged over from across the road quickly got into the car as well. His face showed an expression that was troubled, yet not entirely troubled.

It's hard to describe this expression. It was somewhat like... showing off.

The car slowly started moving, but not fast. It was mainly for chatting.

"If it weren't for the head office... Mr. Devon , this is what you wanted."

The man in the passenger seat handed over a file bag. Devon reached for it but couldn't take it.

He glanced at the middle-aged man in the passenger seat. The latter smiled, "This kind of thing violates my work principles, so I hope you won't reveal it. It could cost me my job."

"You know, at any time, leaking customer information is the worst thing in our line of work. I might even face charges!"

He said so much, all to tell Devon that ordinary people couldn't do this, and he was taking a higher risk.

This was a relatively subtle expression; he hoped to get more benefits from this transaction.

Although the young man in front of him had been introduced by someone from the head office, the head office couldn't manage everything locally, especially small matters like this. So this guy wasn't very afraid of offending the young man.

Devon retracted his hand, then took out two stacks of money and handed them over.

The middle-aged man revealed a satisfied smile. It was all twenty-dollar bills, ten bills per stack. That was twenty bills, four hundred dollars.

This was double the two hundred they had initially agreed on. The middle-aged man was very satisfied with this income. He handed the file bag to Devon .

"You can drop me off at the intersection ahead. Remember, don't reveal it was me."

He warned again. Selling bank account information to private parties wasn't a very special business; in fact, many bank employees were doing it.

Just like police taking dirty money, the bank also had its own working rules. In any industry, as long as people could use their professional authority to get income beyond their salary, they would definitely do it.

In this era, people didn't think this way of making money was wrong. On the contrary, it could become capital for some to show off, because this was the embodiment of "value" and "power" that Federal society flaunted.

Only those with value and power were qualified to use these things to make money.

Devon nodded, turned the wheel toward the roadside, and the middle-aged man in the car said, "Goodbye, sir," pushed open the door, and left.

Devon picked up the file bag, opened it, and looked at it carefully. It was the specific usage information for an account, showing the flow of funds for about the last six months.

Lance had asked Devon to investigate the source of the guard's funds. He judged that the money in the guard's account was very likely transferred by Director Roland himself, with the purpose of having a reason to make a move on the guard and then drag Lance down.

So, if he could figure out the source of this money, or the other movements of the transferring account, he might be able to find some clues pointing to Director Roland himself.

This was a very meticulous matter, requiring not brains, but patience and care, so he had given it to Devon .

Devon was a very patient and careful person. He could do this job well.

Chasing that money, he had already come to this state west of Gold State and tracked it to the capital city here.

At the same time, he discovered something even Lance hadn't noticed: the fifty thousand dollars in the guard's son's account was transferred in two installments from two different accounts.

The first account, the one that transferred forty-nine thousand, eight hundred dollars, was a typical anonymous account.

It had no registration information at all, its own flow was untraceable, and when tracing it back, the upper-level accounts had all been closed—

Usually, this kind of special account, once used, would be closed to avoid being traced for more information.

Closing doesn't mean the information is immediately destroyed. It's kept for a period of time, but only a period of time.

After that time, it enters the process, is transported elsewhere for centralized storage, and then centralized destruction.

The untraceable nature of anonymous accounts was, itself, a service offered by banks. After all, people who liked using these accounts wanted security.

This money was rarely spent via check or transfer after entering the account. The few usage records were all cash withdrawals.

In this period, banks hadn't yet popularized high-definition camera surveillance, so it was basically impossible to find out who withdrew the money and where it was spent.

So, the first anonymous account only yielded some useless information. What Devon was checking now was the usage of the second account.

This account was used quite frequently, so there was a lot to check. Every account its funds flowed to, and the recent usage of those accounts, all needed to be investigated.

This was why he could offer the other party a price of two hundred dollars, and why that guy dared to ask for more.

He took out a large pile of documents and began to check them meticulously. Soon, he discovered something interesting. Another account that this account mainly flowed to looked like a personal living account.

The spending information in this receiving account actually used cashier's checks!

In the Federation, checks also have anti-counterfeiting and verification methods, as well as recording methods. Every cashier's check has its own number, which is also archived at the bank.

To verify a check's authenticity, you just have to call the issuing bank and ask if the numbered check is valid and if the amount written on it is reasonable.

After merchants accept these checks, they take them to the bank to be cashed. The bank side definitely needs to verify and reconcile them, otherwise, they wouldn't know where the money went.

So, there would be a record here. For example—

On August 30th, this account paid one hundred and seventy-five dollars for tuition. The check number and the processing entity were recorded.

Tracing it back, during the summer vacation, this account also purchased a television for two hundred and ninety-nine dollars.

This meant the account was a normal, daily-use account. And what did a normal, daily-use account mean?

It meant its user might have some connection to Director Roland .

Devon glanced at the information recorded for this account, got in his car, and immediately drove toward the address registered on it.

The sky gradually darkened. A school bus stopped at the entrance of a middle-class community. The bus wouldn't enter the community, as that would waste too much time and be unfair to students who lived farther.

A student got off the school bus. He didn't have much joy on his face. The oppressive environment at school made him feel uncomfortable.

He couldn't compare to those who were exceptionally good at studying, like the ones on the bus.

Eighty percent of those who rode the school bus were the good students. They were accepted by the school because of their excellent grades and outstanding learning ability. They were a clique at school.

It was very simple to join this group: just get perfect or near-perfect scores in every subject, and you could become one of them.

But this guy couldn't do it, because his grades weren't that good. If a perfect score was 100, he could only get 80 to 90.

This score might be very good in any other ordinary school.

But for the good students in the best private school in the city, it clearly wasn't enough. He was excluded.

Those people didn't like playing with him, and he couldn't understand what they talked about—it was all schoolwork, dry and boring.

As for the other group, the students from powerful families, he didn't like them either. At the same time, they also excluded him, unless he was willing to be a lackey.

For these students who were dropped off and picked up in luxury cars, with private drivers, and even nannies... powerful and influential students.

The way to fit in with them was also simple: you also needed to be powerful and influential. Power was the entry ticket to their circle.

But unfortunately, the boy didn't have that either.

So in this school, he became the type that was unpopular with both main groups. His mediocre grades made the good students look down on him, and he didn't have a prominent family background to make the others take notice.

A person like this, in a school like this, would have a hard time being comfortable.

Not to say bullied, but at least ostracized. He couldn't make friends. For a teenager his age, it was indeed pretty bad.

He sullenly returned home with his backpack. His mother was waiting by the yard to greet him. She took the backpack from his hand, but for some reason, she subconsciously glanced into the distance.

She saw a car parked far away, and could vaguely see someone sitting inside.

This was a middle-class community. The biggest feature of a middle-class community is that everyone knows their neighbors very well.

They will do everything they can to find neighbors in the community who can help their careers, and then develop relationships.

Although the boy's mother wasn't entirely that kind of person, she was also quite familiar with what cars her neighbors drove.

It was an unfamiliar car. A visitor, perhaps?

Her gaze rested on the license plate for a moment, then she retracted it, putting her arm around her son's shoulder as they went back into the house.

"How was school today?" This was what she asked every day. She was very concerned about her eldest son's life.

Her husband, for some reason, could not live with them. So, strictly speaking, she and her two children depended on each other.

Her two children were her entire life now.

The eldest son pouted, "I don't like that place. The people are very unfriendly. They look down on me."

His mother immediately comforted him, "Maybe you just don't know each other well yet." She put the dinner on a plate and handed it over. "It's beef and fish tonight. I hope you like it. And you must eat some vegetable salad."

Picky eating is something every child faces. Some like meat, some like vegetables. This guy was the type who liked meat.

But he ate meat and didn't get fat. The doctor said his nutrition was unbalanced and he needed to eat more of other things.

The boy muttered as he took the plate, "It's not about not knowing them. They just look down on me because I don't have a father."

The woman's expression immediately became serious. "You do have a father. It's just that his work is very special, and he can't take care of us right now!"

"But, you have a father, and he is an amazing person."

"When his work is over, he will come back to us, and you will be proud of him!"

The boy shook his head, "You've been saying that ever since I can remember, but it's been so long."

The woman didn't know what to say. After a moment, she explained, "If he wasn't real, do you think you could have gotten into such a good school?"

"I'd rather not have!" the boy said, his tone heavier. "I don't want to talk about this. Let's eat."

The woman looked at her eldest son, feeling a bit helpless. He was getting older and starting to have his own ideas.

The mother and son ate. Her younger son was not with her; he was with her parents and was in elementary school.

Besides the two of them, there was also a nanny in the house.

For some reason, the woman felt something was off today. After having the nanny clear the table, she went to the living room's floor-to-ceiling window. She looked out through the curtains at the dark night, as if searching for something in the darkness, but in the end, found nothing.

Ever since she saw that strange car today, she kept feeling like someone was watching them. She didn't know if it was just her imagination or for some other reason.

After observing for a while and finding nothing, she drew the curtains and instructed the nanny to draw all the curtains.

She went to the second floor and dialed the number of Roland's cousin. "I saw a strange car in our community today, and I have a feeling we're being watched. I don't know if I'm just being too sensitive..."

Roland's cousin immediately told her to lock the doors and windows. "I'll bring people over to check right away. Before that, don't open the door for anyone!"

After hanging up, the woman returned to her bedroom, took a revolver from a hidden compartment in the closet, checked the bullets, and placed it within easy reach.

Ten-plus minutes later, several cars drove into the community. After circling around, they didn't find anyone suspicious. Then the leader went to the community guard, checked the entry log for non-residents, and found there were over a dozen.

The social life of the middle class is mostly very healthy. They are in a period of upward mobility, and active socializing helps them get more information and opportunities faster, so middle-class communities have more visitors.

It's not like poor communities, where people rarely visit each other unless there's a special reason.

After all, visiting someone's home means increasing their living costs. For many people who might not even have enough to eat, taking out extra food to entertain guests is an economic burden in itself.

After confirming multiple times that no suspicious people had entered, Director Roland's cousin came to Roland's wife's house. He knocked, and the woman quickly opened the door and let him in.

"I just drove around the community, I didn't find anyone suspicious. The community guard has a record of everyone who came in."

"I've already copied the log. I'll have someone check it later to see if anything is out of place."

"Maybe I was just too sensitive," the woman said apologetically. "I'm sorry for making you come all this way so late."

Director Roland's cousin shook his head. He was the local police chief, but he was very respectful, even reverent, toward Roland .

Because he knew very well that once Roland managed the FBI well, he would be much more successful than a local police chief, and have more power.

He might need to use the FBI platform in the future to climb higher, so he was very attentive to Roland's wife and children.

"It's no problem. This is what I should do."

"His work is at a critical juncture, so we should also be cautious."

"After the election..." He stopped mid-sentence because the door to the second-floor bedroom opened. The boy stood at the doorway, looked at the two people in the living room, and then quickly went back and closed the door.

The woman was still full of apology. "He's a bit hard to manage right now." She felt her son should have come downstairs to say hello politely. It would be one thing if he didn't know a guest was here.

Now that he knew, he shouldn't be so cold.

Roland's cousin, the chief, smiled and waved his hand. "It's fine, kids are all like that. We've been through that age too."

"Anyway, the situation is safe. I'll leave four officers here to watch over you and him for the next few days."

"After the election is over, everything should stabilize. If anything unusual happens, call me anytime."

"If I'm not at the office, I'm definitely at home."

After talking a bit more, the cousin-chief took his leave. He did indeed leave behind two cars, with four officers inside, ready to protect the mother and son at close range.