Frank had just walked out of 22 Mott Street with a smile, clearly having received a subtle confirmation from his meeting. This was why he had complained earlier about the indirect way Chinese people speak. Since the other party had already shown goodwill, Frank could breathe a little easier. After all, the legendary reputation of the Triads was so deeply ingrained that even their names still made waves in the minds of Americans.
Now that he was assured his youngest son wasn't being targeted by the Triads, Frank's mood lightened considerably. As he listened to Jack's analysis, he nodded repeatedly, before asking about the progress of their investigation.
"Can't we ask those old men to help us find the girl?" Danny asked after briefing his father on what they'd uncovered so far. "It sounds like they're still the true masters of Chinatown."
Frank shook his head and signaled for Jack to explain the intricacies to his somewhat naive son.
Jack cleared his throat. "They won't do anything further because, from their perspective, the police aren't trustworthy either. By eliminating Nelson Zhou, they've completely distanced themselves from that small gang.
"This isn't goodwill. Think of it more as a mutual understanding."
In truth, both sides were acting like spooked birds. As NYPD Commissioner, Frank was determined to ensure that Chinese gangs wouldn't rise again to wreak havoc, especially since NYC's public safety was already crumbling under the weight of issues like the BLM movement spurred by certain political factions.
On the other side, the old men from 22 Mott Street had painstakingly cleaned their hands and gone legit. They were enjoying a lawful and leisurely lifestyle—why risk everything to dirty their hands again?
The times had changed. Many Chinese Americans living in the U.S. today were second, third, fourth, or even fifth-generation "ABC" elites. Most of them sought genuine integration into Western society, even if it meant sacrificing their own cultural identity to fit the mold of so-called Western "aesthetics."
This also included various people who claimed to have "escaped persecution" back home. Armed with wealth, they indulged in luxury and excess—like certain melodious-voiced singers who graced prestigious stages.
As for those "runaways" chasing the American Dream, many were left with nothing the moment they arrived. They had no resources, no connections—far from the promising new blood that gangs could rely on. These newcomers couldn't even compete with hardworking Mexican dishwashers for low-paying jobs.
Fortunately, Yi-Jun Liu had already provided enough critical information. The FBI analysts easily tracked down a certain gynecologist named Warren Wakefield. Jack and Danny decided to investigate this man next.
This "benevolent" gynecologist conducted free clinics at the Mott Street Charity Clinic every Thursday. Coincidentally, he had a young and beautiful Chinese wife. Before her marriage, her full name had been Nancy Cheng—a fact that just so happened to link her to Nicholas Cheng, the kindly man they had met at the charity.
"Everything's adding up," Jack said, placing a thick stack of documents on Danny's desk. "Although this doctor appears to be a middle-class professional with a clean record, his expenses don't match his income.
"He has a $5 million mansion in the Hamptons, a private yacht, and even rents private jets for vacations. Quite extravagant, isn't it?"
Jack pulled out another file and added, "We also traced a shell company registered in Gibraltar. This company receives 15 to 20 regular wire transfers per month, each amounting to $60,000 to $70,000. You know what this means, don't you?"
"$60,000 to $70,000 per baby?" Danny mused.
"That's what it looks like," Jack said. "Here's the good news: the latest payment came in just five days ago. It was a check from a couple—this is their address."
Jack split the remaining documents into two stacks. He handed the thicker stack to Erin Reagan, who was also in the room. "These are the payment records from before. Your District Attorney's office can handle them. As for this file, it's about the most recent couple. Danny and I plan to pay them a visit. Any objections?"
"Of course, I have a problem," Danny said, snatching the file from Jack's hand. He triumphantly waved it at his sister. "You owe me an apology, dear sister."
"It's just a lobster!" Erin exclaimed in disbelief. "You're still holding a grudge?"
"Hey, Dad, what brings you here?" Erin suddenly stood up straight and looked behind Danny.
"What? Dad just went back to his office—ow!" While Danny turned around in confusion, Erin took advantage of his distraction to kick him hard in the shin. Using her height advantage, she snatched the documents and strutted away victoriously.
"You're dead, you little brat!" Danny fell back into his chair, clutching his leg in pain.
What a heartwarming display of sibling love, Jack thought to himself, shaking his head with amusement.
"The cost of IVF treatments typically ranges from $12,000 to $15,000 per cycle. We tried four times, but Dr. Wakefield eventually recommended that we consider adoption instead."
In a high-end apartment on the Upper East Side, a young middle-class couple, the Phelpses, explained their arduous journey to parenthood after welcoming Jack and Danny into their home.
"Did Dr. Wakefield suggest any alternatives?" Danny asked. "Or maybe hint at something?"
"Uh..." The couple exchanged a look, clearly aware that the police wouldn't visit them without a reason. After a moment of hesitation, Mr. Phelps spoke.
"He suggested we adopt a Chinese baby. His reasoning was that mothers from that conservative society wouldn't smoke or use drugs. And besides, Chinese people are smarter and tend to excel in American society."
Jack snorted inwardly.
"Did he tell you where the baby would come from?" Danny pressed.
The Phelpses were momentarily stunned by the question. Mrs. Phelps offered an awkward smile. "Of course...from China."
"Did Dr. Wakefield explain how these babies—or orphans—were being sourced?" Jack asked, barely masking his frustration as he ground his teeth.
"He said someone would bring the baby to us," Mr. Phelps said. "His wife is Chinese and has political connections. He said we wouldn't need to fly to China to handle any adoption procedures."
It was clear that the Phelpses genuinely yearned for a child. They had already purchased a crib, which was set up in their living room alongside a pile of toys and baby supplies.
Strictly speaking, they were victims in this situation. Jack couldn't be too harsh, but it was time to enlighten them about the truth.
"Actually, you've been deceived," Jack said. "We believe the baby you're waiting to adopt isn't coming from China. It's from Chinatown—just a few blocks away. Someone has been buying babies there to supply for adoptions."
"Oh my God!" Mrs. Phelps clasped her face, her eyes instantly welling up with tears. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks.
"Did Dr. Wakefield tell you when you'd get to see the baby?" Jack asked, trying to gather critical information before her emotions completely unraveled.
"Uh..." The couple exchanged another look. After some hesitation, Mr. Phelps answered, "He initially said the due date was this week. But when I followed up, he seemed a bit vague.
"Then, just this morning, he sent me a message saying we should expect the baby tonight—at the latest, by tomorrow morning."
"Oh God, oh God...does this mean we won't get the baby?" Mrs. Phelps collapsed into her husband's arms, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Thank you for your cooperation. The information you've provided is extremely helpful," Danny said, hastily rising from his seat. There was no time to console the couple.
It was painfully obvious—if Dr. Wakefield had given them such a specific timeframe, it meant Mintai had already been recaptured. Otherwise, how could that bastard be so certain the baby would arrive tonight?
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I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld! (Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 660)
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