Chapter 42: So He's One of Us!
"Holy shit!"
Frank was finally shocked, exclaiming once again.
Billionaire Edward Olson didn't seem like much to him.
But he believed the Texas truck driver, Old Man Olson.
Girls who choose to run away from home are the most vulnerable to being victimized by passing truckers.
The allure of a free ride, offered by a trucker—whether they approach the girl or she flags them down—is too great for a small-town girl who's tired of hitchhiking and still desperate to escape to the big city she dreams of.
And if Old Man Olson was like that, then Edward Olson may indeed have inherited those twisted genes and behaviors.
Hell, there's even the third generation—Little Olson—who murders people for kicks, as evidence.
The thought of this made Frank's scalp crawl.
A mercenary who kills for money would get the chills when faced with a serial killer who simply kills for fun.
"So you need to be careful. Don't get cocky,"
Chuck warned, seeing Frank beginning to believe.
Whether his theory was correct or not didn't matter. The reason Olson Jr.'s reckless behavior had repeatedly escaped legal consequences was simply because he relied on Edward Olson's protection.
Even if such a person was taken out in the process, it would still be serving justice.
Well, in more technical terms, this was unavoidable but understandable collateral damage.
Chuck mentioned this simply to warn his brother.
If Edward Olson truly was a serial killer, Frank could easily end up dead if he wasn't careful.
After all, Frank was a brother who could mess up even Chuck's most focused state so badly—which was truly concerning.
"I get it,"
Frank nodded. Looking at Chuck, who clearly didn't trust him, he said with a hint of irritation, "After I've dealt with them and recovered, I'll come back to you. We'll spar and see who's better."
"I hope so,"
Chuck said honestly.
As long as he didn't die prematurely, everything would be fine.
It was impossible for him to constantly babysit his predecessor's hot-headed and restless brother.
Everyone had their own lives to live.
He could watch out for him once, but he couldn't watch forever. If he tried, the first person to blow up and rebel would be Frank himself.
So a couple of warnings were enough. Trying to constantly force corrections on others with one's own rational perspective was foolish.
Frank could live the way he wanted. If he died prematurely, Chuck, as his older brother, would help avenge him. That was all.
The brothers wisely dropped the subject and instead caught up on recent events.
Frank's recent experiences had been completely under Chuck's watch, so there wasn't much to discuss.
So Frank mostly grilled Chuck about his experiences, especially his shock at Chuck's ability to overcome his sexual hang-ups.
That's right!
Even now, he was still in shock, feeling like he was in some kind of dream.
Was this man—who, when asked about sexual matters, spoke openly and honestly, and who had insights that even a player like him was dumbfounded by and could never have imagined—really his quiet and methodical brother? The same one who couldn't control his limbs when upset, flew into a rage when he heard their mother using the vacuum cleaner, refused hugs and handshakes, always wore the same type of clothing, and had meltdowns when things went wrong?
Hospital.
"Where have you been?"
Jane breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Chuck and walked over.
"Investigating,"
Chuck said.
"What did you find out?"
Jane asked, and before Chuck could answer, she continued, "This whole thing is probably going to blow up. My supervisor was pissed when he heard my report, and he's already flown someone out here."
"Yeah,"
Chuck said matter-of-factly. "With all the complications involving billionaires and the Department of Energy, he's definitely worried."
"..." Jane was speechless.
To her, it was clearly because the tribal police and she, an FBI agent, were nearly wiped out, but how could Chuck's words make it sound like something else entirely?
But after Chuck's comment, she suddenly realized that Chuck was right.
The casualties among the tribal police officers and her own attack might be important to her personally, but they certainly wouldn't be enough to make her superiors rush out here in a fury.
"What should we do now?"
Jane asked anxiously.
"Wait until your supervisor gets here,"
Chuck said calmly. "If he's got the balls to keep investigating, we'll help him. If he doesn't have the guts to continue, or just comes here to hastily close the case and sweep it under the rug, then I'm on a flight back to New Jersey tomorrow night. I have classes the day after tomorrow."
Whether or not the investigation continued didn't matter to him anymore.
"What about me?"
Jane asked instinctively.
Ever since Chuck had saved her at gunpoint, she had come to think of him as her ally. Her previous embarrassment about asking for help and her resentment at Chuck's corrections had vanished. She instinctively wanted the capable Chuck to help her figure out her next move.
"You?"
Chuck glanced at her. "You can assist your supervisor and learn. Next time you encounter a case, you'll be able to form your own basic judgment. If it's a tough case, you can call me."
Jane nodded.
She had previously been annoyed by Chuck's claims that this was a small, simple case, but Chuck had immediately identified the suspect and even forced him to reveal himself. Now, looking back, the case was indeed as simple and straightforward as Chuck had described.
If it weren't for her lack of experience, she wouldn't have needed Chuck.
But she couldn't help wondering: if she hadn't called Chuck this time, would she still be here now?
She'd likely have been killed by those high-caliber rounds.
At this thought, she instinctively reached out and touched her chest. Before she could react, Chuck grabbed her and pulled her aside.
She knew the situation was urgent, but Chuck's grip was a bit too rough.
Did he have to treat soft tissue the same way as hard tissue?
It was the early hours of the morning.
Jane's supervisor rushed in with his team, a grim expression on his face.
"Are you the private investigator?"
The supervisor, an older white man, frowned at Chuck and then scolded Jane, "This is ridiculous! Who gave you the authority to hire a private investigator? We're FBI agents—investigating cases is our job..."
Jane kept her head down in silence.
Strictly speaking, she had indeed overstepped her bounds.
At least, she had never heard of a rookie agent doing such a thing.
"Police departments from various jurisdictions have hired me eight times, and the FBI has hired me thirteen times,"
Chuck interrupted.
As he said, the FBI's budget and investigative flexibility far exceeded those of local police departments.
Compared to local police departments, the FBI was his biggest client.
"..."
The older white supervisor paused, and when he turned around, his stern expression had softened considerably. He looked at Chuck, hesitated, then extended his hand to Chuck with a smile: "So you're a consultant who works with the Bureau—one of us."
Jane: "..."
(End of chapter)
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