Chapter 198: Rage

Just three minutes later, Edwin Antonio arrived at the original site of the Craig Building.

The reason it was called the original site was that there was no trace of this neoclassical revival building left. Only a pile of ruins remained, with a large amount of rubble and steel bars piled up.

"We've already checked the vault; they took everything, and what they didn't take, they burned. Including all our inventory here, and a large number of small-denomination notes of 20 and 10 gold shields."

The one reporting to Antonio was a 'Blood Pin.' But besides that, his tie clip was also red, a symbol only a Red Hand Party cadre would have.

"Except for the bank employees and ordinary citizens who were caught up in the incident and released from the barrier midway, none of the combat team members we deployed here survived."

At this moment, Edwin Antonio's aura was more than just gloomy; the temperature around him had dropped to freezing point, sending chills down the spines of the several attendants nearby.

"Since there are survivors, do you know who did it?"

"Unfortunately, they were all masked. These people know nothing about the robbers' origins—"

Before the 'Blood Pin' could finish, his right face was struck with a loud 'smack.'

The immense force made the man unsteady. When he regained his footing, he immediately showed dissatisfaction: "Hey! Antonio, you can't blame me for this. My men were two blocks away chasing those rats who were causing trouble and killing people, as you instructed, wasn't it? You said we couldn't let them escape. And this Craig Community Bank, you've been keeping a tight grip on it, not letting us touch it. What? Now that something's happened, you blame me?"

"But my bank is on your turf, Frank. If I didn't want you to take care of it, why would I give you an extra 500,000 gold shields every month when we split the accounts? That's 6 million a year, enough to hire five or six outlaws, isn't it?"

Antonio aggressively tapped the man's chest with his cane until the latter was forced back several steps and fell silent. Then he asked his aides, "Estimate our losses."

"Conservative estimate, at least 180 million gold shields, including gold bars worth 45 million gold shields and cash worth 63 million gold shields. About 20 million of that is the bank's cash reserves, the rest is our money. But we'll need to check the accounts for the exact amount. Besides that, there's over 50 million gold shields' worth of goods."

Cajeron replied with a pale face: "In addition, this building, though in the eastern suburbs, is worth 20 million, plus our seven stores here."

"So these damned bastards have destroyed nearly a fifth of my assets, eh?"

Before Antonio could lose his temper, another man hurried over: "BOSS, Mr. Alonzo has sent word that they've lost track of the targets. Not only were all the motorcycles destroyed, but twelve people were killed or injured. Both Selisa and Mr. Alonzo suggest that unless you have more than six combat groups, it's best not to pursue rashly. Additionally, Mr. Alonzo said he recognized one of the robbers: Howard Eisenhower, a seventeenth-level sharpshooter."

"Sky Eye?"

Antonio's pupils contracted, then he turned to look at Cajeron: "Can you root out these bastards in the shortest possible time?"

"BOSS, I'll get it done as quickly as possible."

Cajeron straightened his back: "In fact, I've already contacted the Ghost War Song Hunt and the Fenrir Wolf Hunt from the underworld, asking them to help blockade Ghost City and ensure those three armored vehicles can't enter Ghost City."

"It seems I'm destined to bleed a bit, huh? But if they can actually pull it off, even if I have to give them 30 million gold shields, I'll be happy. Also, put a citywide bounty on Howard Eisenhower. I personally offer 8 million gold shields. No matter where he's hiding, dig him out—"

Antonio paused mid-sentence as he noticed a new police car slowly driving into the scene. Then a middle-aged man with the rank of deputy chief inspector stepped out, accompanied by a young, burly man in plain clothes.

Antonio recognized them: one was Obadiah York, deputy director of the Atlanta East District Police Station, and the other was Colin Damon, the newly transferred head of the East District Major Crimes Unit.

He frowned, then strode forward: "Deputy Director York, Mr. Damon, I think you two are late."

"Not at all. It's been less than fifteen minutes since the incident occurred. Our officers were already on the scene, weren't they?"

Obadiah York replied nonchalantly: "How's the situation? Mr. Antonio, you arrived earlier than us; you should already know the situation, shouldn't you?"

"Losses are at least 90 million! Besides this collapsed building before you, my Craig Community Bank had over 50 million gold shields in gold bullion and cash stolen. But what's even more tragic is that at least sixty innocent citizens were killed."

Antonio spread his hands, his face full of grief and helplessness: "This is a shocking robbery! Unheard of in Atlanta in the decades since World War II. To be honest, I'm very disappointed in your police station."

York and Damon exchanged a glance. The latter's expression was indifferent: "I'll do my best to investigate this case. Please have the community bank provide whatever assistance you can."

After saying this, he walked straight toward the ruins. Obadiah York stayed put, his eyes equally cold: "Mr. Antonio, your accusation is baseless, irresponsible, and an insult to our East District Police Station! The public security in East Atlanta has always been good. Thanks to the efforts of many colleagues in the East District, it's been peaceful for over a decade. In those ten-plus years, there have been no major homicides—until today! Do I need to remind you of your identity, Mr. Antonio? Isn't today's incident related to your Red Hand Party?"

Antonio frowned: "Deputy Director York, I don't understand what you're saying. Isn't protecting citizens' safety and property the duty of your police station?"

"Indeed it is, so we came here to fulfill our duty. But that doesn't mean you can blame us arbitrarily."

Obadiah York's lips curled slightly, but there was no smile, only a cold sharpness: "Mr. Antonio, I don't know who you've offended, and I don't care. Just please end this as soon as possible. This is not only the opinion of our director, Ive Ryder, but also the consensus of me and many colleagues in the East District."

Antonio stopped in his tracks, frowning as he watched the deputy director's back as he also walked toward the ruins.

He felt that the man's attitude was very off, not like a public servant who took two million gold shields from him every year.

Come to think of it, when he had communicated with Ive Ryder, the East District director, earlier, his attitude had lacked its usual warmth.

He had initially thought it was due to the upcoming city council elections, but now it seemed it might not be that simple.

Antonio immediately turned sideways and instructed Cajeron: "Find out the reason. Is it something the Nathan Sports Group did?"

A shadow of gloom had already risen in his heart. Dwight Payton of the Nathan Sports Group was a rare business powerhouse; he had known that for a long time.

But behind him stood Cressy Jakes, a figure at the top of Atlanta's power structure—not only the Speaker of the Atlanta City Council but also the whip of the Conservative Party's Atlanta branch, a very important high-level figure in the Georgia Conservative Party.

Could such a powerful figure not even hold his ground for a single round against Dwight Payton?