Darkstone Code-Chapter 932 - 930: Little Dolphin Hero

The busy day finally ended, and Mr. Lin sat in the living room to take a short rest. The reporters on the TV were talking nonsense, and the ridiculous faces of the politicians turned the TV program into a farce.

At that moment, the stunning Special Agents from the Security Committee suddenly stepped out from the corner of the living room, both holding guns and unlocking the safety.

Austin quickly pulled out a bulletproof vest from under the sofa and instructed Lynch to put it on.

Lynch complied while putting on the bulletproof vest and calmly asked, "Is someone here?"

Austin nodded solemnly, "Just now the community service company said the smoke alarm in a vacant house went off..."

She said this while adjusting Lynch’s vest, "This definitely isn’t a false alarm. Someone intends to distract the guards with this, their target is most likely you."

"This is my first time wearing a bulletproof vest, and I hope it’s the last," Lynch casually remarked, although Austin didn’t grasp the deeper meaning behind his words.

She continued sharing what she knew, "The Security Committee has dispatched two agents to check it out, there’ll be news soon..."

Gunfire in the distance made Austin tense quickly; she hurriedly drew her pistol from her holster and stood protectively in front of Lynch.

If it were merely a decoy intended to draw attention, there shouldn’t be gunfire.

Gunfire suggests a possible confrontation, which doesn’t match their earlier assessment.

Lynch looked at Austin, who was so tense standing before him, and said softly, "Actually, I’m very safe."

Austin ignored him, perhaps not understanding the meaning of his words, or perhaps thinking Lynch was too careless.

Actually, Lynch’s statement was very clear; he truly wasn’t in danger because those stocks were in his hands now.

This is the Federation; anyone wanting to do anything here must follow the Federation’s rules, whether inside or outside the rules.

As long as their target remains those stocks, they can’t allow anything to happen to Lynch!

If anything happens to Lynch, they may never reclaim those stocks again.

The reason is simple: Lynch had long separated from family to live independently, and both Serra and Nell were divorced, which, in a way, means these two aren’t key stakeholders in Lynch’s inheritance.

On the contrary, Lynch’s inheritance is more likely to be taken over by the capitalists in the company he established, forming various foundations in his name and searching for unfulfilled wishes of his.

For instance, funding poor students as a great moral objective of the foundation, using this to legally and reasonably achieve the occupation of Lynch’s wealth.

When they feel the time is ripe, they’ll use the foundation’s poor performance and bankruptcy as a reason to end its operation, with no one caring where that money ultimately goes, or whose pockets get filled.

If someone wants to fight over this inheritance?

Those capitalists would definitely attempt to resolve the person stirring up trouble for that astronomical wealth.

So Lynch is actually quite safe; no one would be foolish enough to shoot him at such a time, especially that dangerous person, Sanchez.

Meanwhile, the seemingly dangerous yet truly unfortunate Sanchez had already lurked in the shrubbery of the villa’s backyard, facing a result he was unwilling to admit—his infiltration had failed.

He faced neither an ordinary wealthy person nor ordinary security standards; Special Agents on the rooftops and balconies wielding the latest rifles were enough to make his scalp tingle, and the huge floodlights made the entire yard brighter than daytime.

Not to mention sneaking over the wall, crossing the court and swimming pool, then crawling twenty meters over the grass to approach the house; the moment he stood up, a bullet might pierce through his head.

These protective forces weren’t at all disturbed by the smoke alarm in the other house; they weren’t even paying attention to the events in the distance.

Damn it!

At this point, Sanchez suddenly felt jumping out of the car to find Lynch was a completely foolish decision, yet it was the only way.

If he gets sent back to Mariluo, his father would definitely strip him of all power because he messed up this matter, excluding him from the center of power, and his brother and sister wouldn’t let him off.

These siblings, usually well-behaved and understanding, might quietly eliminate him at the first chance before their father regrets, to prevent their father’s future remorse.

From early on, the competition among brothers and sisters had begun, as the siblings reached adulthood one by one, each harbored a thought—

The last remaining one must be the heir.

In the world of warlords, there’s no compassion, everyone is a prey that can be hunted; for power, his father could kill anyone.

Sanchez didn’t want to accept the reality of failure, nor did he want to be thrown into a dungeon, dying in despair.

He wanted to fight for a chance, but at this point, he felt hopeless.

He simply couldn’t get inside!

Got to think of a way!

The brain churned at a speed he had never attempted before. The distant sound of gunfire had ceased, and that foolish tool of a vagabond could not withstand the terror of live ammunition.

At that moment, Sanchez stood up, drenched in sweat.

Human vision is strange, or perhaps it’s true for all animals. People’s observational skills weaken infinitely when it comes to static objects; they can barely discern prominent features in photographs.

For instance, a leopard on a cliff or a white dog in the snow. Yet, when it comes to dynamic objects, they have a remarkable advantage.

Within the range of this glaring white light, any slight movement would capture people’s attention.

As Sanchez stood up, three weapons pointed at him, and they reported to those inside the room that Sanchez had been found.

Sanchez raised both his hands high, holding a handgun, slowly emerged from the bushes, and then kneeled on the field.

He gently placed the weapon on the ground while keeping his hands raised, as two soldiers cautiously approached with guns pointed.

"Lie down with your hands where I can see them!" a soldier shouted loudly.

Sanchez complied, feeling like he couldn’t afford to die just yet. "Don’t shoot, I’ve placed my weapon on the ground, I surrender!"

He slowly lay down, spreading his arms, as a soldier came over and restrained his hands. He was then half-dragged and half-lifted to his feet.

"I want to see Mr. Lynch; I have something important to discuss with him...," it was the only method he could think of now.

Going back meant death, staying here?

The federals catching him meant either extradition back to Mariluo or being thrown into jail. Living as a vagabond here for life wasn’t an option he wanted to choose either.

Having enjoyed the pleasures power brings, how could one tolerate a careful and aggrieved existence?

Moments later, a departing special agent returned and escorted him to the villa. He knew he had made the right gamble.

Lynch was sitting on the sofa, insisting he was actually safe, even though Sanchez had been captured, yet he hadn’t removed his bulletproof vest.

The most surprising thing was that Sanchez stood up voluntarily, which puzzled Austin. If he was there to talk to Lynch, why trigger an alarm elsewhere?

"Perhaps he initially wanted to sneak in but quickly realized he couldn’t, so he changed his plan. That’s very normal." Lynch lit a cigarette; it was time to use his brain.

As they spoke, the bedraggled Sanchez was escorted into the living room by two special agents. Lynch glanced over, "Strip him down, leave him with his underwear. I don’t want to see him pull a weapon out like some magician."

Austin’s lips twitched; sometimes she felt Lynch was odd, often saying and acting in opposite ways.

Just like earlier, he kept repeating he was safe, yet now wanted Sanchez stripped for safety, quite amusing.

Even more interesting was Sanchez’s underwear featuring two small dolphins.

It’s a famous federation cartoon character, beloved by children aged three to eight.

"Didn’t expect you like watching Kunst and Quentin, even have them..." Lynch couldn’t help but chuckle. Kunst and Quentin were the dolphins’ names.

In the animated series, they are ocean heroes often battling various deep-sea monstrous fish.

No trace of embarrassment appeared on Sanchez’s face; such mocking sarcasm had no power over him.

A cold-blooded tough guy covered in scars and tattoos wearing childlike underwear - the contrast was striking.

Lynch waved his hand, "Seems you don’t appreciate my humor, but that’s alright. I heard you wanted to see me?"

Sanchez nodded.

Lynch continued, "Before the FBI arrives to send you back to Mariluo, you have roughly five minutes to tell me your purpose for seeing me and what you can do for me."

Sanchez looked at Lynch, "I’m a bit thirsty, could I have some water..."

Lynch refused, "When the FBI arrives, you can request any drink you want."

"But here, no!"

He glanced at his watch, "You have four minutes left."

Actually, these words took less than a minute to speak; it was purely a punitive measure since Sanchez initially wasted a minute of everyone’s time.

A flurry of thoughts passed through Sanchez’s mind, with various demands and conditions, yet in the end, converging into one single sentence—

"I want to survive!"