Inside the shipping container turned into an interrogation room, the tension had finally reached its breaking point.
After Jayden lost control, the interrogation quickly devolved into chaos.
The two men hurled insults at each other while revealing one buried secret after another.
Deals with the criminal underworld.
Corruption within their own police department.
Nothing was left unsaid.
And finally, with a cold and calculated blow, Isaac delivered the fatal line:
"Your wife's baby... there's a fifty percent chance it's mine. The timeline fits."
Silence.
Jayden didn't say a word.
Cohen, the orchestrator behind this psychological trial, said nothing.
Even David, silently observing it all from behind the surveillance monitors, was speechless.
"…Enough," Cohen muttered at last. "I can't listen to this anymore."
He stepped out of the container.
The night breeze hit his face, snapping him back to his senses.
"Damn… America really is a mess."
A voice crackled in Cohen's earpiece—it was David.
"The video's been edited. Are you sure you want to send it?"
Cohen let out a long sigh.
"Send it. Follow the plan."
"One moment… Done. It's been sent to several high-ranking police officials, including Commissioner George Stacy, as well as a handful of journalists."
"Also, you should get out of there. The police might already be on the move."
Cohen turned around to glance at the container-turned-interrogation room. It had already been prepped, steel cables looped through its frame and hooked to a crane above.
Under David's remote control, the container slowly lifted into the air, swaying gently, before being moved above the river.
In the video he had sent, the final scene featured a 15-minute countdown timer.
Once the timer hit zero, the cables would snap, sending the container—and its two occupants—plunging into the river's depths.
If the police somehow managed to locate the place in time, they might be able to save them.
But with only interior footage and no exterior reference, the chances were slim to none.
"What a shame," Cohen murmured to himself.
"If they hadn't seen my face, I might've spared them—especially Officer Jayden."
"My hatred for him… it's almost gone. Can you believe that? Tsk tsk."
David couldn't help chiming in.
"Trust me—killing him now is doing him a favor. Especially after you forwarded that video to his colleagues and the press."
"God!"
"Yeah, he's a dirty cop, but I'm actually starting to feel bad for him."
Cohen watched the container swaying gently in the air, suspended above the dark river. After a long pause, he finally turned away, forcing himself not to look back.
He walked a good distance before exhaling deeply.
"No, I need a change of scenery. David, is the second act ready?"
"Of course. Just find a good spot to watch the fireworks."
Cohen burst into laughter.
"I bet Kingpin is going to have a really 'joyous' evening!"
A few hours earlier, while Kingpin's men were busy loading drugs into a police car, Cohen had taken them out quietly, one by one.
Then he'd slipped in a little surprise—TNT, disguised as bricks of drugs, hidden among six neatly packaged bags.
Tonight, he was about to give the people of Hell's Kitchen a free fireworks show they wouldn't forget.
David's voice came through the earpiece:
"The countdown has started. Ten… nine… eight…"
Whoosh—Boom!
A firework shot into the sky and exploded in dazzling color.
But it wasn't the one Cohen had prepared.
He paused, surprised.
Someone else was setting off fireworks tonight?
What a coincidence.
Great minds really do think alike.
Though… your fireworks are nothing compared to mine. Heh.
BOOM!
The countdown hit zero, and the thunderous explosions followed right on cue.
David's excited voice buzzed through the earpiece:
"All six bombs were detonated. Every single drug depot's been wiped out. Looks like our dear drug kingpin just suffered one hell of a loss!"
Cohen stood at a high vantage point, his coat flapping in the night wind like a banner.
His back was straight as a blade, the silhouette of a lone hero.
Hundreds of kilos of narcotics, gone in a flash.
Twenty million dollars, up in smoke.
Perhaps this was how Lin Zexu felt back in the day, burning opium by the shores of Humen—an unshakable resolve against poison.
A fire to cleanse the rot.
But then… wait!
A flash of realization struck Cohen like lightning.
How exactly did Lord Lin destroy those drugs again?
His eyes scanned the six blazing depots now lit up like signal beacons.
A dreadful thought crept into his mind...
Meanwhile, at the French restaurant...
The fireworks outside had clearly touched Vanessa's heart.
The red and green glows danced across their faces as she looked up in awe.
She and Kingpin exchanged a glance and smiled at each other—like teenagers discovering love for the first time.
Kingpin immediately sensed that something was off.
He could tell the difference between fireworks and explosions.
Sweeping his eyes across the distant skyline, he spotted several sites ablaze.
A cold chill crept up his spine.
Those… those were his territories.
"Boss!"
The door behind him burst open.
Kingpin's eyes sliced over like a blade, sharp and lethal.
His trusted aide, Wesley, instantly realized he had overstepped. Taking a deep breath, he composed himself and forced a respectful smile.
"Boss, there's… a situation that needs your urgent attention."
Kingpin remained silent.
Before he could speak, Vanessa gently interjected, "Perhaps we should call it a night. I'm feeling a little tired anyway."
She stepped forward and gave Kingpin a soft, brief hug.
Just before letting go, she whispered in his ear: "The fireworks were beautiful."
Kingpin's expression immediately softened. His breathing steadied.
"Wesley, take Miss Vanessa home. Escort her upstairs yourself."
"Understood."
He took Vanessa's hand gently. "I'm sorry about tonight. I'll make it up to you—properly."
"There's no need," Vanessa replied with a warm smile.
As her footsteps faded into the night, leaving the restaurant behind, Kingpin's expression darkened with each passing second.
He pulled out his phone and growled into it:
"Tell me what the hell just happened."
Elsewhere…
Cohen was sprinting at full speed toward the nearest blast site, shouting into his earpiece:
"You son of a—! Don't you know you can't use fire to destroy narcotics in an open environment?!"
"Why didn't you warn me not to use bombs, huh?!"
"F***! I was trying to wipe out the drugs, not give the entire Hell's Kitchen a free trip! Now they're probably floating six inches off the ground!"
Inside a small upstairs bedroom in the church, David sat with a guilty look on his face.
I'm just support, man… How is this my fault?
"Besides," David muttered, "you didn't think of it either!"
There was silence from the earpiece.
Cohen didn't respond for a while.
Eventually, his voice came through, hesitant:
"Anyway… it's just a few hundred kilos of drugs. That shouldn't be too big a problem, right?"
David scratched his head.
"But these stash points—so they could move products more easily—they're all in heavily populated areas."
"And there's already a product inside them. We have no way to estimate exactly how much."
"Those two dirty cops alone were moving hundreds of kilos in one trip…
Which means the total amount stored might be way more than we expected!"
"F***!"
By the time Cohen reached the nearest drug depot, it was already engulfed in roaring flames.
The blaze was massive.
He was just one man—completely overwhelmed.
The surrounding residents had all been jolted awake.
Dozens of windows were flung open, with heads sticking out, craning their necks to gawk at the scene.
Seriously? Why the hell are you rubbernecking?
You all get high off the fumes and what—just call in sick tomorrow?
Frustrated, Cohen rubbed his face and pulled out his handgun.
He fired several shots into the air.
The gunfire startled some people. A few windows slammed shut. Lights flicked off.
But to his despair… other windows—previously shut tight—opened instead.
More people leaned out, curiously scanning the street.
Motherf—!
Are you planning to take turns now?!
It got worse.
More than a dozen well-meaning residents left their homes—and began trying to put the fire out.
Are you kidding me?!
Do you people know where you live?
This is Hell's Kitchen!
Have you ever heard of self-preservation?!
It's the middle of the damn night! You're out here bucket-brigading like this isn't the turf of warring gangs!
You've had peace for a few days and now you're feeling brave again, huh?
Cohen dragged a hand down his face in despair.
God… am I going to Hell for this?
Enjoyed the chapter?
Support the story and get exclusive access to more chapters on Patreon: patreon.com/FicVerse604
Your support means the world!