That afternoon, at the Brooklyn Police Departnt.
Matthew walked out of the chief’s office and nodded at Wang Jian.
Wang Jian patted Lily on the shoulder, stood up, and then walked into the chief’s office.
"Mr. Wang, are you really going to donate half a million US dollars to the Brooklyn and Bronx Police Unions?" asked a middle-aged white man in police uniform, his face all smiles.
"Yes," Wang Jian replied, not in the mood to beat around the bush. "My request is simple, I will personally offer a reward, as long as Gene can co back."
"During this period, I hope that the Brooklyn and Bronx police departnts can be more lenient about certain matters, and not react too quickly."
The two chiefs exchanged glances, then nodded at the sa ti.
In other words, just by maintaining the usual security in the Bronx and Brooklyn districts, they could get this money.
Seeing that they agreed, Wang Jian left behind two checks and turned to leave.
Afterward, he and Lily got back into the car and drove to the most famous radio station in New York.
The African station manager, taking the check for a hundred thousand US dollars from Wang Jian, respectfully invited Wang Jian and Lily into the broadcasting studio.
"You two really have a knack for it, most everyone in the Bronx district listens to our station, and your ssage will definitely be known quickly."
Wang Jian sat in front of the broadcast desk, watching Lily’s figure, and sighed quietly to himself.
Then, he pressed the play button and signaled that Lily could speak.
...
In the basent in the Bronx district,
a young black man was feeding pizza to Gene, who was blindfolded.
"Your mom is really nice, hooking up with a rich guy," he sighed while feeding him. "Why can’t my mom do sothing right?"
"Your mom? That big bucket?" scoffed a companion.
He casually turned on the radio, wanting to listen to so lively songs to dispel the gloom.
"We’re offering a million US dollars to safely return Gene."
"Whoever completes the task can get this money."
After that, the radio station began broadcasting the ti of Gene’s kidnapping, along with his physical description.
"Didn’t we call that Asian guy before, asking only for half a million dollars?" he asked his companion, puzzled.
"Uh," his companion scratched his head, also perplexed, "Maybe that young billionaire wants to show his love to his girlfriend by increasing the ransom?"
At that mont, the man with dreadlocks and El opened the door and ca in.
Ever since El reported the situation with Lily and Wang Jian, he had beco a high-ranking mber of this small gang.
"What are you guys yapping about?" the dreadlocked man yelled.
"Ha, boss, that young billionaire has increased the ransomoffer."
Hmm?
The dreadlocked man followed his subordinate’s pointing finger to look at the recorder.
"Whoever completes the task can get this money."
What?
The dreadlocked man was initially stunned, then suddenly alard.
The Bronx district was full of gangs; a million dollars was enough to drive any desperado insane.
"Has any of you told soone else that we kidnapped this kid?" the dreadlocked man asked loudly, thinking of this possibility.
Uh...
The people in the basent looked at each other, and, as if on cue, simultaneously raised their hands.
FUCK, it’s indeed impossible to keep a secret with niggers.
His gang wasn’t the strongest one, so...
The dreadlocked man, thinking of the horrifying possibilities, slapped El across the face.
"You said that Chinese tycoons are all timid and will obediently comply, didn’t you?"
"I...I don’t know," El stuttered, touching his mouth.
"Boss, worst case we stop the extortion and just send the kid back for the one million US Dollar reward."
The man with dreadlocks thought for a mont and nodded.
After all, he initially only wanted three hundred thousand US Dollars.
But the words from the radio below interrupted his reverie and even made the atmosphere in the basent eerily tense.
"If the mastermind is also handed over to the police, an additional reward of five hundred thousand US Dollars can be obtained."
"I have a Citibank cashier’s check here that can be cashed imdiately."
Hmm?
The man with dreadlocks glanced at his subordinates and unconsciously held his gun at his waist.
He pointed directly at El, "He is the mastermind, not !"
At that mont, soone banged on the basent door.
"We are brothers from the Limp Gang, can you open the door?"
...
anwhile, inside the NBC office building.
Bob Woodward, the legendary journalist who reported on the Watergate scandal, sat in his office chair looking at the reports about Wang Jian.
"Jobs, Bill Gates, and Wang?" he murmured as he sipped his coffee, "If the heat goes up a bit more, we can launch a special report to analyze whether Wang is more of a writer or a capitalist."
"Mr. Woodward," the head of a news segnt rushed into the office breathlessly, not even knocking.
Woodward didn’t mind, as he always believed the tiliness of news overrode everything else, not to ntion these inexplicable rules.
"What is it?" he asked seriously.
"Brooklyn and the Bronx have launched a huge bounty, totaling up to one million five hundred thousand US Dollars!"
Hmm?
Aside from the literary community, who in New York doesn’t love money?
Woodward sensed that this was a major news headline.
He took the papers, looking up in surprise.
"This bounty is posted by Wang and is backed jointly by the police departnts of Brooklyn and the Bronx?"
"Yes," the reporter answered while panting, "The Bronx has gone crazy now, gang mbers are all searching for a boy nad Gene."
"Are there any casualties?" Woodward’s voice grew excited, eyes intently fixed on the other.
"Yes, it’s said that in a basent, several African gang mbers were shot dead."
This...
Is perfect!
Woodward drained his coffee and then began to organize the papers on his desk.
If Wang Jian were here, he would be surprised to find soone who understood his financial situation so well.
"Starting with ’I’m a Great Mage’ to make his first bucket of gold, then setting up a website and establishing a Twitter account."
"Ha, Wang has already beco a capitalist!"
"Mr. Woodward, what is this?" The reporter watched as his deanor shifted from gentlemanly to frenzied.
"Hehe, it’s nothing," Woodward chuckled, shaking his head, "Nixon couldn’t withstand the collapse of his public image; Wang, can you?"
He picked up the phone and called the assistant director, "I think the ti has co."
"Yes, we need to start a special program to analyze the investnt status of the most talked-about bestselling author."
"Yes," he nodded with a smile, "acting as a role model for many writers."
"It’s just whether those writers are willing to learn?"
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