My Manor

The exterior walls of the villa all needed attention, the parking lot required maintenance, the lawn had to be tidied, and all the cars needed repairs. Six of the vehicles were beyond saving (the ones driven by Philemon Turner and his team). The windows in the house were broken, the lawn was severely polluted, much of the wire mesh on the exterior wall had been knocked down, and the contents of the rooms were completely destroyed... Jiang Hai looked at the expenses in the report one by one.

He couldn't help but slap his forehead. Last night, he had to pay hundreds of thousands of US dollars.

No, if the villa were to be renovated, it could cost millions of dollars. This was pure compensation, and the insurance company wouldn't cover it.

Generally speaking, insurance companies only cover damage from things like fires, theft, or explosions. Even if a meteorite fell from the sky and smashed the place, the insurance company would pay out since it's considered a natural disaster.

But the insurance company wouldn't cover damages from an attack like this. Jiang Hai had already captured the people who attacked his manor. Logically, these people should pay for the damages, but it was clear that they wouldn't be able to. After all, once they were inside, Jiang Hai wouldn't let them leave alive, and they didn't have the money to cover it anyway. He had no choice but to curse them.

Of course, he probably wouldn't buy insurance again next year, given how deceitful these foreign insurance companies were.

The only compensation he could receive was for the repairs to his cars, as the vehicles were covered by gun insurance.

There was no other compensation, so Jiang Hai would have to pay for it himself. He didn't mind the money too much; he could easily earn a few million dollars from dozens of cows. What truly angered him was why he had to suffer this unprovoked disaster.

He had thrown millions of dollars into the water without a sound. Who had he offended for them to attack his manor like this?

"Have you investigated these guys? I want them all dead." Sitting on the sofa at the police station, Jiang Hai spoke to Moses Adams. Seeing the fierce look in Jiang Hai's eyes, Moses Adams shrugged.

"You don't need to tell me. Right now, many people want to kill them, but unfortunately, this guy is very cautious. This time, except for the key players and the desperate ones, no one personally received his call. All the arrested bastards were interrogated by the police in Winthrop and Boston. They all followed the leaders, and most of those leaders are dead—only four survived. These are the only people who might know what's going on, but those four haven't said a word." Moses Adams hesitated before continuing, acknowledging the difficult situation.

After all, in this world, the law was paramount, and now, some were ready to fight to the death, leaving the police powerless.

"Give me their information. I'll take a look." However, none of this mattered to Jiang Hai. He didn't follow the rules. If the other party didn't follow the rules, neither would he.

Upon hearing Jiang Hai's words, Moses Adams immediately found the information on the four people and handed it over to him.

With the information in hand, Jiang Hai walked out. The Winthrop Police Department had proven to be quite capable the night before, especially Doyle George and his team, who had led the charge and never backed down.

As a result, three officers had been injured, but thankfully, none had died—a blessing in disguise.

After giving his statement the night before, Jiang Hai donated 3 million dollars to the police station. He also gave 50,000 dollars to each of the three injured officers. This wasn't through a debit card—meaning the officers could keep the money without taxes. The 3.15 million dollars made everyone in the station look at Jiang Hai with more admiration than Morris Smith. Many were wondering why they hadn't been the ones injured, as 50,000 dollars was more than enough to cover the annual salary of a middle-class American family.

When they saw Jiang Hai, the "God of Wealth," they now smiled and nodded in his direction. Jiang Hai, in turn, acknowledged them with a nod as he made his way to the interrogation room.

At that moment, the third wave of police were interrogating the suspects. Like in most countries, the interrogation was being recorded throughout the process. This meant no physical abuse or torture could be used.

The only approach was to wear them down with fatigue, keeping them awake and repeatedly asking simple questions.

If they refused to answer, water could be used to keep them awake—no sleep for fifteen days was sure to break anyone.

But Jiang Hai didn't have the patience to wait fifteen days.

He greeted Morris Smith, who had been observing, and entered the interrogation room. The officers inside immediately stood up, showing respect, but they were slightly surprised. They thought Jiang Hai had come to personally deal with the suspects. If that were the case, they'd be in trouble. If a prisoner were to die in the station, no matter the crime, it would surely cause an uproar in the U.S., where human life was held above all else.

However, Jiang Hai wasn't a reckless person. He knew better than to act out of line in a police station, no matter his relationship with them.

Standing in front of the table, Jiang Hai glanced at the man before him. This man was one of the forty-six attackers from the previous day. He was also the least injured—struck by Azarina Vicarborio and knocked into a companion. He had a severe concussion but otherwise, no internal injuries.

A concussion was a nasty injury—mild cases involved nausea and confusion, similar to having cervical spondylosis, but severe cases caused excruciating headaches. This man, however, was tough. Despite his pale face, he didn't say a word.

Jiang Hai motioned for the two policemen to leave. After a brief hesitation, they did so.

Once alone, Jiang Hai sat down across from the man. Moses Adams, ever the strategist, moved to the camera's front and pressed the microphone. The camera continued to record, but no sound would be heard.

"Your name is Camilla March?" Jiang Hai asked, looking at the file in his hand.

The man remained silent, unmoving.

"Oh, you don't need to answer. I'm just here to talk to you. You attacked my home, and you know I'm very rich. So, in fifteen days, no matter what sentence you get—if it's the death penalty, all the better. But if you end up in prison, your death will be much slower and more painful. Of course, I know you've prepared for this... But according to my information, you have a mother, two sons, and a daughter... Tsk tsk."

"What do you mean by that?" Hearing Jiang Hai mention his family, Camilla March's calm demeanor faltered. He knew he was facing certain death, but Jiang Hai's mention of his family struck a nerve.

"You attacked my manor and my family, so I'll kill yours too," Jiang Hai said, his tone calm, as if he were discussing something as mundane as drinking a glass of milk.

"You can't do this! They're innocent!" Camilla March slapped his hands on the table in panic. Despite the American view of family being more detached, blood relatives were still a key source of spiritual support. Jiang Hai's indifference to their lives made it clear he wasn't joking.

"Innocent? Don't say that word in front of me. When you attacked me, wasn't I innocent? Were the people in my manor not innocent? If you attack me, I'll kill your entire family. That's only fair." Jiang Hai said calmly, his hands clasped. Hearing this, the man was momentarily speechless. He didn't know what to say in response.

"Ask me whatever you want. I'll answer. Just please, let them go." He realized that saving his family now required more than just his own life—it meant providing answers.

"No. I'm not a cop. I know your boss is Billy Valen. I'll find him and kill his whole family too. I came here just to let you know that I'll kill your whole family as well. That's it." Jiang Hai lightly tapped the table before standing up. He shook his head at Moses Adams, and the two walked out of the interrogation room.