North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws

Are you kidding me? They've already breached the emergency exit, and now they're saying they won't kill us? And they'll pay compensation? That's like an assailant who's already torn the clothes, set the mood, and is just about to go all the way. Then, suddenly, he stops and says, 'I'm sorry, miss, it was all a misunderstanding. I was impulsive. I'll pay you…' What a load of crap!

Hearing Ross's idiotic chuckle, Dean, far from coming out, appeared at the ventilation opening, his nose twitching slightly. The panic room was very solid; this was its only vulnerability. But after waiting for a long time, he detected nothing unusual. Moreover, the malfunctioning security cameras had returned to normal, revealing the villa's interior, where bodies lay strewn across the floor.

Seeing this, Ross, who had been chuckling foolishly, cowered into a ball. "Dean, where are you? Come out! I'm scared all by myself!"

Dean, thoughtfully watching the monitor, appeared behind Ross like a ghost. "Stop howling. I was guarding the main entrance the whole time, preparing for a surprise attack."

Ross jumped, startled, but upon seeing it was Dean, he let out a huge sigh of relief. "I thought you were hiding."

"I'm the only one with a gun here. You think I'd hide and wait to die?" Dean rolled his eyes, walked over to the computer, and checked their reply.

[Dear Mr. Ross Campbell,

This is all a misunderstanding.

As an apology, you will receive news of Harry Siri's death in two hours.

We will also conceal the bounty information.

Furthermore, to compensate for the fright we have caused you, we will provide you with one hundred million US Dollars as Spirit compensation.

Here is the untraceable account number and password: XXXX.

If this is still insufficient to make amends for the harm caused, please feel free to state your conditions.]

Dean was speechless. "..."

He turned to Ross. "Buddy, what exactly is going on with you?"

Just a name, Dean thought. And it scared South America's top assassin, one with a ten-million-US-Dollar starting fee, into this pathetic state. It's utterly ridiculous. What's even more absurd is that a guy like this was thoroughly played by a schemer like Laura, who made a complete fool of him, and then he was humiliated by some 'little punk.' Good grief! Others play dumb to get the upper hand; you've actually become a genuine fool!

Seeing Dean's expression, Ross sighed. "It's always like this. I knew it would end this way. Ever since I took on the Campbell surname, I've had nothing but money."

A flash of realization struck Dean. He finally remembered!

Previously, because of his mentor Anthony, he had searched online for some of this world's prominent families. The Morgan surname wasn't uncommon, and he hadn't found anything particularly special about it. But Campbell... he had definitely seen that name before!

It was a top-tier ducal family in the Commonwealth, with a heritage spanning over six hundred years. From the Age of Discovery to the present day, they remained active in the public eye, mingling in the circles of European royalty and nobility.

When Dean didn't respond, Ross looked even more melancholic. "Dean, you really don't need to feel distant from me because of my background. When I make friends, I never care if they have status or money. But reality isn't like that. Everyone who learns my true identity immediately changes. They start acting unnaturally, and their speech becomes stilted. It genuinely distresses me. Is it really so hard to find pure friendship and love?"

What a load of humblebragging nonsense! Dean thought.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Ross, if that's how you feel, why don't you just pretend to be an ordinary person?"

"An ordinary person?" Ross looked bewildered. "Isn't my current identity ordinary enough? I drive myself, I don't have bodyguards, and publicly, I'm just the son of an ordinary billionaire. Even kidnappers aren't interested in me. My clothes only cost a few tens of thousands of US dollars apiece. Isn't that ordinary enough?"

Dean smiled, flipped him the bird, and said irritably, "You really should go work as a farmhand on my grandpa's farm for a few days. Then you'd see what a *real* ordinary person is like!"

Ross looked thoughtful, then pointed sadly at the monitor screen. "What should we do about these bodies? And the money they offered—should I take it?"

"Duh, of course you take it!" Dean exclaimed. "What about the death benefits for these dead guys? And our compensation for emotional distress? You think that comes free?"

Dean took out his phone, called Monet, and vaguely mentioned Ross's identity before hanging up. He then lectured the naive kid, "I don't know why you're so simple-minded, but buddy, I have to tell you: you *must* take this money. Otherwise, I probably won't see you alive tomorrow."

Ross was naive, but he wasn't stupid.

After a moment's thought, his face paled. "You mean, if I don't take it, they'll think I'm going to retaliate?"

"Exactly!" Dean nodded. "If you take the money and then retaliate, you'll bring shame to your family. Although this whole thing is infuriating, I don't recommend you gamble your future against gutter rats like them."

Ross glanced at the dead bodies on the screen and nodded sadly. "Father was right. I am the disgrace of the Campbell family."

He looked up at Dean apologetically. "I want to give more compensation to the families of the deceased. And from now on, I don't plan on using my family's money anymore! Dean, I'm afraid I can't give you much of this money."

"Whatever. Let's go out now. The police are probably already here." Dean waved his hand dismissively.

He didn't want to stay with Ross any longer. Otherwise, he was afraid he wouldn't be able to resist slapping the guy across the face to teach him what it means to not appreciate his good fortune! Dean swore to himself he absolutely wasn't envious! Sure, people like Ross had money, but they also missed out on the carefree happiness of being poor.

When the two of them stepped outside, seven or eight vehicles with flashing police lights had already surrounded Ross's villa.

Monet, still injured, made another appearance. It was remarkable how he had managed to race here in such a short time, driving one-handed. Behind him followed a man of Chinese descent wearing white-gold glasses, looking equally refined and suave. If not for the difference in their skin tones, he and Monet could have been cut from the same cloth.

"Dean, are you alright?" Monet asked, giving Dean a warm, one-armed hug.

Dean knew the man was trying to win him over, but he still found the gesture quite comforting.

"I'm fine, Captain. This is Mr. Ross, a very good friend of mine. He was targeted in an assassination attempt, but luckily the villa has a panic room, so he managed to escape unharmed."

When Ross heard Dean call him a "very good friend," his mouth split into a wide grin. He eagerly extended his hand to Monet. "Yes, Dean is a very good friend of mine. I owe him my life this time; otherwise, I'd probably be dead by now."

He spoke with genuine emotion. If it hadn't been for Dean today, he really would have died. South America's number one assassin would probably die of frustration too. Other scions of powerful families, when faced with danger, would at least have the nerve to declare, "My father is So-and-So!" This one, however, would rather die than flaunt his family name. He was truly an anomaly among the wealthy elite—a naive fool, a disgrace!

Monet, who had received a hint from Dean, pretended to know nothing. He grasped Ross's hand and declared solemnly, "I am very pleased that Detective Dean, in a critical moment, did not forget the duty and mission of our Fourth Squadron and protected the safety of a citizen. Mr. Ross, this is Secretary Qiu from our city government. As soon as he heard you were attacked, he immediately came over by helicopter to handle this matter."

The man of Chinese descent behind Monet also gently extended his hand, inconspicuously pulling Ross aside. He made solicitous inquiries while subtly fishing for information.

Seizing the opportunity, Monet leaned closer to Dean. "Dean, are you sure this guy is from the Campbell family? He seems a bit... simple-minded."

Dean shrugged. "It's precisely because he's so simple-minded that it's believable. Besides, South America's top assassin was scared off. Are you willing to bet against that?"

That's true, Monet conceded, then nodded. "If this is real, then I must congratulate you in advance on becoming the youngest Detective Captain in the precinct."

"Let's hope so," Dean said with a smile, but inwardly he swore he would never get involved with that unlucky bastard Ross again. That damn guy is a jinx to me!

「The next day.」

Dean was fast asleep, snuggled up with the twin beauties from the Forensics Department.

Another phone call jolted him awake.

Seeing it was a landline, Dean irritably wanted to ignore it, but worried it might be about a case, he reluctantly answered.

"Hello, is this Mr. Dean?" a sweet female voice asked from the other end.

"Yes!"

"This is Halina, a financial advisor from Chase Bank. We've noticed that your account has a cash balance exceeding ten million US Dollars... If you have some time this evening, I'd like to meet with you in person to discuss financial planning."

Ten million US Dollars?

Dean was wide awake now. He curtly replied that he didn't have time, then hung up and checked his messages. Sure enough, his bank account showed a deposit of ten million US Dollars, credited at six o'clock that morning!

The transaction note read: "Compensation for emotional distress!"

This is from Ross! Dean realized instantly. Setting aside everything else, that guy is seriously loaded. An eight-figure sum like that is probably just a string of numbers to him!

Good news certainly lifts the spirits.

Dean tossed his phone aside, threw off the covers, and got ready for another round…

「That evening.」

Dean, the newly minted "salary thief," had just clocked out and was about to head home when he was cornered at the door by the embarrassed Dora sisters.

"Wow, I thought you two would be out cold until tonight," Dean smirked, moving in for a hug, but both sisters blocked him with their hands.

"Dean, honestly, these past two days with you have brought us pleasure like we've never known before," Dora said, her expression pained.

Wemi nodded regretfully. "But you're too... much. It's already starting to affect our work, both of us."

"So?"

"You're like a drug. You'll destroy our careers. And we know this is just a passionate fling, it won't last. So, we've decided to end this. We'll just consider these last two days a beautiful dream."

Dean was silent for a moment, then nodded.

Getting dumped for being too good in bed, he thought. My life is truly tragic!

Watching the two sisters limp away, supporting each other, Dean melancholically lit a cigarette. He then took out his phone and called his buddy.

Feeling down. Time to go treasure hunting tonight!