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

The reflection in the lake pointed toward a small, completely barren hill, with nothing but some scattered shrubs halfway up and various sizes of broken rocks.

Such a scene was rare.

Dean squatted down, inspected the area, and seemed lost in thought.

"Dean, is there anything unusual about these stones?" Thompson asked, puzzled.

This small hill faced the prevailing winds, like a slope constantly battered by wind and sun. Vegetation struggled to grow here, and the rocks showed signs of weathering.

Wasn't this quite normal?

"These are rocks that have been blasted open with explosives."

Dean pointed at the rocks of various sizes around him. "Rocks weathered naturally are very brittle and often appear in layers, but these are not. This means they detached from the main body instantly. Walk slowly; I suspect there are holes around."

Thompson watched Dean carefully exploring the surroundings.

Doubt flickered in Thompson's eyes.

In his memory, before his second brother went to college, he was a simple-minded, brawny fool, just like his eldest brother. Yet after two years of college and more than half a year of police training, he was now so knowledgeable?

He was certain Dean was Dean.

What had caused such a big change in Dean?

The younger brother's clever little brain was working overtime. He pieced together that every time Dean returned, he carried the scent of a different woman's perfume...

There was only one answer!

Women!

Women make men mature!

Realization dawned in Thompson's eyes.

It must be because Dean met a lot of women after going to college; that's why he changed so much.

Wasn't he the same?

He used to be tongue-tied and timid. Now, his mouth was as slick as if it had been oiled, capable of making someone burst into laughter with just a few words.

After that disastrous love encounter, he'd even learned some psychology tricks on his own and easily resolved the crisis.

Indeed, women make men grow!

Fifteen-year-old Thompson, seemingly grasping some profound truth, smiled slightly as he followed Dean.

The small hill wasn't very large.

After about seven or eight minutes, Dean found some bloodstains halfway up the hill.

The stains were dark red. They weren't yet completely dried and weathered.

Dean's Trace Tracking skill gave an accurate answer: about four days old.

These must be the bloodstains left by the previous owner of the treasure map Dean held.

Thinking of the unfortunate father and daughter.

Dean shook his head.

This was a real treasure. Regardless of its value, it was an unexpected find and a pleasant surprise. Not to mention, Anthony's family would later send someone to buy the key fragment from it.

Unfortunately, the accident preceded the surprise.

Guided by the bloodstains, Dean led Thompson to push aside some shrubbery, where they discovered a man-made passage that had been blasted open.

The passage was small, with a square entrance.

Dean tried to enter but found it difficult, so he turned to his younger brother. "Buddy, it's your turn."

"No problem!"

Thompson looked at the dark hole without fear. He tied a rope around his waist, put on a headlamp, and, with his gun held out in front, crawled in.

After about three minutes, Thompson's excited voice came from the hole, "Dean, this is a secret chamber, about five square meters! There's a sealed iron chest in here. Pull hard!"

Dean pulled with all his strength.

The sharp sound of the iron chest scraping against rock echoed from within.

The tunnel wasn't deep. After pulling the rope about three to four meters, an iron chest, about thirty centimeters high and twenty centimeters long and wide, appeared before Dean's eyes.

"It's only this small," Dean mused.

Dean moved the chest aside to avoid blocking Thompson in the tunnel, then squatted down to inspect it.

The exterior of the chest was wrapped in sheet iron and heavily corroded. A large piece of the iron sheet could be torn off with little effort, revealing a smaller copper box underneath.

The copper box was reddish-green, and its latch was sealed with a layer of white metal.

Seeing that the metal wasn't very hard, Dean tore it open, unsealing the box.

"What's inside?"

Thompson, covered in dirt and wearing the headlamp, came closer to look.

Inside the small copper box were seven or eight small leather pouches, a wooden box, and a folded letter.

"Dean~," Thompson lifted his head, his dark eyes filled with pleading, "let me check these, please."

This could be a once-in-a-lifetime experience!

Dean gave him a nudge. "You trying to act cute is really disgusting. Hurry up and check!"

Thompson, shoved aside, wasn't offended. He just chuckled, stood up, and rubbed his hands together like a fly. Once Dean turned on the video camera, Thompson made the sign of the cross over his chest and said a short prayer before taking out the first pouch.

The pouch felt heavy, and there was a sound of metal clinking when he picked it up.

Upon opening it, several metal coins shone with a dull gold and silver luster under the light.

Dean was a bit disappointed. Even if they were all gold coins, he doubted they'd fetch much money.

However, Thompson took out the topmost coin, examined it carefully, and let out a cry of elation, "Dean, we're rich! This is an 1804 limited edition Class III Silver Dollar!"

"Is it worth a lot?"

Dean squatted down and began to examine the coin, which wasn't particularly large.

The coin was golden, with an Indian head on one side and an eagle on the other; it didn't look like anything special.

Thompson, however, treated it as if it were the most precious treasure and put it back in the bag. "This is a commemorative coin that was circulated when gold coins were melted down—it's usually used as a diplomatic gift for leaders of other countries. Even if this one was among those that privately leaked from the mint into the market, there wouldn't be more than forty of these coins in the entire world. I've seen reports about it; in the '80s, the auction price was $180,000, and it would only be higher now. If it's a genuine item with additional historical value, it could sell for at least a million US dollars!"

Dean smacked his lips.

Such a little trinket, and it's worth this much?

Thompson continued his knowledgeable spiel, "The other coins in the bag—I vaguely remember two of them—should also be ancient coins. Their value isn't measured simply in gold and silver."

Dean, already a multimillionaire, grew excited by this 'little treasure' Anthony had so dismissively mentioned. "Let's check the other bags!"

One by one, the sheepskin bags were opened.

Inside were well-preserved jewelry, gemstone necklaces, or small items that looked historical.

On the inside of the bags were small inscriptions with the names of the items. This meant they just needed to search by the names to determine the items' value and avoid selling them as ordinary objects.

One could only compliment the treasure hider: Considerate!

"The gemstone necklace from this bag goes to Mom, these earrings to Sinclair, this gold pen to you, and we'll sell the rest."

Dean divided the items, stuffing them and the sealed small wooden box into his backpack.

Thompson, however, flushed with excitement. "Dean, are you really giving me that solid gold pen? It must weigh at least a hundred grams! Even sold just for its gold content, it's quite valuable."

Dean patted his head. "We're brothers."

He'd noticed Thompson eyeing the pen with fondness all along.

Thompson's eyes brimmed with tears, moved by Dean's words.

Dean chuckled and opened the last envelope.

Inside was a warning left by the treasure hider—Tagore Morgan:

"[Congratulations, you've found some of the little things I left behind.

They might bring some changes to your life.

But regretfully,

this is just a small game of mine.

Keep the little box safe, and wait for someone from the Morgan Family to come retrieve it.

This thing is useless to you.

Holding onto it will bring bad luck.]"

This letter confirmed for Dean that Anthony hadn't lied.

Indeed, this was just a petty game played by an old trickster.

But Dean believed that, for these treasures, more than just that father and daughter had lost their lives.

He put the letter away carefully.

He patted the still-moved Thompson. "Little bro, the adventure's over. Let's give a 'V' sign to the camera..."

「 」

Thompson was well-read but wasn't a professional at appraising antiques.

After handing the box containing the key fragment to a stranger Anthony had sent, Dean went directly to Los Angeles's best auction house and hired a specialist to appraise the items.

The results exceeded his expectations.

All of these items had belonged to celebrities.

Excluding the gemstone necklace for his mom, the gemstone pendant for his sister, and Thompson's pen, the expert estimated that if he sold the rest, he could clear over six million US dollars.

If Dean agreed to let them auction the items, the auction house even offered to advance him a $3 million check.

Apart from feeling super exhilarated, what else could Dean say?

He found that as his strength grew, his status rose, and he got to know more influential people, the money he once had to risk his life for now seemed to jump willingly into his pocket.

Thinking back to when he first arrived in this world, he hadn't hesitated to kill seven people over $3.8 million.

Now, acquiring money felt effortless. His account would soon exceed $17 million, making him an enviable young millionaire.

With more money came more worries.

The money he had now was clean and didn't need laundering, but next year's taxes would be a headache.

Except for the $400,000 in prize money, which required no further handling, the rest would be taxed.

This included the bounty of over two million US dollars.

That couldn't be made public, as the wealthy person had paid the bounty under pretexts like 'technical support.'

But Dean didn't have time to deal with these issues yet, because the day after tomorrow was Christmas.

His older brother and his maternal second uncle had flown back from Oregon State. Dean now had to drive to pick them up.

Regarding his uncle, Dean's predecessor had a pretty good impression and some memories of him. But when it came to his older brother Beck, the only memory seemed to be of Beck dragging him along to fights and to bully little girls when they were kids...

That guy was a pure thug.

Towards this meeting, Dean couldn't help but feel a bit of anticipation.

He liked thugs.