NOVEL NEXT Chapter 191: How Much is a Ton of 'US Dollars'?_2
Haver and his wife often managed to draw in enthusiasts interested in 'spiritual mediumship' and 'fortune-telling,' or the not-so-bright superstitious folks, leading a fairly good life.
The problem lay with their son.
A crooked beam makes for a crooked house.
Their son was not a good sort.
He swindled classmates at school and mingled with all sorts of riffraff outside.
Luckily, other than Azak frequently staying out all night, they mostly had to worry about him bullying others, not about him being bullied.
Therefore, the Havers simply let things be and granted their child ample 'freedom.'
"This really wouldn't have been an issue," Haver said, a flicker of fear in his eyes. "My wife and I thought that after Azak's 'adolescent phase' passed, we'd let him take over our business. But things changed half a month ago."
"Half a month ago?" Dean interrupted Haver's story.
If he remembered correctly, Harry had previously mentioned an abandoned XX factory. It was originally a gathering place for many local kids who weren't in school. However, after several disappearances occurred there, they had switched venues.
Crucially, Azak, the Havers' son, was also a good-for-nothing who wasn't in school. The timing was very delicate!
Dean's reaction didn't faze the resigned Haver.
He nodded. "Yes. Before Azak disappeared, he was often hanging around that abandoned XX factory, mixing with his friends. It was a paradise for those kids, far from their parents."
"But about twenty days ago, children began to disappear over there. Azak's girlfriend was among them. She was a spirited and unique girl. My wife and I were very fond of her and thought she could become a real asset to Azak. So, when our son came to us for help, we agreed without hesitation. Then, an accident happened."
"What accident?" Harry's interest was piqued by Haver's tale.
Haver suddenly changed his tune. "I can continue, but you must ensure my wife's and my safety. Otherwise, even if you commit us to a mental asylum, you'll never learn the secret hidden there!"
He's threatening us. Harry turned to look at Dean.
Dean smiled and tossed away his cigarette butt. "Speak nicely." He was still a kid, with a somewhat rebellious nature. Making concessions voluntarily? Acceptable. Threats? Unacceptable.
Haver clearly didn't understand Dean's methods. He thought Dean was bluffing, so he lifted his head disdainfully. "There's nothing to say. I am indeed afraid of being sent to that hellish welfare mental asylum. But for that very reason, you now have no leverage to threaten me. Once I reveal the secret of the abandoned factory, even if we get out of this unharmed, my wife and I are dead for sure. So, if you don't agree to protect us, I will absolutely not say a word!"
"Hard to guess?" Dean slowly rose and walked over to Haver. With his back to the light, he looked down at the slippery, now-silent middle-aged man. As Haver stared in horror, Dean slowly uttered one word: "Counterfeit money!"
Hearing this word, Haver's pupils contracted sharply, and his body began to tremble uncontrollably. How could it be! How could this absurdly young detective possibly know the secret of the counterfeit money hidden in the abandoned factory? If that's the case, don't I lose any way to threaten them?
Seeing Haver's reaction, Dean's lips curved upward. He turned, sat back down, crossed his legs leisurely, and said, "I'm kind-hearted. I can forgive your previous threat. Don't waste any more time. Speak. This is your last chance for redemption."
Haver couldn't guess how much Dean knew. His mind was in turmoil. On one hand, this secret was his only lifeline, his only leverage. On the other, he knew some of the inner workings of the welfare mental asylum. What should he choose?
Dean didn't give him much time to think. He held up three fingers. "Three seconds. If you still choose silence, then, on behalf of the vast number of mental health patients, I will thank you, Mr. Haver, and your wife for your contributions to the medical industry in the United States!"
"I'll talk! I'll talk!" Mr. Haver, that old slickster—his wavering psychological defenses were easily shattered by Dean's words.
He was terrified Dean would start the countdown and blurted out, "This matter isn't as simple as just printing counterfeit money. After my son asked for help, my wife and I took some special equipment to inspect the abandoned factory. It was very discreet surveillance equipment. At the same time, Azak had deliberately given some disguised trackers to a few of his female friends. That way, as soon as the culprits who took those kids appeared again, we could immediately get useful clues. It went even smoother than we'd imagined. That very day, another fifteen-year-old girl disappeared while going to the restroom. Using the tracking data and surveillance of the corresponding area, we finally discovered the secret in the dilapidated warehouse of the abandoned factory."
Haver licked his dry lips and continued, "There was a hidden underground passage. A masked man came out of the passage and took away the poor girl. Azak wanted to call someone to bring a gun, enter the passage, and rescue his girlfriend. But his mother and I, having mingled in the gray areas of Los Angeles for years, knew this wasn't simple.
"In fact, in earlier years, many factories around here struggled. They had been hit hard by competition from industrial products from smaller Asian countries, making it difficult to stay afloat. They had to reduce production and shift industries. Some gangs took an interest in these factories due to their seclusion. Some chose to produce counterfeit brand-name alcohol. Others went as far as digging basements beneath the factories to produce 'drugs.' Because there were people working above ground as a cover, these locations were even more discreet.
"My wife and I suspected that gang members had returned and were hiding in the basement, making and producing drugs. The missing girls further convinced us that these people were sloppy—the sort who couldn't afford to be seen. So, a wicked idea struck us."
Hearing this, Harry grew a bit confused. He knocked on the table, interrupting Haver, and asked, "Why were you so sure the guys in the secret basement were small-time operators?"
Haver glanced at the sincere expression on the Black man's face, then lowered his head and reluctantly explained, "Because a group that can't even control what's in their pants will never amount to anything. Trafficking organs requires strict tissue matching. As for trafficking girls, the ones they took weren't valuable enough for a big operation. So, their snatching girls day after day could only mean one thing: they'd been cooped up too long and needed to vent their urges!"
As he spoke, Haver's fists clenched so tightly his nails nearly pierced his palms. FK! This idiot couldn't even figure that out! To think that I, a seasoned con man, was just threatened by this moron and actually caved... The more he thought about it, the angrier he became.
"Alright, you make sense. Continue!" Harry, failing to realize his casual question had just exposed the limits of his intelligence, nodded in satisfaction. Another day, another lesson learned. Great.
Haver bit his lip fiercely and continued,
"My wife and I figured that since they hadn't leaked a peep before but couldn't restrain themselves recently, the group must have been about to complete their drug production. These kinds of secret chambers usually aren't very large, holding at most five or six people. So, we came up with the idea of robbing the robbers. First, we had our son spread rumors to make all the kids who hung around the abandoned factory stay away. Then, through special channels, we bought incendiary bombs laced with anesthetic gas. Finally, using our familiarity with the secret chamber, we found its ventilation shaft and launched a surprise attack. The plan was a success. We gassed the idiots inside while they were preoccupied and took what they'd worked so hard to make: nearly a ton of counterfeit currency. Perfect counterfeit currency!"
Fascination gleamed in Haver's eyes. "It truly was the most perfect counterfeit currency I have ever seen. Their only difference from real money was that they were produced in a crude underground chamber. Yet, they could circulate just like real currency, even be deposited into banks!"
"Then what happened?" Harry's eyes widened. A ton of US dollars! How much money was that? This was a major case!