Chapter 40

Chapter 40:

Fernanda had expected that Cristian would escort her directly to the police station. However, she was caught off guard when they instead pulled up in front of the imposing office complex of Vertex Investments.

They made their way to the second floor, venturing down a long hallway to a secluded room at its end.

Inside, four anxious men were perched on a couch, having been isolated in this soundproof chamber for several grueling hours. The room’s soundproofing enveloped them in an oppressive silence, rendering their shouts for help utterly useless.

Trapped without any cell signal, their attempts to call for help were impossible.

As the door swung open at last, the men leapt to their feet in unison, their eyes darting toward the newcomers.

Cristian entered first, Fernanda following close behind, as he firmly closed the door.

One of the men stepped forward, desperation coloring his voice. “Sir, we’ve already faced the consequences for the traffic accident and settled the fines. What’s the reason for keeping us here any longer? We’ve confessed—it was merely an accident, and yes, we had been drinking.”

“You had been drinking? At such an early hour?” Cristian arched an eyebrow, his tone laced with disbelief. “All four of you, simultaneously? Who would accept such a story?”

With a shrug of defeat, the man spread his arms. “That’s the truth, whether you believe it or not. Ask me a hundred times, and my answer would stay the same.”

Cristian retrieved several documents from his jacket and distributed them among the group. “Here are your bank statements,” he announced crisply. “A large sum of money was deposited into each of your accounts recently. All I need is a name—tell me who sent it, and you’re off the hook.”

The man at the front stiffened visibly, his voice shaking with indignation. “You’ve been prying into our personal finances!”

“Cut the bullshit,” Cristian retorted sharply. “Stop wasting my time and give me a name. Who transferred the money?”

A tense silence fell as the men exchanged wary looks, their discomfort evident.

“Alright then,” Fernanda interjected, seizing the documents from Cristian’s grasp. Her tone was frosty as she declared, “I suppose I’ll just take these straight to the police and let them know you’ve been orchestrating traffic accidents, compromising public safety.”

She paused, letting her words hang in the air. “Think about it. This could land you more than a mere fine or a slap on the wrist. We could be talking about a stint in prison. How does that sound?”

Turning on her heel, Fernanda made to leave.

The revelation struck a nerve, and the men, clearly alarmed, began to grasp the severity of the situation.

“Hold on!” one of them called out desperately, stepping forward in a bid to intercept Fernanda.

But before he could reach her, Cristian was there, blocking his path with a stern look that brooked no argument.

Fernanda turned sharply, her piercing gaze intensifying. “Ready to talk?”

“It’s not that I’m refusing to talk. I honestly don’t know who’s behind this,” the man explained, his voice faltering.

The others bobbed their heads frantically, voices overlapping in desperation. “We don’t know anything either!”

The first man exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Just last week, I was losing chips at a poker house when this guy casually slides up beside me. He tossed me the offer like bait—claimed it’d be a piece of cake. All I had to do was trigger a small traffic accident on Central Avenue this morning, and I’d walk away with half a million dollars. I couldn’t turn down that kind of easy money, so I went along with it.”

Fernanda arched an eyebrow, her tone sharp. “You mean to tell me you didn’t recognize the person who came up to you?”

“Yeah, not a clue. He had himself covered up—shades hiding his eyes and a mask over his face. No way I could figure out who he was. He promised three hundred thousand upfront, the rest after the job. That kind of money doesn’t come around often—I couldn’t say no.”

Fernanda’s gaze sharpened, her eyebrows knitting together as she peered at the man across from her. “Didn’t it strike you as odd?” she stated, her tone laced with incredulity. “Didn’t you ever suspect he might be dragging you into something illegal?”

Exhaling a weary sigh, the man replied, “Miss, you have no idea the kind of mess we’re tangled up in.” His voice was tinged with despair as he continued, “I’m drowning in gambling debts and unpaid loans. Debt collectors hound me day in, day out; I can’t even—”

“Step foot in my own home. This money was my salvation—a chance to clear my past and begin again. If orchestrating a traffic accident was my ticket to that, then yes, I’d risk it.”

Around him, the other men nodded in somber agreement, their faces etched with lines of hardship. Each shared his own tale of financial ruin, driven to desperation by the tempting illusion of easy money.

“Miss, I hope the accident didn’t cause you too much trouble,” he added, a note of concern creeping into his voice. “We’ve spoken to the traffic officer. Thankfully, no lives were lost. It merely led to a few hours of traffic jam…”

“Sure, no one died, but how can you be certain no one suffered because of it?” Fernanda cut in abruptly, her tone dropping to an icy chill. “Consider the person needing urgent medical help, or the one racing against time to catch a plane or a train. What about someone who ended up losing their job because they arrived late? You see it as a minor accident, yet you’re blind to the extensive disruption your actions might have triggered.”

Chastened, the men exchanged looks of dawning realization, the weight of their oversight settling heavily on them. Guilt shadowed their expressions as they faced the reality of their choices.

“We… we never thought that far,” one man admitted, his voice faltering. “Our own lives are in ruins. It seemed impossible to think beyond our immediate troubles.”

The accident had already occurred, and the ensuing traffic jam was now an unavoidable truth. Scolding them at this point would be futile.

Fernanda pressed on, “Has the person who contacted you reached out again since your meeting? Did they perhaps give you a call?”

“Yes, they did,” one of the men replied promptly, taking his phone out of his pocket. “Here, let me show you the number.”

Cristian intervened, his brow furrowed in frustration. “That number’s already been traced. It’s not tied to any real name.”

“Who owns the number doesn’t matter,” Fernanda said evenly, her sharp gaze locking onto one of the men. “You’re coming with me.”

Left with no other option, the man complied.

Cristian drove Fernanda back to Dawn Villas, where she darted inside and snatched up her laptop without missing a beat.

Upon powering it on, she launched a vivid, yet unfamiliar webpage. The man peered over, baffled by the intricate designs sprawling across the screen.

Fernanda connected the man’s phone to her laptop using a cable, then handed it back to him.

“Call that number,” she directed firmly. “Ask about when they’ll send the rest of the payment.”

After a brief pause, the man reluctantly gave in, his expression betraying his unease.

He pressed the number into his phone, and after three attempts, the call finally connected.

“Didn’t I already tell you the rest will be transferred tomorrow?” a man’s voice snapped with impatience from the other end of the line. “Why this rush?”

“Got it,” he stammered, his voice quavering slightly. “Um, my apologies for bothering you.” The call ended abruptly.

Clasping his phone with trembling hands, the man glanced nervously at Fernanda, who was absorbed in her work, her fingers dancing swiftly over her laptop keyboard.

“Miss, is that all you need? Can I leave now?”

“Yes, that’s all. You can go,” Fernanda responded, her eyes still fixed on the screen.

Breathing a sigh of relief, the man hurried out of the car.

Despite the chill of the night air and the car’s air conditioning, perspiration soaked through his clothes. Stress clung to his back like a second skin.

The presence of Cristian and Fernanda in the car was suffocating, their serene yet intense auras pressing down like a sharp blade at his throat.

It seemed their mere glances could strike him dead.

Eager to escape any further confrontation, he quickly departed.

Back in the vehicle, Fernanda’s focus never wavered from her laptop.

Suddenly, her face brightened, and she announced with satisfaction, “I’ve got it!”

Cristian turned towards her. “What?”

“The address of the man from the call,” Fernanda declared, a spark of victory in her tone. “I’ve cracked it!”

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