Chapter 143: Drowned in the toilet while taking a bath.

In a distant hospital, Corbett sat in his wheelchair, his lips parched as he stared at a dull television program.

After learning that afternoon that Frederick Antonio was the true mastermind behind the case, August had immediately relayed the news to Corbett and Verinis. Both were also kept informed about that evening's operation.

Knowing that Roan was the one leading the team to capture Garcia that night, Verinis felt little anxiety. It was a minor operation, and she trusted that Roan, who had never disappointed her, would not stumble in the gutter.

Corbett, however, felt differently. While the speed at which Roan solved previous cases had shocked him, and the incident where he used a pen to kill an assailant had left him even more astonished upon reviewing the files, personal prowess and field command were two different things. Having never seen Roan command an operation, he was uncertain if Roan possessed the necessary on-site leadership skills.

Thus, in their adjacent hospital rooms, Verinis felt only a slight impatience from the long wait, remaining generally calm. Feeling her lips grow dry, she took a small sip of water from a cup nearby. Corbett, conversely, remained grim-faced, subconsciously ignoring his own parched lips. With his left arm bandaged and immobilized, his right thumb and index finger rubbed together incessantly.

Time ticked by. Just as Corbett grew impatient and prepared to turn his wheelchair toward the restroom, the phone in his room rang.

*Ring—*

Corbett immediately hit the answer button.

"Good evening, sir!" August's signature booming voice came through the line, followed by a cheerful, loud announcement: "Tonight's operation was a complete success. Garcia has been successfully arrested and is now being transported to the hospital for treatment."

"Well done!" Corbett let out a long sigh of relief.

After hearing August’s brief account of the night’s events, a wide smile spread across Corbett’s face. His estimation and affirmation of Roan rose to a new level. He finally understood why Verinis valued Roan so highly: he had brains, means, high efficiency in solving cases, and formidable combat and marksmanship skills.

And he was handsome, too.

If it weren't for the fact that Roan was Verinis’s person and that he himself would soon be promoted and transferred, Corbett would already be considering how to bring Roan under his own command.

After praising and affirming August, Roan, and the agents of Squad 5, Corbett called the Deputy Director of the FBI's New York Field Office. The Deputy Director, who had been sleeping, was instantly invigorated by the news. After confirming multiple times that the case was solved and both the mastermind and the operator were in custody, he raised an eyebrow and immediately decided to hold a press conference the following day. He also took out his notebook and carefully wrote down the name "Roan Greenwood."

After hanging up, Corbett went to the restroom with a smile, then returned to his bed. After a moment of silence, he pulled out his phone and called the young white man who had previously notified Roan and August to come see him.

"Eck, go to the office tomorrow morning and bring me the red folder from the corner of the desk."

Meanwhile, in the next room, Roan was informing Verinis of the mission's success.

"Thank you for your hard work, Roan." A faint smile appeared on Verinis's face. She didn't laugh too hard, as the wound on her abdomen had not yet healed and was still throbbing with pain.

"It was no trouble, ma'am. It was my duty." Roan grinned on the other end of the line before briefly recounting the evening's operation.

Then, his smile fading, Roan walked to the corner and asked in a low, grave voice: "Ma'am, what do you intend to do about Frederick Antonio?"

The man had nothing but revenge in his eyes; he could orchestrate one bombing, he could orchestrate another. Furthermore, he had recently threatened to kill Roan’s entire family—though that would be difficult, given that Roan was currently on his own.

"You don't need to worry about that," Verinis said, after a moment of silence, her voice cold. "Frederick Antonio will be sent to the correctional facility."

As the son of the major drug lord Hermenegildo Antonio, and having flooded New York with large quantities of narcotics, Frederick had countless enemies in the city. Once inside a correctional facility—a place heavily infiltrated by New York gangs—Frederick, surrounded by enemies, would not live long.

Verinis had previously dispersed the former agents of Squad 5 to other departments to prevent them from being targeted, but she had never imagined that she herself would become the target of Frederick Antonio's revenge. If they dared to be so reckless as to place a bomb in the Jacob Javits Federal Building this time, what would happen next? Unruly guards, greedy lawyers... Frederick would always find a way to get messages out of prison.

As for why they wouldn't wait for a judge to sentence him to death for this case, the reason was simple: in the United States, criminals had the right to a jury trial. For capital punishment, the jury system required a unanimous verdict, leading to a high rate of mistrials. Even if a death sentence were handed down, the appeals process in the U.S. was agonizingly long, with executions often delayed for decades.

If they really waited that long...

After a brief conversation, Verinis, still recovering, ended the call.

A few days later, Roan learned from William that not long after Frederick Antonio entered the correctional facility, he had accidentally drowned in a toilet while taking a shower...

—

The next day.

Because the team had worked overtime the previous night tracking leads and making arrests, the agents of Squad 5 didn't arrive until 2:30 PM.

Following the usual post-case routine, the agents sat at their desks; some began contacting court clerks to schedule trial dates, while others started writing reports on the bombing. On the television hanging at the front of the office, the Deputy Director's press conference was being broadcast.

Of course, before this press conference began, a swarm of FBI agents had searched the venue thoroughly and repeatedly. The agents had also conducted detailed inspections of the personal belongings of every journalist in attendance. Thoroughness and security were the priority.

Sitting at his desk, Roan appeared to be watching the news, but in reality, he was checking the pale blue system interface before him. As expected, the system rated his performance from the previous day as "Excellent."

Roan then opened the treasure chest he hadn't had the chance to open the night before.