Chapter 148: If Necessary, Please Proceed to the Browser

A bullet shot from the muzzle, striking the target with deadly precision. The target trembled…

*Cough, cough.*

Roan’s marksmanship was impeccable. Three bullets hit the left front tire of the red sedan, while the remaining two struck the left rear tire.

The red sedan, taking a turn, instantly lost balance and crashed sideways into a roadside tree.

Roan slowly pulled the SUV over to the curb, Glock 18 in hand, and cautiously approached the smoking sedan in a defensive stance.

The driver was indeed Millard Thompson.

Since he was relatively law-abiding and wore his seatbelt, his injuries were not severe—just a fractured thigh and unconsciousness.

Following protocol, Roan pulled out his phone and called for an ambulance.

No sooner had he hung up than Mona called him back.

Seeing this, Roan hurriedly pressed the answer key.

“How are you, Mona? Are you alright?”

“What could possibly be wrong with me?” Mona replied.

Hearing Roan’s concern made her somewhat happy, but the content of her words still made her roll her eyes.

After all, Mona had been trained at the FBI Academy; basic combat skills and marksmanship were well within her capabilities.

But now was not the time for such talk. Smiling, she said over the phone:

“I mean, Roan, I’m glad you insisted I stay behind.”

Roan raised an eyebrow.

“Did Marianne try to attack you?”

“Of course not,” Mona answered with a smile.

“But I found two interesting things at her house.”

—

That afternoon, Interrogation Room, Unit Five.

Millard Thompson, head wrapped in bandages and his thigh encased in plaster, sat in a wheelchair, scowling at Roan and Mona across the interrogation table.

Ignoring Millard’s displeased expression, Roan waited for Mona to prepare her laptop. After taking a sip of coffee, Roan cleared his throat and asked:

“Millard Thompson, you…”

Before Roan could finish, Millard shouted loudly:

“I’m telling you, I didn’t kill Brent!

His death has nothing to do with me! I never intended to kill him!”

“Is that so?”

Roan raised an eyebrow and asked:

“Then why did you run?”

“Because I don’t trust the FBI,” Millard said disdainfully.

“I have a record, and I was involved with Brent’s wife. You’d definitely pin the murder on me.”

“Wow, you certainly know yourself well.”

Roan nodded and then shook his head, picking up several sheets of paper and tossing them in front of Millard.

“But there’s more to why we suspect you.

Marianne told us you went drinking with friends last night.

But after questioning all your friends, we found no evidence you were with any of them.

So, where exactly were you around 11:30 last night?”

Millard’s face instantly stiffened. He lowered his head, brooding darkly for a moment before repeating:

“I didn’t kill Brent. The person who did isn’t me.”

Seeing Millard’s firm stance, Roan pondered for a few seconds, then tilted his head toward Mona, who nodded and pulled out two sheets from under her laptop.

These were the two interesting findings Mona had mentioned.

One was a hospital test report.

“Millard, did you know? Marianne is pregnant. The report shows she’s been pregnant for four and a half weeks.”

Millard’s face remained expressionless—no joy, no surprise.

Roan smiled gently and slid the other sheet toward him:

“This one is Marianne’s scheduled abortion appointment, set for two weeks from now.”

At these words, Millard’s body trembled, and he quickly shifted his gaze to the papers on the table.

Watching Millard’s face darken with suspicion and increasing distress, Roan calmly sipped his coffee and added fuel to the fire:

“Brent and Marianne have been divorced for a year. If I’m not mistaken, this child is yours.

Judging by your expression, it seems Marianne told you she planned to terminate the pregnancy…”

“Fu-k! That damn tramp…”

Millard’s face turned a deep shade of purple.

After a long silence, he slammed his hand on the interrogation table and hoarsely demanded:

“I want to see my lawyer.”

—

Outside the interrogation room, Unit Five’s office area.

“How’s it going, Roan?”

August, carrying a box of hamburgers, handed them out to the agents in Unit Five, finally arriving at Roan’s side with a smile.

“What’s the situation with Millard?”

“Still discussing with his lawyer, but we already know the truth from his side. Lacey and Ryder have gone to arrest Marianne.”

Roan shrugged as he bit into a burger, signaling the story held no surprises.

—

The husband was always busy with work, neglecting his wife. Lonely and frustrated, the wife sought comfort in passionate gaming sessions with the plumber.

The specifics of “duo queue” gaming had been demonstrated in detail with numerous license plates in the island nation; for those interested, please consult your browser.

Playing duo queue games often leads to more—two turns into three, and before long, the story smoothly progresses to divorce, alimony demands, and the murder of the ex-husband.

August nodded:

“So, the truth of this case is that Marianne used pregnancy as leverage to persuade Millard to kill her ex-husband Brent.

On the surface, after Brent’s death, they would share Brent’s wealth.

In reality, Marianne planned to send Millard to prison afterward, abort the child, and keep Brent’s fortune all to herself?”

August’s expression grew complicated, as if lost in thought.

Roan swallowed the last bite of his burger and shrugged:

“Under normal circumstances, that’s how the case would unfold.

But things don’t always go according to plan, so some unexpected events occurred during the investigation.”

August froze mid-bite, thinking for a few seconds before tilting his head and asking:

“Could it be that when Millard went to kill Brent, something went wrong?

Like, maybe Brent was already dead when Millard arrived?”

“That’s right.”

Roan nodded, confirming August’s suspicions.

The park where Millard and Brent agreed to meet was indeed the crime scene.

But before Millard could get there, someone else had already killed Brent.

Because the murderer tossed Brent’s body into the river, Millard waited for hours in vain, shivering in the cold all night.

Millard’s previous silence and ongoing discussions with his lawyer stem from this.

Millard’s behavior clearly amounted to attempted murder.

In the United States, penalties for attempted murder vary depending on the suspect’s criminal record, motive, weapon used, and other factors—sometimes classified as a misdemeanor, other times as a felony.

“Okay.”

August finished his burger in a few bites, rubbed his stomach, then tilted his head and asked:

“So, we’re back to square one, right?”

“No.”

Roan shook his head halfway through eating his burger, wiped his hands, and pulled out a sheet of paper.

Handing it to August, he smiled:

“I’ve found a new lead.

This might be the real reason the killer murdered Brent Hughes.”

(End of chapter)