Chapter 1177: Piercing the Fog

With assistance from various legal teams, gathering background information on the victims happened at lightning speed. By the time Jubal arrived with the rest of the Most Wanted team, the large conference table in their temporary office was already stacked with boxes of paper files.

And that was just the physical documents. The materials weren’t limited to the third victim, Joseph Fielding, either. More detailed information than what the state attorney’s office had previously sent about the other two victims—Michael Stanton and Hoyt Asift—was also included.

“Eighteen luxury cars, six properties, and three yachts. Can you believe there are even places in Dallas where you can dock a yacht?” said Clay, genuinely astonished, speaking as a bona fide middle-class man.

Jack shrugged. “Texas actually has a lot of big lakes.”

In fact, guys like Jack and Aubrey—wealthy but with such low-key habits—were quite the anomaly in the U.S. Only those with centuries-old family names and genealogies tracing back to European nobility tended to carry themselves with such reserved composure.

Everyone else, even the so-called “old money” with ancestors on the Mayflower, were just glorified nouveau riche when it came down to it.

Aubrey, though, was different. He’d seen the highs and lows of Wall Street. “I saw them build the mansion, I saw them toast the guests, I saw the house crumble.” After having an epiphany, the Wall Street elite chose another path to pursue his ideals.

Jack, on the other hand, carried a free-spirited nonchalance. Money didn’t mean much to him. Even the sacred “lineage” concept so highly prized in Western culture felt meaningless—he was a Celisian, after all. Back home in his past life, only pets cared about pedigree.

“This just proves that once you're rich enough, money really is just a number,” said JJ, flipping through one of Joseph Fielding’s financial reports.

“Says here he spent $500,000 on a place called the ‘Batcave.’”

“Aha.” Aubrey pulled out a photograph with a weird expression. “Here’s one of him dressed as... Catwoman... in the Batcave?”

Pffft! Jubal couldn’t hold back and spit out a mouthful of coffee.

Jack couldn’t resist his curiosity either, but immediately regretted it. “Jesus, I think I’m going blind.”

The visual shock was somehow even worse than seeing last night’s corpse, naked and bound in the elevator. The two women beside Fielding, dressed as Batman and Robin, were at least easier on the eyes.

Clay patted Aubrey’s shoulder, offering sincere sympathy. “You know what, you’re actually one of the most normal rich guys I’ve ever met. At least you haven’t gone beyond my frame of reference with yachts and supermodel parties.”

“Is there anything these guys won’t throw money at?” Hannah asked in frustration. Jack used to jokingly call her a “little heiress,” but she had always seen herself as poor—at least until the day she could reclaim her family’s old farm.

After Jack had struck it rich in Korea, he had already asked Chris to begin handling the farm buyback, though it remained a secret for now. “Shangri-La” was burning through funds at the moment, and laundering ten-plus billion dollars could take over a year.

“Maybe there is one thing,” said Jubal, holding up another document. “Like their ex-wives.”

“Joseph Fielding was married four times. The first two didn’t even have prenups, yet he still managed to screw them out of assets by shouldering debt in their place.”

The others perked up and began flipping through their files. JJ was the first to raise her hand. “Hoyt Asift also had several ex-wives. Similar situation.”

“And a nasty custody battle,” Aubrey noted. “These guys would rather blow more money on attorneys than pay an extra $1,000 a month in child support.”

Having been through a divorce himself, Jubal sneered and tossed his file onto the table. “A few cases did end in judgments favoring the ex-wives, but these assholes still refused to pay.”

“Why is it that these rich guys will throw $20,000 a night at a call girl without blinking, but pinch every penny when it comes to paying child support?” Clay asked Aubrey.

“How should I know?” Aubrey said, covering his face and trying not to look at Alice. He was worried the topic might upset her.

Alice had worked as an analyst for the FBI before becoming a field agent. Her salary had always been modest, and if not for her parents helping with childcare, she couldn’t afford even a part-time nanny. Her ex-husband wasn’t rich, just another deadbeat who’d vanished without a trace. Child support? Don’t even mention it.

“Because they think it’s a useless expense. Just being rich doesn’t change the fact that they’re a bunch of selfish, irresponsible bastards,” Alice said calmly. Then she took Aubrey’s hand and gave him a warm smile to put him at ease. “Marriage is, at its core, just a financial contract. And even that proves unreliable. That’s why I’m perfectly happy with the way things are between us.”

Suddenly the whole conference room was filled with awkward coughing, as everyone had just been forcibly fed a dose of romantic wholesomeness.

Jack clapped his hands to pull focus back. “JJ, remember what that madam said? That a good escort doesn’t just provide sex—they also listen and help relieve emotional stress.”

JJ nodded knowingly and continued the thought. “Given that many women in this profession come from broken families, when these rich clients go on and on about their greedy wives and annoying kids... that kind of thing could easily become a fuse.”

“Okay, so we’ve found the common denominator among the victims. But how do we use that to find the killer?” Jubal asked, twirling a pencil between his fingers at blinding speed.

“We can’t exactly make a list of every rich divorcee in Dallas and call them all up to ask if they’ve ever hired an escort, right?”