Chapter 331: Old Morgan’s Suppressed Fury, the Terrifying Power of a Top Financial Group

At this moment.

K held a phone in one hand, his eyes fixed on the news about New York Harbor extracted by a script crawler.

Around him were old, worn-out pieces of furniture—nothing remotely luxurious. This was an unremarkable, secluded apartment in New York, deliberately chosen to avoid drawing attention.

Or rather, this apartment likely belonged to the Poker Organization itself, used to conceal the whereabouts of its members and provide a temporary hideout.

It was just that, until now, there had never been a need to use it. The Poker Organization had hidden flawlessly in the gray zones of the United States, remaining undetected to this day.

After all, in a country rife with guns, drugs, and gang culture, the authorities rarely bothered with the murky underworld, let alone an organization like theirs.

Even the countless homeless people in the city center were left alone. Who would waste time managing the gray areas?

In the news feed, it was clearly visible…

The entire New York Harbor had been sealed off by the Morgan Financial Group. Only authorized personnel and those affiliated with the group were allowed in to unload cargo and maintain the port’s minimal operations.

Moreover, the Morgan Financial Group had hired dozens of divers who were tirelessly scouring the seabed for something.

As someone who knew the truth—and had even helped J deal with Lan Cai’er, concealing a crucial lead—K naturally understood what this meant.

…

When the person on the other end of the call didn’t respond right away, K frowned slightly, then continued speaking without hesitation.

“J.”

“Ghost has already told the Dragon Country police what Lan Cai’er knew. He most likely handed over the video too.”

“Though we’re still not sure to what extent the Dragon Country police are in contact with Old Morgan…”

“But now that New York Harbor has been locked down, I’m sure you’ve seen the news. That means it won’t be long before Old Morgan finds out his grandson was murdered.”

“And when that happens, you’ll be facing a furious Old Morgan. This is not the time for hesitation.”

“Even if you wanted to destroy or relocate Little Morgan’s body now, it’s already too late. Besides, diving into the harbor to retrieve a weighted sack from the seabed is not exactly a quiet operation.”

“If you want to make sure you come out of this alive, do what we discussed.”

“A fire—one big enough—can help you shake off the Morgan Financial Group and the U.S. police, at least for a while.”

After hearing this, the voice on the other end finally responded, hoarse and filled with pain.

“Brother K.”

“I don’t care if the nightclub I’ve spent years building goes up in flames. But can’t we save my men? They’re my brothers. I really can’t…”

Before he could finish, J abruptly fell silent, as if he had made up his mind.

“Brother K.”

“I’m coming to you right now, as fast as I can.”

“Half an hour—no, twenty minutes. I’ll be at your apartment. We need to talk face to face. There are some things I have to say in person.”

K’s expression darkened slightly at J’s indecision. He instinctively wanted to tell him not to come, to avoid exposing his location.

But then he remembered… J wasn’t just some subordinate like Butcher or Priest. He was a brother in the Poker Organization.

If he couldn’t even agree to meet him, then maybe he was being too cold. Besides, the situation hadn’t spiraled completely out of control yet.

With a resigned sigh, K said, “Alright, come on over.”

“But let me be clear—my stance won’t change. This is all to protect you. Destroying the evidence is something that must be done.”

With that, he hung up the phone.

He scanned the latest updates on New York Harbor two more times, then spent a few seconds in deep thought, assessing the current situation.

Finally, he stood up, walked over to an old cabinet, and took out a bottle of high-end red wine that J had brought him, along with two wine glasses. He set them on the table, poured the wine, and closed his eyes to rest.

He calmed his mind, silently waiting for J to arrive.

…

Meanwhile.

At the salvage operation in New York Harbor.

As the algae-covered sack was hauled up from the depths, the atmosphere grew increasingly heavy and suffocating.

The moment the sack was opened, revealing a skeletal arm, waterlogged and stained dark gray from months in the sea, the weight of the discovery settled over everyone present.

Especially… the luxury mechanical watch still strapped to the wrist. Anyone with a bit of knowledge could tell—this body was very likely Little Morgan.

That watch was worth millions of dollars. It wasn’t something just anyone could afford.

Old Morgan remained composed, far calmer than one might expect.

Over the past six months of searching, he had held onto hope at first. But as time went on, he had come to accept that the chances of finding his grandson alive were growing slimmer by the day.

Now, all he wanted was closure—confirmation of whether his grandson was alive or dead, and if dead, where the body was.

If alive, he wanted to see him. If dead, he wanted the body.

But no matter the outcome, Old Morgan had already made up his mind… the person responsible would pay the ultimate price.

No one.

No one in this world could provoke a Jewish financial group like this and walk away without consequences.

He took a deep breath.

Old Morgan walked up to the sack with a dark expression, his eyes locking onto its contents. His voice left no room for argument as he gave the order.

“Open it.”

“Open the entire sack.”

As soon as the words fell, the salvage workers standing nearby didn’t dare hesitate for even a second. They feared that the slightest delay might draw Old Morgan’s wrath.

The colossal Morgan Financial Group was not an entity they could afford to offend.

As one of the workers pulled out a sharp dagger and sliced the sack open further, the contents inside became clearly visible—piles of stones and chunks of iron at the bottom.

Mixed among the remains and metal was a detached human skull. Cracks and holes marred the bone, clear signs of brutal abuse suffered before death.

This sight made Old Morgan clench his fists tightly, his face growing even darker.

Even though the luxury clothing on the corpse had been soaked in water for over half a year, its shape and faded color were still faintly discernible.

Standing beside Old Morgan, his secretary felt his heart sink to rock bottom. He couldn’t help but feel a chill on behalf of the United States police.

As Old Morgan’s secretary, he knew all too well—this was the very outfit Little Morgan had been wearing when he disappeared. Which meant the identity of the corpse was now all but confirmed.

Though Old Morgan appeared calm on the surface, the secretary was certain he was already seething with rage. He would undoubtedly use every ounce of his influence to pressure the police into finding the killer as quickly as possible.

If the police couldn’t do it, then he’d turn up the heat on the politicians. And Old Morgan absolutely had the power to make that happen.

At that moment, Old Morgan took another deep breath and extended his hand toward the salvage worker, his voice low and commanding.

“Give me the knife.”

The request caught the worker off guard for a moment.

But he didn’t dare refuse. Carefully, he turned the blade toward himself and offered the dagger with both hands.

Despite his age, Old Morgan remained strong and resolute.

Under everyone’s watchful gaze, he took the dagger, reached up, and pulled out a lock of his own white hair. With a swift motion, he sliced off a small tuft.

He tossed the dagger to the ground and handed the hair to his secretary, his voice cold.

“Run a DNA test. I want preliminary results in three hours.”

“Then, have the New York Police Chief come to Morgan Tower immediately. I expect a proper explanation.”

With that, Old Morgan turned without another word and walked away from New York Harbor.

He already had a good idea of the truth. There was no point in staying here any longer. What mattered now was making the murderer pay the ultimate price.

The sky above New York Harbor was overcast, shrouded in a blanket of dark clouds.

Old Morgan walked slowly, but his back was straight, his steps firm. His eyes were filled with cold, smoldering fury.