Queen of Wild Cards novel Chapter 469

Doris mumbled in a lifeless drone, "Because the old man tried to start a mass riot and break people out. He wanted to destroy this entire place, and he almost pulled it off.

What he didn't realize was that every single villager for miles works for us. Even the local cops are on the payroll.

He dragged a bunch of people to the police station for help, and the cops drove them right back to our front gates. When there's enough money involved, justice doesn't exist. That old fool was too naïve."

Stella's blood ran cold. The locals acting as informants was one thing, but the actual police force actively assisting the cartel?

It was utterly horrifying.

Doris had turned out to be an absolute goldmine of intelligence.

"How did he die? Can I find his remains?" Stella asked, her voice tight.

Even though Tiger had already confirmed his death, hearing it explicitly stated again felt like a physical blow to the chest.

If she could at least find his bones, she could bring him back home.

"You'll never find him," Doris replied monotonously. "Tiger beat him to death with his bare hands. There's a banana grove about five miles from here.

That's where we dump the bodies. There's a fresh dirt mound every two steps. No names, no headstones. You'll never find him."

A wave of sheer agony crashed over Stella. Her grandfather had been beaten to death!

These people were absolute monsters!

And her fellow Veridians—were they really just gullible prey? How had so many of them been lured into this blood-soaked trap?

Stella's eyes burned with a lethal fury. These soulless animals were going to pay. She was going to bury every single one of them.

"Where does he keep the transaction ledgers and the personnel files for the operations?"

Also, the flash drive she had spotted back at the mansion was undoubtedly critical. She needed to find an exact replica to swap it out.

Leaving the unconscious Doris behind, she casually strolled into Tiger's lavish office.

The man certainly knew how to live like a king. The sprawling room was filled with the finest luxuries money could buy.

He had walls lined with top-shelf liquor and rare teas, and his desk and lounge area were carved from the most expensive rosewood.

Even the exquisite tea set on his table was an authentic piece she had crafted herself—though God only knew how a lowlife like him had gotten his hands on it.

Seeing her art being used by the psychopathic butcher who murdered her grandfather made her stomach churn. One day, she was going to smash it to pieces.

Everything in this room was bought with human blood. She was going to burn it all down.

Tiger was on a phone call. The moment she walked in, he hung up.