Chapter 157 Decisive Battle

Chapter 157 Decisive Battle

Clicked it open—a video, only ten seconds long.

In a dimly lit abandoned factory, Eric was tied to an iron chair with thick nylon rope, his head hanging down, alive or dead unknown.

At the end of the video, the screen cut to a note with an address written in English, along with a demand: [One hundred million dollars. Isabelle comes alone.]

Isabelle stared at the screen, a tangible killing intent instantly crystallizing in her pitch-black eyes.

The basement door was pushed open.

Sean strode in on long legs, his face cold and grim.

Akin followed behind, head lowered, expression tense.

"Shadeguard failed." Sean walked to Isabelle's side, his voice very low. "Syndicate deployed three mercenary squads. Overwhelming firepower. Eric was taken. This is a trap laid out in the open, aimed at you."

Sean pushed the tablet in his hand in front of Isabelle.

On the screen was a red dot blinking at the edge of Washington in the slums. "This is Claire and Melissa's location. They're the ones who did the kidnapping."

Isabelle glanced at the location, her tone flat without a hint of fluctuation. "I'll go see them. As for Eric, I'll handle it myself."

"Syndicate came out in full force. That place is a death trap." Sean's brows were tightly knit, deep worry churning in his eyes.

"Death trap or not, I have to go." Isabelle stood up, grabbed the black tactical jacket draped over the chair back, her movements sharp. "Since they want to play, I'll play with them to the end."

Sean looked at her cold, hard profile, knowing he couldn't talk her out of it.

He didn't try to stop her, just said in a low voice, "I'll handle the perimeter. I guarantee not even a fly will get out of that factory."

Isabelle nodded. "Good."

Washington East District, a run-down motel.

The room reeked of cheap tobacco and mold.

Melissa sat on the edge of the bed, hands clutching a worn canvas bag tightly, her eyes full of greed and excitement.

Claire paced back and forth in the narrow room, checking her phone from time to time.

"Mom, why haven't the Syndicate people sent the final payment yet? They're not going back on their word, are they?" Claire bit her nails, feeling vaguely uneasy.

"What's there to be afraid of! We helped them grab Eric. Would such big players cheat us out of this little money?" Melissa snorted coldly. "Once we get that hundred million, we'll change our identities and go to Europe. That little bitch Isabelle will never find us for the rest of her life!"

Before she finished speaking, there was a loud bang.

The already flimsy wooden door was kicked in with tremendous force, slamming heavily against the wall, wood chips flying everywhere.

The mother and daughter screamed, looking toward the door in terror.

Isabelle, wearing a black tactical jacket, one hand in her pocket, walked in expressionless.

Akin stood outside the door with two bodyguards, their faces cold and stern.

"You... how did you find us?!" Claire's face turned deathly pale instantly, instinctively backing up until her back pressed against the cold wall.

Melissa was trembling all over, clutching the canvas bag tightly, forcing out a smile that looked worse than crying. "Isabelle... listen to mom explain, we were just about to come back, we don't know anything..."

Isabelle didn't even spare them an extra glance.

She walked to the worn table, pulled a mini projector from her pocket, and casually tossed it on the table.

The image projected onto the mottled wall.

In the alley surveillance footage, Claire used knockout drugs to cover Eric's nose and mouth, Melissa helped drag him into a van.

The footage was clear, their movements practiced, the evidence solid.

Claire's excuse stuck in her throat, cold sweat rolling down her forehead in large drops.

"Conspiring with Syndicate. Pretty bold." Isabelle's voice was cold and clear, like she was looking at two corpses.

"No! That's not it!" Melissa's legs went weak, dropping to her knees with a thud, crawling and rolling toward Isabelle, trying to grab her legs. "Isabelle, we were forced! Those people with guns forced us to do it, we would've died if we didn't!"

Isabelle slightly shifted to the side, avoiding her touch.

Outside the door, piercing sirens came from far to near. Several police cars marked with federal police logos screeched to a halt downstairs at the motel.

A burst of chaotic footsteps rushed up the stairs.

Fully armed police stormed into the room, pointing their guns directly at the mother and daughter on the floor.

"FBI! Hands on your head, get on the ground! You're suspected in an international kidnapping case. You're now formally under arrest!"

Cold handcuffs clicked shut on Claire's wrists.

Only at this moment did Claire completely break down. She struggled desperately, looking at Isabelle standing to the side watching coldly, the fear in her eyes turning into extreme viciousness.

"Isabelle! You think you won?!" Claire was pressed to the ground by police, screaming and cursing at the top of her lungs. "You're just a heartless monster! Eric is in Syndicate's hands now, he's dead! You'll die too! You'll die a horrible death!"

Melissa also dropped her pretense, cursing viciously. "You jinx! I should've strangled you at the hospital back then!"

The vicious curses echoed in the narrow room.

Isabelle stood in place, her expression completely unmoved.

She looked down at the two of them, her pitch-black eyes containing no anger, only the indifference of looking at trash.

She didn't say a word, just turned around and walked out of the room without looking back.

Late night, Washington suburbs.

Industrial Park Number Seven.

This used to be Syndicate's largest underground transit station in North America, abandoned for years, overgrown with weeds all around, the air thick with the pungent smell of rust and engine oil.

Isabelle carried a black heavy-duty briefcase, stepping over rusted scrap metal scattered on the ground, walking alone into the huge, empty main factory building.

Inside the factory was deathly silent, only the dull echo of her military boots on the steel plates.

"Snap!"

Several high-intensity spotlights suddenly lit up from all directions, blinding white light instantly illuminating the center of the factory as bright as day.

Isabelle squinted slightly.

On the second-floor wire mesh platform directly ahead, Beria wore a dark gray tactical windbreaker, holding a glass of red wine, looking down at her from above.

Behind him stood two rows of fully armed mercenaries, their black gun barrels all locked on Isabelle below.

At the edge of the platform, Eric was hanging upside down with thick rope, eyes closed, face deathly pale.

"You actually dared to come alone." Beria swirled the wine glass in his hand, his voice echoing through the empty factory via a loudspeaker, carrying cold scrutiny.

Isabelle paid no attention to the guns pointed at her.

She loosened her wrist, the heavy briefcase crashed to the ground, the lid popped open, revealing neatly stacked unmarked old US bills exposed to the air.

"I brought myself, I brought the money." Isabelle's voice was cold and clear. "Let him go."

Beria didn't move.

He leaned on the iron railing, his viper-like eyes fixed on Isabelle, trying to find any flaw in her cold face.

He had investigated Isabelle.