Chapter 28: Getting to Work

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Milton took a deep breath to steady himself, then asked, “Let me walk you through this… Tell me, why would a new drug that hasn’t even been released or mass-produced yet be sold more cheaply than an old one?”

The question was simple enough that Brandon could still answer it. “Because… the pharmaceutical company’s ultimate goal is to collect all kinds of data on the new drug, so it provides subsidies to the ‘charities’ doing its dirty work?”

With subsidies, the price could naturally be lowered.

For experiments this blatantly illegal and contrary to the spirit of humanitarianism, pharmaceutical companies generally would not get involved personally. Instead, they would subcontract the task of gathering data to several different parties.

The Evergreen Foundation was one such party.

That way, even if the truth came to light, the pharmaceutical company could shift the blame elsewhere without affecting its experiments in other places.

All the pharmaceutical company wanted was experimental data, and it was willing to provide a batch of drugs and a sum of money in exchange. How the Evergreen Foundation obtained that data was its own problem.

To maximize its profits, the foundation would naturally find a way to extract value from the drugs it received. Whatever their actual worth, putting a price on them and selling them for money was perfectly normal.

Milton nodded. “Exactly. That’s why they don’t really bother calculating the drugs’ costs. They can slash the price to make them more competitive and sell as much as possible. Anything left over can be given away for free or donated to hospitals… because all the extra money becomes their profit.”

Brandon suddenly understood. “Right… Their real objective is to trick people into taking the drugs, then obtain data on them after they’ve taken them! Keeping the process safe is what matters most.”

Not too stupid after all.

He had grasped the most crucial point: safety.

From this clue, Milton could determine that intervening in the matter would mean dealing only with the Evergreen Foundation, the dirty glove, rather than directly provoking America’s pharmaceutical-industrial complex. For the time being, he would not draw the attention of an enemy he was utterly incapable of confronting at this stage.

After sorting out his thoughts, Milton continued, “Now for the second chain of clues. Let me ask you this: if they aren’t smuggling the drugs through routes that bypass inspection stations, then how are they doing it?”

“By air, without a doubt.” Brandon answered without hesitation. “Smuggling by sea takes longer, carries greater risks, requires bribing more people, and makes exposure more likely… If they avoid customs by using speedboats, the risk of losing the cargo becomes enormous.”

Milton, however, waved his index fingers from side to side, rejecting the answer. “No. I think that regardless of which route they choose, there would be no legal problem on the American side. They wouldn’t need to sneak around, so the method of transport isn’t important. Any method would be legal.”

His voice calm and steady, Milton continued, “American border inspections are relatively strict, the penalties are severe, and the risks are high. So the Evergreen Foundation probably wouldn’t risk replacing the drug bottles inside the United States.”

“Within the United States, as long as the paperwork is in order, they can legally export a shipment of experimental drugs, openly load it onto an aircraft or cargo ship, and send it abroad.”

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“Of course, the longer dirty work like this takes and the more people involved, the greater the risk. So I also lean toward air transport, but that isn’t important.”

Once the drugs arrived here, they could not legally be sold because they had not yet been released. Deceptive drug trials conducted among the general public were illegal as well. That was why the bottles had to be replaced and relevant personnel bribed to cover everything up.

From the standpoint of risk, it was impossible for the foundation to replace the drug bottles in the United States, then take the same risk again abroad. There was no reason to risk inspection twice.

In other words, the bottles must have been replaced in Guatemala!

By now, even Brandon understood what Milton was getting at.

“So the drug bottles were replaced here?! If we can find the place where they were repackaged, we can secure the evidence directly without conducting chemical tests on the drugs, catch them red-handed, and arrest everyone involved?!”

Everything… every clue had finally been connected!

Milton gave a slight nod. “That’s right.”

Brandon clenched his fists and leaned forward. “The nearest airport is Quetzaltenango International Airport, a four-hour drive from here. But it’s a major city, and it isn’t even in our province. How are we supposed to find their repackaging site?”

“And if they chose sea transport, how are we supposed to investigate the port? The distances involved are enormous!”

Brandon began speaking faster. He had never imagined that the so-called “Hell Tax Collector” could truly find useful information amid the tangled clues from the investigation of Greenleaf Street and its ledgers.

But the difficulty of the investigation seemed immense!

After finally obtaining a lead, Brandon did not want to let the opportunity slip away.

“You said it yourself: it’s a major city. That means more people, more police, greater stability, and higher incomes,” Milton said. “Bribing people there, bribing the major hospitals there, would cost far too much.”

“Besides, not everyone can be bought. Even in a place like Mexico, there are still police officers who insist on fighting drug trafficking. The more abundant the police presence, the more likely they are to encounter officers—or even senior officials—who cannot be bribed.”

“For the sake of both security and cost, they would most likely keep the cargo legal throughout its time in the major city, let it leave openly, and only dismantle and repackage it after bringing it into territory they control. That is when they would put it on the market.”

“And the facts support my reasoning. An inspector disappeared here… What do you think she discovered that made the foundation willing to pay an enormous price and take enormous risks to erase her from the face of the earth?”

“Evidence capable of destroying them completely!”

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After speaking, Milton gave his own conclusion. “Based on reasonable deductions and the clues we have so far, the drug-repackaging site is in Malakan Town! It may even be right under our noses!”

Awe flashed through Brandon’s eyes once again. He rose to his feet, as though he truly regarded Milton as his superior, his leader, rather than merely the boss of a gang.

His intelligence, composure, and even his fighting ability inspired involuntary admiration.

“Where do we go? Is there still time? The Evergreen Foundation seems to have been operating here for quite some time.”

“Since the female inspector disappeared only recently, the evidence must still be there. We still have time,” Milton replied calmly. “But… they know someone is investigating them. They may already have begun destroying the evidence.”

Brandon immediately grew flustered. “Then what do we do? What if they actually succeed? If this evidence is destroyed, we’ll have no way to reach them again.”

As Milton had said, they could only catch someone red-handed at the scene. If things reached the stage of chemically testing the drugs’ ingredients, they would be finished.

The compromised police officials, hospital administrators, and inspection-station officers would certainly work together to manipulate the chemical analysis reports.

By then, Milton and his men would be the ones breaking the law.

At present, all of them retained their official identities and a certain degree of law-enforcement authority only because they were known as “heroes who had taken down a gang.” That reputation prevented the inspection stations and police departments from making covert moves against them.

But the moment they found an excuse to dismiss them and stripped them of their “legal” status, they would be crushed effortlessly and without mercy.

Milton stood up and carefully wiped down his M29. His tone was indifferent. “They won’t. The dirtier the work, the fewer people can be involved, or it becomes too easy to expose—especially in a small place like Malakan Town. But a small team will need a certain amount of time to repackage so many drugs and deal with so many bottles.”

“We still have a little time… but not much. Perhaps two days, three at most.”

“Get Luz. Bring the weapons. We’re going to collect the tax.”

At that moment, Milton seemed to transform from a detective back into the cold-blooded tax collector who had killed eleven assassins.

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