Life in North America, you call this an autopsy officer?!
Chapter 332 - 213: The Truth of the Case, An Unexpected Gunfight (First Subscription Bonus - 6)

Chapter 332: Chapter 213: The Truth of the Case, An Unexpected Gunfight (First Subscription Bonus Chapter 6)

This "insurance fraud" was doomed to be limited in scale.

Typically, it involved incidents where goods were damaged, leading to insurance payouts, and the damaged goods were then disposed of at a low price.

The profit came from this very process.

Very few insurance companies would choose to recover these damaged goods, but some people without much money and illegal workers were quite fond of these cheap deals.

Moreover, they could also be sold to some "charitable organizations".

However, this was just small change, the real money was in the employee life insurance.

The owner of this convenience store in question was rather greedy, trying to have his cake and eat it too, with previous insurance claims including employee life insurance, product insurance, store renovations, and other types of coverage.

The claim amount, as far as this insurance investigator understood, had surpassed a million US dollars.

Under normal circumstances, this amount would have been enough for insurance companies to collaborate and blacklist the other party, as for lawsuits and the like, it was very difficult to sue if the opposition was professional.

Brian detested these beasts who exploited their own compatriots.

He twisted his neck, his refined demeanor momentarily revealing a hint of ruffian spirit as he approached the Chinese middle-aged man who was conversing with Tom, "I am Brian, an Autopsy Officer and the person in charge of this case."

Tom’s gaze flashed, and he silently stepped aside.

He sensed that Brian’s mood was not very good at the moment.

The Chinese middle-aged man had not yet perceived the seriousness of the situation, smiling as he greeted Brian, "Hello, Mr. Brian, I am the owner of this convenience store; you can call me Mike."

"Don’t you have a Hua Country name?"

Brian adjusted his tie.

"What?" The Chinese middle-aged man felt he couldn’t keep up with the train of thought of this seemingly sophisticated young man but still cooperated, "I am a second-generation immigrant; my family gave me a Hua Country name, but I hardly use it."

"Got it."

Brian nodded, pointing towards Tom, "Buddy, give old Hardenn a call, have him check this Mr. Mike’s financial transaction accounts, communication records, and information on lawyers he knows well. I suspect he’s committing murder for insurance fraud."

"This is against the rules; I am the victim here, my employee was shot dead, and yet you suspect me, want to investigate me; I need evidence, otherwise, based on what you’ve said, I can file a complaint against you!"

The expression on Chinese Mike’s face changed in an instant.

Is this guy born in the year of the dog, how can his face change so quickly?

"File a complaint against me?"

Brian pulled down his tie at the front, looking around, "Did I just threaten him?"

"No!"

Tom’s hoarse voice rang out loudly.

It was somewhat unpleasant, but it reminded the other three people present.

The two patrol officers looked entertained and naturally sided with Brian; the insurance agent who disliked the store owner turned his head away, pretending to be interested in a small tree at the roadside as if there was something fascinating about it.

Upon witnessing this, Chinese Mike realized he had encountered a corrupt cop.

Just as he was about to vent his spleen, Brian’s tie whipped through the air with a sonic snap.

This scared Mike silly.

The tie looked light and flimsy, but how could it crack like a whip?

Magic?

The next moment, he found out if it was magic or not.

Brian’s tie struck his face, forcibly leaving a four-finger-wide bloodstreak across the middle-aged man’s cheek, which soon turned into a black and purple bruise, showcasing to all the force behind Brian’s hit.

Mike was stunned for a moment before clutching his face and letting out a scream.

Snap~

The air popped.

Another tie strike landed on his mouth, shoving his scream back down his throat.

Again and again.

Brian lashed out a dozen or so times in quick succession, knocking the man unconscious then reviving him, leaving him battered before exhaling a breath of frustration and tying his tie back around his neck, regaining his refined appearance, "You exploit the ignorance of those countrymen, harm them, so I use my position to oppress you; seems fair, right?"

Mike lay on the ground.

He had been swindled many times because of his circle, had seen a lot of darkness, but it was his first time coming across someone so arrogantly abusing their power.

He pursed his lips, now swollen like sausages, and stayed silent.

Seeing this, Brian nodded, "Good, you’ve still got spirit, looks like you want to try out the Great Memory Recovery Technique over here."

With that, he gestured to the two patrol officers at Mike lying on the ground, "Take him to the station; I’ll cover any issues."

"Roger that, Autopsy Officer Brian," one patrol officer flashed his handcuffs, "What’s the reason? We need to make a police report."

"Publicly spitting at a public officer, uncooperative, there’s your evidence."

Brian pointed untruthfully to a patch on the ground mixed with blood and saliva.

Mike’s eyes went wide.

Wasn’t that drool from being hit? How did it become publicly insulting a public officer?

Does this great Los Angeles have no conscience, no law?

The sky here is so dark, so dark!

...

Until he was dragged onto the police car, this unscrupulous Chinese store owner still couldn’t believe what had happened to him.

He had dared to do this, and had done so for quite some time, considering the potential reactions and actions of the insurance companies and victimized illegal workers, as well as the response from the police.

With regard to the group of Chinese illegal workers switching their work cards, this area has always been indifferent.

The only difference between these people and the homeless was the work card in their hands, providing some cheap labor for the metropolis of Los Angeles.

After all, dishes had to be washed, toilets had to be scrubbed.

The illegal workers also needed to see hope.