Chapter 12.1

Just as he was about to call out to Tom, Mo Zimu yelped and fell to the ground. His forward momentum knocking Berrick back several steps.

Berrick caught himself by grabbing another prisoner’s arm, his face twisting in fury. Regaining his balance, he stomped on Mo Zimu’s shoulder.

“You did that on purpose!” He growled viciously.

“Boss, who would intentionally fall on the ground?” Mo Zimu said, raising his scraped hand and explaining.

Standing off to the side, Jude let out a derisive laugh, his expression dripping with mockery.

The sound seemed to reignite Berrick’s wounded pride. His grip tightened on the baton as he stepped forward, ready to teach the boy who made him look foolish a painful lesson. The baton was raised high, ready to strike.

But it never came down on Mo Zimu. Ivan, who had already walked away, reappeared and caught the baton effortlessly. He smiled casually, “Boss, why get worked up over a clumsy kid?”

Jude scoffed again, “No wonder, it seems some people are different when they have support!”

“Teabag, If you can’t keep your men quiet, I can help you with that,” Ivan said lightly.

Teabag slapped Jude across the face, “Shut up. Even I wouldn’t dare to offend Ivan. Who do you think you are?”

Jude’s pretty face swelled up from the slap. He covered his face, glaring at Ivan and Mo Zimu with venomous eyes.

Berrick strained, feeling as if the baton were fused to Ivan’s hand. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t move it.

His face flushed, and just as his frustration peaked, Ivan let go. “Boss, let me get this eyesore out of your way,” he said.

Berrick stood there gripping the baton, veins throbbing on his forehead. He felt a deep humiliation he was unaccustomed to, given his absolute authority over life and death within the prison.

He shoved the baton back into its holster and suddenly drew his pistol. “Back off, Ivan. Are you trying to assault an officer?”

Instantly, the prison fell into a heavy silence. The once chaotic main hall became eerily still as every pair of eyes fixed on the unfolding scene. Berrick smirked, a sense of control washing over him once more. He brandished the pistol and said “Ivan, I don’t care who you are on the outside. In here, you answer to me!”

Ivan raised his hands and smiled, “Boss, no one disobeys you, everything is as you say…”

Berrick stared at him for several seconds, then slowly lowered the gun. Suddenly, Jude shouted, “Watch out, he’s coming at you!”

Startled by his loud warning, Berrick instinctively raised his gun just as Mo Zimu, who had been pinned under his foot, lunged forward.

Berrick stumbled backward, his gun firing a shot into the air. The sharp crack echoed through the hall, making everyone’s heart skip a beat.

Ivan’s eyes widened as he rushed forward, his only thought to check on Mo Zimu. In that moment, he felt his heart might burst from his chest.

Mo Zimu slightly lifted his head, looking into those tense, cold grey eyes, “Remember, I just saved your life.”

Ivan seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, a smile breaking on his lips, “Alright, I’ll take care of you for life.”

A flash of indignation crossed Mo Zimu’s eyes, but he was powerless against the iron grip of those hands.

Norton and Adolf hurried over.

Berrick, slightly panicked, got up but was harshly grabbed by the collar by Big Mouth Adolf, “Who allowed you to fire the gun?”

“Adolf, it wasn’t intentional, it was this kid…”

“Did you kill him?”

“No, it was I…”

“Damn it, what a waste of a bullet!” Adolf harshly pushed him aside. He drew his own pistol and shouted, “Who dared to assault an officer?”

As the notorious Adolf took action, all the prisoners instinctively took a step back.

Humiliated by Adolf’s harsh treatment in front of the prisoners and Norton, Berrick was boiling with rage but couldn’t voice his anger. “It was that kid, that kid!” he shouted, pointing at Mo Zimu, silently hoping Adolf would shoot him to vent his own fury.

Ivan chuckled, “It was just a small misunderstanding with Boss Berrick!”

Adolf glanced at Norton, as if seeking approval, before turning to Ivan. “Ivan, this isn’t good. We’ve always maintained a peaceful balance. Don’t disrupt that.”

Norton checked his pocket watch and sighed, “Enough, Adolf. It seems the issue started with that kid. Take him away. As for the rest of you, get back to your cells. Who gave you permission to loiter outside?”

Adolf immediately roared, “Get back to your pens, you pigs. Curfew for the rest of the day, all food and water are canceled!”

Before the prisoners could even react, Adolf fired four or five shots into the air to reinforce his orders, causing the prisoners to frantically run towards their cells.

Norton, still at the scene, told Ivan, “Ivan, I hope you remember the agreement we made when you first came to prison.”

“That’s great, thank you, Uncle Norton, for remembering our cooperation,” Ivan responded with a smile. He glanced at Mo Zimu and added, “Stay calm, huh? The warden probably just wants to invite you for dinner.”

Mo Zimu’s face remained expressionless, showing no reaction to his words.

Adolf dragged Mo Zimu all the way to Norton’s office, to the luxurious dining area, and then roughly cuffed his hands behind him on a chair.

Norton adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and said, “You can leave. I’d like to have a word with this young man alone.”

Dissatisfied with Norton torturing Mo Zimu alone, Adolf reluctantly turned and left, slamming the door behind him so hard that it made the windows rattle. Norton rolled his eyes and muttered, “Rude, just rude.”

He walked over and leaned on the dining table, looking down at Mo Zimu from his black hair to his slender neck and the delicate collarbone peeking through his open shirt.

He had seen many Asians, who almost all had the same baby face to the point of being indistinguishable from one another.
But he had to admit Mo Zimu was the most captivating. Once you’ve seen him, he’s hard to forget.

Norton sighed, “Seven, you’re too much trouble.”

“I didn’t mean to, Boss,” Mo Zimu replied calmly.

“You did. You know you have this allure, you know you’re attractive and smart. If you wanted to keep to yourself, I think you would’ve found a way, but clearly, you haven’t!” Norton frowned, “Although I said I wouldn’t let Duke Donald touch you until the tattoos on your body are completed, you clearly need a lesson!”

He was very pleased to see Mo Zimu shiver.

“This weekend, you’ll meet Duke Donald again. I hope it teaches you what it means to stay in your place.”

Mo Zimu’s face turned pale, but he suddenly looked up, his dark green eyes shimmering with a strange light that made Norton pause.

His gaze was nothing like the choirboy innocence of Seven. Instead, there was something deeper, something almost mocking.

“Boss,” Mo Zimu said softly. “If that’s the case, then you’re still the kind of man who would be tempted by a hundred thousand dollars.” He let the words settle before tilting his head slightly, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “But tell me, when the black money flowing under the names of deceased Mammon prisoners is worth billions, maybe even hundreds of billions, why are you still scrambling for pocket change?”

Norton’s expression stiffened. Through the lenses of his gold-rimmed glasses, a flicker of something wariness, maybe even irritation, flashed in his eyes.

Mo Zimu leaned back slightly, his voice turning almost lazy. “These people didn’t come all this way just to hunt prisoners. The real business is in buying identities.”

Norton took a deep breath and said gravely, “Seven, who told you this?”

Mo Zimu let out a soft chuckle. “Many die on Mammon Island each season, but in America, they’re still alive. Their social security numbers are still active. Even their DMV records are intact. Their identities remain perfectly preserved, while their bodies have long rotted away at Mammon.”

He lifted his eyelids slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I can hack into any national security agency. All it takes is matching Mammon’s prison admission records with DMV data… and the pattern becomes obvious. Almost everyone who ends up here has no visitors, no letters, no calls. It’s like they never existed.”

Norton leaned against the dining table, staring at him in silence. After a long pause, he suddenly raised his pale hand and grasped Mo Zimu’s throat.

Mo Zimu tensed but didn’t struggle. His voice came out steady, even with the pressure against his neck. “When those arms dealers laundering money, tax-evading nobles, and high-society elites buying identities no longer protect you… do you think you’ll still get to enjoy the scraps falling through their fingers? When that day comes, who will help you? Adolf, that brainless fool? Or your guards, each of whom already has their own master?”

Norton’s eyes reddened, but his fingers gradually loosened until he finally let go.

Mo Zimu gasped for air. He knew now wasn’t the time to confront Norton outright, but he had been betting on Norton’s greed and cowardice. The flicker of hesitation in Norton’s eyes told him he had struck a nerve.

Norton stared at him, as if wanting to dismiss his words but unable to ignore the temptation. After a moment of silence, he asked, “Well, do you have a better way?”

Mo Zimu lifted his gaze, his dark green eyes carrying a faint allure. “Give me the list of your clients and the identities they purchased. As long as those identities are still active in the U.S., I can trace every account linked to them and map out their connections before they abandon them. With that evidence, you can sell the intel for a fortune, make one last big score, and walk away from this hellhole for good.”

Norton squinted at him, studying his expression. After a long pause, he finally asked, “What’s in it for you?”

Mo Zimu lowered his eyes slightly. “I don’t want to be violated anymore. I think you can ensure that, right?” His voice was calm, but his fingers trembled slightly as they rested on the table. “And when you achieve your goal, please give me my freedom.”

Norton hesitated, then bent down to unlock Mo Zimu’s wrists, “Show me, kid.”

He dragged Mo Zimu into an inner room, into a luxuriously lavish office.

Mo Zimu saw the familiar LCD monitors and his dark green eyes sparkled brighter. He sat behind the walnut desk imported from England, the real leather chair.

Norton leaned against the desk. “Kid, if I hadn’t seen your tricks in the library, I wouldn’t have given you this chance. But if you can’t prove what you’ve claimed, you won’t just be serving Donald this weekend. There will be others.”

Mo Zimu didn’t acknowledge the threat. His fingers moved across the keyboard with practiced ease, his confidence effortless. As a hacker with notable exploits, he had left backdoors in countless systems. NSA databases, banking networks, and places that should have been impenetrable. Returning was never difficult.

A few keystrokes later, he paused. “Jim Bush. He purchased the identity of Jacob Edgecombe…”

The name made his fingers falter for just a second.

Jacob.

Mo Zimu still remembered the poor young man. Though Norton hadn’t made money off his kidneys, he had quickly sold his identity.

His eyelids lowered, concealing the flicker of emotion in his eyes. He still wasn’t good at controlling his feelings.

Impulsive, always ready to rage at injustice, like every eighteen-year-old.

But Mo Zimu wasn’t just any teenager. Reality had hardened him, forcing him to bury his emotions beneath a carefully constructed mask.

Norton watched as Mo Zimu’s fingers suddenly struck the keyboard with force, but the rapidly changing data on the screen astonished him.

Mo Zimu pushed the keyboard away, “I need to run a small software of mine. It will help me retrieve the data!”

He looked at Norton’s skeptical eyes and said, “Boss, I know you wouldn’t keep such important data on a computer.”

Norton gave a light laugh and said, “The internet is like a naked whore, it hides nothing.”

With Norton’s nod, Mo Zimu quickly opened his virtual hard drive and downloaded a small program, which soon started running.

Pushing the keyboard aside, Mo Zimu said, “Pour me a drink, please. The search will take some time.”

Taking a deep breath, hopeful and slightly excited by the prospect of wealth, Norton turned to open the liquor cabinet. He pulled out two crystal wine glasses and poured red wine into each, handing one to Mo Zimu.

Mo Zimu swirled his wine glass, his slender fingers contrasted with the flowing red liquid, exuding an extreme sense of sexiness.

“Seven, has anyone ever told you that you’re very sexy?” Norton sipped his wine and commented.

Mo Zimu did not respond but instead took a small sip of his wine and then said, “Bordeaux red… Have you ever thought about one day indulging in Romanee-Conti Bordeaux to your heart’s content?”

His question caught Norton off guard, making him momentarily forget what he was about to say. He gripped his wine glass tighter, drained it in one go, and then asked, “Are the results ready?”

Mo Zimu slowly sipped his wine, appearing much more refined compared to Norton’s impatience, forcing the elegance-loving Norton to patiently wait for him to finish his glass.

The computer emitted a ‘ding’ sound.

Norton raised his chin, “Got the results?”

Mo Zimu quickly scanned the data and said, “I don’t think the buyer’s name is Jin Bush. It should be Richard Joe Washington. This month, Jacob’s bank account received three wire transfers from Washington’s Citibank. One for $100,000 and another for $200,000. Over the past month, Jacob’s account has had seven ATM cash withdrawals totaling $36,420. Additionally, his DWN registered address has changed from New York to Florida. Whoever is using Jacob’s identity seems to be operating long-term in Florida.”

Norton stared at the screen for a long time, then suddenly pulled out his pistol and aimed it at Mo Zimu’s head.