Chapter 1084: Money Isn’t Everything, But… (Patreon)

The five million dollars had originally been offered by Michael Cho to placate Zhang Mingjun. After the shootout, Jack had seen the cash near the latter’s corpse, but given it was still a crime scene, he hadn’t paid it much mind. Anna, while tacitly acknowledged as Jack’s assistant, had no official status—so before the Korean police arrived, she quietly slipped away.

Perhaps it was exactly for that reason that helping herself to the cash didn’t weigh on her conscience in the slightest.

“That’s seven billion won…” Jiang Zhentai murmured, stunned.

He’d just handled a billion-dollar electronic key without blinking, yet now, faced with a measly five million in cold hard cash, his mouth was dry, and his hands slightly trembled.

“Well, we’ve already taken it—might as well split it,” Jack said casually. He and Ma Xidao had split spoils before. No big deal.

Jiang Zhentai stared blankly at Jack, then at Ma Xidao. He still looked hesitant. “Is this really okay?”

“Everyone in that room is dead. Even if Lin Zhelin noticed the money, he’ll be back in the North soon. You think he’s going to say anything?” Jack teased with a grin.

“But… that’s a lot of money…” Jiang’s tongue fumbled over the words.

Ma Xidao had seen it all. The last time, Jack had brought in two fake Navy officers, staged a double-cross, and made off with a haul nearly ten times this size. Since then, he’d become something of a modestly wealthy man. After Chris helped launder those funds, Ma Xidao had even become a minor shareholder in "Shangri-La."

That deal netted him over $200,000 annually—making him one of the most comfortably retired cops in Korea. The gold chain around his wrist had even gone from 18K to 24K.

“Think about your mortgage,” Ma Xidao said, proving once again he knew exactly how to hit where it hurt.

Jiang scratched his head. His grotesque face flushed a bit. “I mean, it just feels kind of wrong…” But his eyes never left the green glow of the money.

“You’re not taking all of it. Half goes to you and Ma Xidao. Once this is over, we’ll take a trip to Las Vegas, clean up the origin of the funds, and you’ll be fine.”

Had Jiang not risked his life sneaking into that top-floor suite, they might not have caught Zhang Mingjun in time. Korea was already scapegoating him, so it wasn’t worth being too righteous now.

Even Lin Zhelin, who was supposedly loyal to the North, had cut a private deal with the FBI. Jiang, just a “salaryman” cop, prioritized family above all.

He’d thrown himself into this mess for nothing more than that dangled carrot: promotion and a raise. Now, considering he might still get canned anyway, and seeing how the people splitting the money were someone as untouchable as Ma Xidao and an FBI agent who looked even more powerful—Jiang’s conscience quieted considerably.

“You don’t need to worry about that NIS pretty boy anymore. Next time he pisses you off, just knock his damn teeth in,” Ma Xidao said, clapping him on the back.

Those words straightened Jiang’s spine like a steel rod.

They say money makes the man brave. Just the thought of being able to pay off his mortgage—and maybe even set aside a little secret stash—had Jiang giddy enough to want to fight for the dinner check.

This time, no one interrupted the hotpot meal. Everyone ate their fill and returned home to rest. Jack held onto the five million for the time being, as only he, with his diplomatic status, could safely bring the cash back to the U.S.

Though they’d agreed to split it evenly, Jack handed the full $2.5 million share to Anna—effectively fulfilling her dream of owning a seaside home.

That dream had evolved. Once she had dreamed of a small cabin in Hawaii; now it was a villa in Sanya. Clearly, Hainan held a special allure for Russians.

Anna hadn’t hidden the money. Not because top-tier agents don’t care about cash—far from it. In fact, one of her biggest headaches after leaving the FSB had been finances.

Modeling wasn’t as glamorous as it looked. Though she didn’t use drugs or sleep around, simply maintaining the aura of beauty from head to toe devoured most of her income.

Men could never fully understand the price women paid to maintain their looks. Money was the easiest—and the least significant—of those costs.

Even in purely financial terms, any Western woman who wanted to keep looking as fresh and radiant as JJ or Hannah into their 30s needed six figures a year—unless they were genetic miracles.

As for Zoey and Maureen, at their age? Minimum one million a year, sky’s the limit.

While Anna had been decently paid at the FSB, that was in rubles. Even mission stipends weren’t much. Wealthy agents existed only in the movies—even the CIA had to grow poppies in Afghanistan for side income.

That’s why Jack had made sure she landed a job as soon as she “retired.” The last thing the world needed was another top-tier assassin or terrorist wandering around broke.

Even now, Anna lived comfortably, maybe even had some savings—but nowhere near enough to scoff at $5 million.

And yet, despite pocketing the cash, she’d left it in the car. Not exactly a loyalty pledge, but definitely a sign she saw Jack as “one of her own.”

Jack had always been generous to his people. Back during the first “cannibal” incident, when Jessie gave him a pouch of gold dust without hesitation, his return gift had been the dust—plus a gold brick. This time was no different.

That night, Anna, wrapped in a towel, came to the bed and saw a scented candle glowing on the nightstand.

Jack was rubbing massage oil between his palms until it was piping hot. He smiled at her. “This time, let me show you what my massage skills are like.”
—
The Josun Palace Hotel was the most luxurious six-star hotel in Seoul’s Gangnam District. The northern delegation had reserved its entire top floor as a temporary residence, and Lin Zhelin had just been summoned to meet the official in charge.

After handing over the encrypted key to the $1 billion account, he received promises of substantial rewards upon returning home.

Leaving the suite—luxurious to the point of gaudiness—he retrieved his phone and silently made his way to the first floor.

After confirming no one was following, he slipped into a security stairwell. After a few sharp turns, he emerged in a far corner of the massive underground parking garage.