Jimmy has always been extremely efficient when it comes to handling matters related to the source and flow of money. Two days later, Jimmy found a reputable charity for Luca and anonymously donated $600.000 to it. Of that amount, $550.000 of it was designated for specific individuals, while the remaining $50.000 was left to the charity for its own "administrative handling."
Jimmy, nicknamed "The Gent," had already built a strong reputation in the Bronx long before Luca made his debut. The charity gladly accepted the donation and promised to distribute the funds to those in need as quickly as possible.
"If anyone asks, just say that doves of peace fly over every corner of the world."
That evening, Denham returned home frustrated after another failed investigation. Jordan Belfort had vanished into thin air over the past few days. Even though they knew he was hiding somewhere in the Bronx, they couldn't get a single solid lead on him.
Meanwhile, Stratton, operating without Jordan, continued running smoothly, profiting happily from its clients. Behind every transaction were commissions worth thousands, even tens of thousands.
Denham looked at the bank statements, then at his own paycheck. The comparison was almost insulting. He was already planning how to stretch next month's salary as far as possible.
"Pat, a foundation came to the house today," his wife said, bringing over a slice of fruit pie and sitting beside him.
"A foundation?" Denham immediately grew alert. As an FBI agent, he knew many foundations were nothing more than fraudulent fronts.
"A medical assistance foundation," she explained. "They heard about your mother's condition from the hospital. They came by and had me fill out some application forms. They said they could help cover her surgery expenses."
"Anything else?" Denham pressed, slipping unconsciously into interrogation mode. "Did they ask for additional private information? Did they request payment? For example, promising priority access to funding if you joined as a member? Please tell me you didn't give them any money."
"They didn't charge anything," his wife replied, clearly irritated by his suspicious tone. "They only asked about medical insurance and your mother's medical records. And please stop treating me like I'm clueless. I checked with my lawyer friends. She said this foundation is completely legitimate."
"You should've told me first. No one understands whether these organizations are legitimate better than I do."
"How many times do you even answer my calls?" she shot back. "Every time I call, you say you're busy! All you do all day is watch your suspects. If you could, you'd probably sleep in the same room just to monitor them. You care more about criminals than you care about your own son or your mother, or even me! Are they more important than your family?"
Denham felt irritated by the sudden emotional outburst. He didn't want to explain. He didn't want to say that everything he did was for the family. He just wanted to step outside and light a cigarette.
Her voice softened again.
"Pat, what I've always admired most about you is your sense of responsibility. That's what made me fall in love with you. But now it's tearing us apart. My sisters all envy me for marrying a good man. But only I know I haven't truly been happy these past few years."
"I'm sorry." Patrick took her hand. "I promise that after this case is over, I'll request a transfer out of frontline investigations. I'll move to a less demanding department. I'll have more time for you."
She quietly sobbed, and Denham's heart softened even more.
Not long after, their son suddenly called.
"Dad! I got a scholarship! I can't believe it! I filled out the forms on a whim, and they awarded me 50 Grands!"
"???" Denham looked completely stunned. "Is it a loan? What's the interest rate?"
"No, it's not a loan! It's a grant!" his son shouted excitedly. "Thank God! With this money, I can keep studying the major I love!"
Denham was deeply shaken. Could something like this really exist in the world? It sounded as absurd as the Mafia maintaining world peace. Something felt wrong. Could it be that bastard Belfort? But he had refused Belfort's bribe before—Belfort had practically flipped him off. Why would he try to send money through a foundation now?
His son added, "Doves of Peace will fly to every corner of the world!"
"What?"
"That's what the foundation said. Maybe it's their slogan?"
"Doves of peace?"
Denham froze.
It's The Dove.
When he saw the 500.000 deposited into the hospital account, he still couldn't believe that Luca would go to such lengths to transfer money in such a discreet manner. He checked carefully. It was an anonymous donation with no additional information. The foundation had no ties to the Mafia. The funds had gone through proper charitable channels, cleaned thoroughly. On paper, everything was completely legitimate.
His first instinct was to return the money. But the doctor informed him that with these funds available, his mother could be transferred to the best hospital in New York and receive top-tier surgical care, with a strong chance of full recovery.
His wife, still unaware of the truth, excitedly praised her own judgment. She said she had been right, that the foundation was genuine, that good organizations still existed to help families in need.
Denham hadn't seen her this happy in years.
Standing beside his mother's hospital bed, holding her frail hand, the middle-aged man found tears in his eyes. The word "refund" lingered in his throat for a long time, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. He suddenly felt powerless. He also realized how ruthless the Dove of Peace's move had been—no need for consent, no need for negotiation. The money had reached his family through entirely legal means, through his wife and son.
He was trapped in a dilemma.
Should he report everything and shatter the fragile happiness at home?
Should he reveal how helpless he, as the head of the family, truly was?
Should he let his mother continue suffering?
That night, Denham went to a bar and drank heavily. For the first time, he noticed how colorful New York City looked at night.
---
Late May. Spencer Middle School.
Matilda was on break.
"Luca!"
She ran out of the school gate with her backpack bouncing behind her and leapt into his arms.
"Finally, vacation! I can be a full-time Mafia member now!"
Luca's smile stiffened internally.
New York State really should consider passing a bill requiring summer tutoring for students with poor grades.
He spun Matilda around twice, patted her head, set her down, and handed her a 20 Dollar bill.
"Go buy two lattes—one with sugar, one without. Make the unsweetened one as bitter as possible. And get something for yourself too. Whatever you like. Go on."
Matilda happily ran off.
Luca turned toward a car parked not far away.
The window rolled down, revealing Denham's face—dark circles under his eyes, but his gaze sharp and focused.
"Dove of Peace," Denham said, "we need to talk."
Luca leaned casually against the car door. "Just for calling me that, I'll give you an 8% discount at my SSR Club from now on."
"Uh… thank you." Denham hesitated. "I want to talk about Belfort."
"What now? Did he get pulled over for running a red light while high?"
"The FBI doesn't handle traffic violations." Denham got straight to the point. "I'm not dropping the Belfort case. No amount of money will change that."
Luca glanced at the car interior. "I hear the FBI likes installing listening devices in their vehicles."
"… "
"When did I give you money? Bribing a federal agent is a crime. I would never do that. Under U.S. criminal law, bribery requires a clear transaction and identifiable sum. Without evidence, you'd never stand up in court."
"I didn't plant any listening devices!"
"Oh~~~" Luca smiled. "Agent Denham, are you here to update me on your mother's recovery? I sincerely hope she makes a full recovery. And I hope your son's academic journey goes smoothly."
Denham rubbed his forehead, exhausted.
"I won't stop investigating. But I can reduce surveillance on Belfort. I won't harass him unnecessarily."
But tell him not to cross the line. The Securities and Exchange Commission will not stop pursuing him, and if I get evidence, he still won't escape legal consequences.
It sounded like someone trying to preserve dignity while compromising in reality.
But once Denham said that, Luca truly believed there were no listening devices.
"I can talk to him," Luca replied.
Just then, Matilda returned with the drinks.
Luca handed the bitter coffee to Denham.
"Buying someone a coffee doesn't count as bribery, right?"
Denham didn't know whether to laugh or curse. He accepted it and thanked him.
"Aren't you afraid the money will just disappear?" Denham asked. "You didn't attach conditions. You didn't ask for anything. I've never met anyone like you. There's no such thing as a philanthropist who expects nothing in return."
Luca gave a faint, tired smile.
"That part doesn't matter. Ask around in Little Italy. Have I ever demanded repayment from anyone?"
Denham fell silent. The contradiction between Luca's identity and actions left him unable to define the man's true motives.
Luca extended his hand.
"I'm just someone who enjoys making friends."
With complicated emotions swirling inside him, Denham closed his eyes, recalling the peaceful and compassionate actions he had witnessed during this time. If it was all an act, why would someone risk their life running into burning buildings to save others?
He opened his eyes and shook Luca's hand.
"I owe you one."
[Bond: Friends]
Luca drove off with Matilda.
Denham remained in the car, watching until it disappeared from view. Then he opened the lid of his coffee and took a sip.
His face twisted instantly.
Why is this so bitter?!
Damn you, Dove.
================================================================================
Thanks for Rocky Stagg for becoming my P Knight, i would buy my cats some fish in the market with it.
And for others, you could use $3 for 15 Advance Chapters and help my Cats got more fish to eat.
As Always on: P Site/OrbisTranslate