Of course, this time, Frank didn't foolishly go through the places he had already searched.
Those places had long been ransacked by him in previous rounds. Last time, even the few coins Debbie had painstakingly saved up were swiped by him.
This time he had a clearer target.
Frank turned around without hesitation and walked towards the basement door. Opening it, he grabbed the handrail and staggered down.
Previously, apart from Shane's small bedroom, this basement contained only a pile of sundries and garbage.
But now it was different. Frank saw that there were much fewer sundries in the basement now, replaced by...
Most of the open space in the basement had been transformed into half a small warehouse.
Items like ovens, microwaves, and insulated boxes were scattered on the floor.
Against the wall was a stack of cardboard boxes printed with various logos.
The current basement didn't look like the Gallagher basement of the past at all; it looked more like the underground stockroom of some shady restaurant.
Looking at this scene, Frank, standing on the stairs, couldn't help but grin.
"So the problem is with you... my little Asian cub."
No wonder Liam's diapers were changed freely recently, burgers were eaten freely, and bills didn't pile up into a small mountain like before.
It turned out someone was running a "private economy" in the basement.
He walked quickly down the stairs and knocked on the side of one of the insulated boxes, making a muffled sound.
Frank opened the lid of a cardboard box and glanced inside. It was full of neatly packaged frozen food.
"This doesn't look like something from a relief station."
These foods looked no different from what he stole from certain fast-food restaurants.
But Frank didn't care much about these things. Instead, he walked straight to Shane's bedroom door.
What Shane used to live in was called a bedroom to be polite; in reality, it was just a small cubicle with a broken wooden door that anyone passing by could kick open, and the lock was only symbolically hung on it.
But now the lock on the door had obviously been changed. It was a newly installed single-tongue lock, with a shiny iron lock buckle added to the side, protecting the keyhole tightly.
The door frame was wrapped in strips of narrow sheet metal, blocking all the original gaps in the bedroom. Not even a decent "prying seam" could be found between the door and the wall.
Frank reached out and touched the circle of sheet metal, his tone sounding a bit hurt: "Making such a big scene and not even saying hello to your old man?"
Of course, he came prepared today.
He had long noticed something was wrong with Shane, starting from the muscles that night, and Shane's recent looks at him—an expression of "I really want to find a chance to beat you up."
Frank was all too familiar with that look. So these past few days, taking advantage of Shane's absence, he had quietly come down to the basement to case the joint several times.
Frank fished out a few thin steel strips and a flathead screwdriver from his jacket pocket, then took out a small iron hook.
"You think only you can pull little tricks?"
As he spoke, he tentatively jiggled the doorknob.
The door was locked tight. The bolt was firmly lodged inside, showing no signs of looseness.
Sure enough, it didn't work. Frank didn't waste any more effort. He inserted the steel strip and started picking the lock.
"Fiona never locks her door, but she's locked herself into her life by you lot and the bills."
Frank muttered while twisting, "Lip locks his door to jerk off; Carl locks his door for his military secrets... and you~"
He looked at the ugly but sturdy sheet metal on the door frame and snorted:
"You do it for money."
The expression on Frank's face now was extremely comical.
His eyebrows were scrunched together, the tip of his tongue sticking out, looking like "as long as I focus enough, this lock will be opened by me."
More than ten seconds passed, the lock didn't budge.
He switched to the screwdriver and tried again.
"Come on, baby, open your little heart and let Daddy in to take a look."
One minute.
Two minutes.
The lock remained motionless; instead, his own fingers were aching from prying.
Snap—!
"Fck."
Frank yelped in pain as the bent steel strip hit his finger.
His last bit of patience was exhausted. He cursed at the lock.
Straightening up, his gaze circled between the sheet metal door and the bolt, wondering if his body, which had been in disrepair for years, could still do some heavy work (smashing the door).
He briefly entertained the thought of finding a crowbar to pry the door open directly, but quickly rejected it.
If he really dared to pry this door open, Fiona would kick him out of the Gallagher house directly, and give that kid Shane a chance to beat him up.
He had no alcohol to drink now. If he had no place to live and no food to eat, he would really be screwed.
However, even though he didn't pry it open, Frank had confirmed two things:
First, Shane definitely had a new money-making channel recently.
Second, that money had started to be used in this Gallagher house.
Frank quickly generated a clear logical chain in his mind.
Basement = Income Source.
Upstairs = Cash Outflow Channel.
Since the basement path was blocked for now, he would start from upstairs and intercept the "outflowing part."
He climbed back to the first floor.
Passing through the living room, he casually lifted the sofa cushions, fished out two coins, and stuffed them directly into his pocket.
Then, he went for a spin on the second floor.
Fiona's mattress, pillow, the oldest underwear drawer; Lip's backpack, textbook interlayers, under the bed board; Ian's army brochures, shoeboxes.
And that small iron box Carl hid like a treasure...
All these places he had searched before were now re-checked by him with professional techniques.
Unfortunately, the result was the same as last time. Occasionally, two or three coins could be shaken out, at most adding an expired coupon.
"Alright, places I've swept through, you finally learned not to stuff money there."
Frank, having found no money, leaned against the wall and thought.
Places he had searched definitely wouldn't have money now.
Then... where hadn't he searched?
He didn't think for long before his brain went "click" and popped up a place.
The row of wall cabinets above the kitchen.
Those cabinets hanging overhead were rarely touched, filled with jars and cans.
He had never seriously searched them.
"Mm-hmm."
Frank narrowed his eyes, revealing a sinister smile:
"Of course, only those petit bourgeois who think they are smart would stuff cash up there."
Stuff money into cans, then mix the cans into those sundries. On the surface, it's just a cabinet of daily necessities.
After all, who would be bored enough to open those cans one by one to check?
Of course, except for him, Frank Gallagher.
He was particularly confident in his reasoning. He believed he knew the psychology of everyone in the family like the back of his hand.
"That's it?"
Frank laughed softly. "Just this, and you want to hide from the Family Chief Financial Officer?"
He quickly swayed to the first-floor kitchen, looking at the wall cabinets.
Although these cabinets were covered in dust on the outside, the handles of a few cabinet doors were obviously brighter from being touched, clearly moved by someone recently.
Frank's confidence was solidified. He hesitated no more and stepped directly onto the edge of the counter.