Chapter 890
Agreement
Chapter 890 Agreement
Abigail seemed momentarily dazed.
Fontana...
It was Gilbert Fontana, the principal of Ifamoni.
She joined the Purifiers when she was young, filled with unquenchable hatred and resentment, and was determined to kill all the wizards in the world!
But when she was eleven, she received an invitation from Iphamoni.
Abigail stubbornly intended to refuse, but her mentor persuaded her to accept.
“Sera, you must enter their world, learn their knowledge, master their magic... and become one of the best among them.”
The tutor gazed into her eyes and said in a low voice:
"Only in this way can you master the power to restrain them and find their most fatal weakness!"
“This is not betrayal, Sera, this is the highest form of sacrifice and revenge!”
"You must also bring back the knowledge of wizards for us, so that future generations will not have to be like you... suppressing your own personality, enduring hatred and loathing, and compromising yourself to please the enemy..."
“I’m so sorry, Sera. I hate that I’m not a wizard, otherwise I would wish to take this pain for you.”
She was persuaded, and the tears in her eyes were replaced by a cold determination. She shouldered her luggage and followed the professor who came to pick her up to the school she hated.
In Ifamoni, Sera wasn't actually close to Principal Fontana, and she always felt out of place with her classmates.
Because every spare minute that she had free time, Sierra Abigail was busy copying down books from the library and sending back many spells that she herself could hardly understand to the Purifier base.
But she still clearly felt that the boarding school life was far better than she had expected. Those peaceful, leisurely days, full of laughter, were a very precious gem in her gloomy memories.
Once, when Abigail was sitting alone in a corner, copying "Advanced Transfiguration" with lightning speed, she suddenly noticed someone standing next to her.
She looked up and saw Principal Fontana's face.
At that moment, the girl was like a deer being targeted by a hunter, her body stiff and motionless, and she felt as if she were already dead.
But Principal Fontana simply smiled and said, "Very beautiful handwriting, Miss Abigail."
"You...you know me?" The girl's voice trembled with nervousness.
"Of course, anyone would notice a child as hardworking as you."
"As a professor, I am proud of you," said Principal Fontana.
"But I also want to say... child, you should occasionally lift your eyes from your books for a while, look at the sky outside, and try to understand your noisy classmates."
“These dry words and symbols are not everything. If you only focus on your journey, you will miss all the scenery along the way. You may even unknowingly... lose yourself.”
……
"Jingle Bell……"
A shrill ringing suddenly interrupted Abigail's reverie.
She adjusted her posture and realized that no one seemed to notice that she had once again fallen into a daze.
Brolin and Stern were discussing a plan of action when the phone rang. They both stopped talking and turned to stare at the old-fashioned telephone with serious expressions.
Rolando Stern picked up the phone, but before he could speak, a hurried and flustered voice came from the other end:
"Mr. Brolin, Mr. Stern! Something's happened! Our import/export company is being raided by the IRS, and we probably won't be able to deliver your order this week! We're not even sure if we can save it!"
Stern's pupils contracted sharply, and he hurriedly asked, "How could the IRS...?"
"I heard they received a report!" the person on the other end said hurriedly. "Sorry, I have to hang up now."
Stern held the receiver, his gaze fixed intently on Chief Brolin.
“I hope this is just a coincidence,” he said hoarsely, “and not because that group of UMNO members discovered our connection with Aurora Import & Export Company.” Brolin frowned. “You’re overthinking it. Why would UMNO members use such methods? They’re not even Americans; they wouldn’t understand…”
"Jingle Bell……"
"Jingle Bell……"
"Jingle Bell……"
Before Brolin could finish speaking, and with the receiver still in Stern's hand, the other phones all started ringing loudly.
“Boss, the IRS has accused us of money laundering and tax fraud…”
"...The account has been frozen by the IRS!"
"They discovered that we had submitted false tax returns..."
"The person in charge has been taken away by agents, and I heard that the transport ship to Long Island has also been detained by the Coast Guard..."
Not to mention Brolin and the others, even the alchemist Ilari, who had been sitting in the corner lost in thought, looked up and listened blankly. The tools in his hand fell to the ground with a crisp sound.
Finally, someone provided a reason.
"Listen, this is the last phone call I'm making to you."
The person on the other end of the phone said desperately, "Those executives are like lunatics! They actually voluntarily reported to the IRS! They personally handed over the company's, and their own, most fatal secrets to the IRS!"
"I'll definitely be spending the rest of my life in a federal prison, and I reckon your time won't be much longer! After years of cooperation, I only have one piece of advice for you—"
"Go to hell, you bastard!"
"Click!"
The phone was abruptly hung up. Brolin slowly raised his head, the gaslight casting deep shadows on his face.
"The Soul-Stealing Curse... or even more advanced mental techniques."
He practically spat out the words through gritted teeth: "Wow, the Witchcraft Party! In a single night, they've achieved what the Magic Congress hasn't accomplished in over a hundred years!"
His expression was contorted; he looked terrifying.
“Chief…” Abigail whispered.
"Get out," Brolin said quickly, regaining his composure and expressionless. "Let me have some peace and quiet."
The group exchanged glances, then got up and left at Stern's signal.
A few seconds later, Brolin watched as the door closed, the sound of dripping water amplified infinitely in the empty space.
Then, he took a communication pea out of his inside pocket.
As soon as the call connected, he said impatiently, "We made an agreement... I need an explanation!"
The person on the other end paused, then asked with a puzzled look, "What did we agree on?"
Brolin: "..."
His eyes gleamed dangerously in the darkness as he suppressed his anger and said, "We have an agreement, Ms. Picqueli! I'll control my restless anger, eliminate the particularly radical ones, and do the dirty work that you can't handle. You have to guarantee me that!"
“Oh, you mean this… Aren’t you protected?” Leila Picqueli’s voice came with a light laugh. “In all these years, when have we ever put any obstacles in your way of ‘small businesses’?”
(End of this chapter)