Capítulo 209: Chapter 209: Don't Marry a Saintly Wife
Recalling William's warning, Yuri tentatively suggested to his wife Ava, "Darling, this meeting will take two days. I should be back by Saturday. How about we go on a family trip to Switzerland then?"
"Sounds great," Ava replied, smiling warmly as she kissed Yuri's cheek. "It's time for us to go. Nick and I have to leave now, so I won't be able to see you off at the airport. Come back soon. Bye."
As he watched his wife eagerly heading out the door, Yuri couldn't help but feel genuinely suspicious. He probed further, "Honey, you trust me, don't you?"
Ava's smile grew even sweeter, but Yuri, who frequently dealt with his country's police and Interpol, could tell she was acting. He felt a pang of sorrow, realizing his wife had changed. The way she looked at him was the same as the customs officers and police he had encountered worldwide—eyes filled with scrutiny, suspicion, and even hostility.
Ten minutes later, carrying his briefcase, Yuri got into his car. Glancing behind through the tinted windows, he saw a Cadillac following him, recognizing it as his wife's car. He thought for a moment, then made a phone call, pressing the intercom button to instruct his driver, "Pete, drive around for a while. We'll head to the Brooklyn Bridge in an hour."
An hour later, after receiving a phone call, Yuri smiled slightly and directed Pete to drive towards the Brooklyn Bridge, with Ava still trailing behind.
Under the bridge, Yuri ignored Ava, who had parked just a few meters away. He headed straight to his secret storage container, removed a passport and some documents, and drove up onto the bridge. Using binoculars, he watched as Ava, with their son Nick, entered the container after unlocking it.
Yuri held onto a glimmer of hope that his wife would not betray his secrets to the police. However, within twenty minutes of Ava leaving, several police cars arrived at the scene, followed by reporters who began excitedly photographing the rifles and guns laid out on the ground.
Upon learning that the weapons belonged to Yuri Orlov, a well-known local businessman, the reporters were thrilled, sensing a big story. This was headline news for tomorrow.
But before they could celebrate, two cars arrived, and several well-dressed men stepped out. The leader approached the police, presenting a lengthy document, and said, "Sorry, officer, I am Attorney Terry from the X law firm. This is a special collection permit issued by the New York Gun Association. My client, Mr. Yuri Orlov, is legally authorized to collect these firearms. Even if he doesn't have a license, the special collection permit stipulates that as long as these guns aren't removed from the collection room, no laws have been broken. In contrast, your actions could be considered illegal. So, I'd appreciate a reasonable explanation, officer."
The lead officer, startled, took the document and reported the situation over his shoulder radio. Upon hearing that the officer was communicating with the International Weapons Non-Proliferation Group rather than the NYPD, Attorney Terry smiled, knowing the situation was more complex than it seemed.
After a few minutes, the officer, realizing that the permit had been issued just ten minutes before they received the report, felt frustrated. According to the law, the police indeed risked infringing on private property rights. Helpless, the officer sighed and ordered his team to "stand down," ignoring the lawyers and driving away.
Attorney Terry didn't stop them; he knew there would be no consequence, just an apology and possibly some compensation. The reporters, under the threat of legal action from Terry's assistants, reluctantly handed over their film rolls. Since the procedure was legal, they couldn't report on the gun collection.
Despite being unable to report on the illegal gun possession, the reporters quickly found another angle. They were eager to cover the story of how Yuri, a wealthy man, escaped charges and criticize the inefficiency of the NYPD, believing this story would attract more readers.
On the bridge, Yuri angrily smashed his binoculars. He wished he could strangle Jack Valentine, believing that if not for him, his family would still be happy. Sitting in the backseat of his car, he stared blankly at the ceiling, lost in thought.
Yuri wasn't concerned about how the reporters would cover the story. Many people already knew he was an arms dealer, as long as he wasn't breaking any laws. Yuri felt immense relief that William had warned him; had the police found the transaction documents, he knew he wouldn't escape easily and could face decades in prison.
Grateful for the warning, Yuri called William. "Thank you, Mr. Devonshire."
William, lying on a few seats in an Expendables plane, smiled and asked, "What happened?"
"Yes, without your warning, I might have been betrayed by someone close to me. Ah, when a woman changes her mind, she wishes you were dead, showing no regard for past affections. Mr. Devonshire, I have a piece of advice for you: if you ever consider marriage, get to know the person for a few years first. Don't end up like me, with a wife who loves humanity more than her husband. Or better yet, never let her know what you do."
"Haha, don't worry, I have no plans to marry. That's a concern for twenty years from now. But thanks for the advice," William chuckled, thinking marriage would be too complicated for someone as wealthy as he was. Finding a girlfriend was much easier.
"Anyway, let's not dwell on that. I've arranged the goods. Except for the helicopters, everything should arrive in Seville in about 12 hours," Yuri said, feeling better now that he was talking business. The thought of making $14 million lifted his spirits.
"The 100 mercenaries will be waiting in Sierra Leone. They're all Russian special forces veterans, some with experience in northern Russia's conflicts. I guarantee these are the best men for the job. They'll do anything for the right price."
"Haha, it's not that complicated. I just need them to take care of one person."
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