บท 1497: The Assassination that was Doomed to Fail from the Start

In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of an express hotel, a man in a black suit held a pair of binoculars in his hand and looked coldly at the smoky street. When he saw "Iron Man" step out of the trunk of the Luer sedan, his pupils constricted slightly.

He gently placed the binoculars on the table beside him, took out a satellite phone from his pocket, and dialed a number.

Soon, the phone connected. Without any greetings, he spoke concisely.

"Mission failed..."

"Failed? How could it be—"

"We miscalculated. I didn't expect that the 'Iron Man' himself was Jiang Chen..."

"Iron Man?" Inside the presidential suite of a five-star hotel, Rockefeller, who held a glass of vintage red wine in his hand, was taken aback, and he subconsciously asked, "Which Iron Man..."

Just halfway through his words, Rockefeller realized what happened.