North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws-Chapter 643 - 357: North American Detective_1

"The crisis is averted!"

"God still stands on the side of the United States!"

...

Hollywood blockbuster scenarios were playing out in the real world.

At this moment in the United States, aside from those carried away due to heart attacks, massive crowds flooded the streets to celebrate.

But some, right now, were heartbroken.

"Dean!"

Dean's girlfriend Niel collapsed in front of the office's large plasma TV, sobbing in agony.

She had been busy with a pharmaceutical company acquisition when the unrest outside alarmed her. Then, through the live television broadcast, she witnessed everything that unfolded.

Niel could never have imagined that her boyfriend, Dean, would be in such a perilous situation, shielding others from bullets with his own body.

Those were real bullets!

Niel didn't dare to think about how she would go on if she lost Dean, that scoundrel.

No, I can't just let it be like this!

Niel had grown much tougher throughout her relationship with Dean.

She wiped away her tears, took out her cellphone, and prepared to rush to check on Dean's condition.

Her intuition told her Dean's chances of survival were very slim. But no matter what, even if Dean had truly left her forever, Niel was determined, even if it cost her greatly, to immediately preserve Dean's stored genetic legacy and use technology to create children of their love, ensuring Dean's life would continue.

It was a foolish thing to do.

But Niel knew that after meeting Dean, she had given her whole self to this irreverent man, and it was unlikely she would ever encounter anyone like Dean, anyone who could astonish her life again.

At that moment, Niel was absolutely certain that Dean was the love of her life.

Just as Niel left the office building, prepared to drive to City Hall, a phone call interrupted her plans.

"Niel..."

A young voice came through the receiver.

At this moment, Niel was in no mood to take the call and was about to hang up directly.

But the voice on the other end continued:

"I'm Dean's friend, you can call me Little Mike.

Dean asked me to contact you, to tell you not to worry.

What you saw may not be true; he will disappear for a while.

During this time, he needs you and Ross to prepare the necessary talent for the pharmaceutical company.

When he reappears, it will also be time for your marriage."

Marriage?!

Niel covered her mouth, feeling stunned.

Dean had once said that when he achieved a certain social status, he would marry her.

She was smart. Little Mike had said, 'What you saw may not be true,' and coupled with Dean's arrangements, she immediately realized something. Dean probably wasn't as severely injured as the live broadcast suggested. It might have even been a performance.

Because after this terror attack, as long as Dean wasn't dead, he would gain an incredible reputation, and anything he did was bound to succeed.

No one would dare to openly challenge such a national hero before the public's memory of this incident faded.

Similar to Niel's situation, Dean's mother, his maternal grandfather, Luca, the patriarch from New York... these people Dean had contacted in advance all received calls from Little Mike. However, except for Dean's mother, the others weren't given as many details, merely told that Dean was in stable condition and not to worry.

...

Meanwhile, countless reports were flying.

Dean's name, portrait, past deeds, and life story were all thoroughly exposed in a short period. Even former high school classmates—whether he had actually been intimate with them or not—came forward in droves, clamoring for interviews.

He was a handsome detective with countless solved cases, accompanied by a plethora of positive rumors, both true and false. This amplified Dean's already incredible reputation, making it even more extravagant and instantly gaining him a whole host of supporters and admirers among the common folk and numerous police forces.

Even those who were displeased or envious would, at most, grumble in private about the unusually high mortality rate among criminals during Dean's cases.

No one dared to say a bad word about Dean in public at this time.

Because they too feared being gunned down by Dean's fervent supporters.

Countless people flocked to churches, praying to God that their hero, Detective Dean, could escape the Grim Reaper's embrace. Despite having seen the 'live broadcast,' they knew surviving so many gunshot wounds was almost impossible.

At this moment, Dean, the focus of widespread concern, stepped out of the bathroom, holding a towel and rubbing his damp hair.

On the living room couch, Amon, a cigar clamped in his mouth, was intently watching the news feed refresh, his plump, sausage-like lips stretched into a wide grin. Occasionally, an eerie, silent laugh escaped him.

For a seasoned national security director, this was quite unseemly behavior.

Hearing the movement, Amon finally closed his laptop with satisfaction and looked at Dean. "Public opinion is now under our control, steered by my people. Anyone who tried to interfere was blocked by my faction; some trades were made. It's not yet clear what benefits I'll personally reap from this, but those backing me want to know: what do you want?"

Dean touched the bruises he had intentionally allowed to form, stretched languidly, and asked in a laid-back tone, "Such as? Status? Power? Or something else entirely?"