Chapter 1119: Roland's Affairs

After finishing his day's work, Roland returned home and quickly washed up.

Federal people generally disliked washing up at night. Even when covered in sweat, they would often collapse on the sofa or bed and fall asleep with the stench of sweat lingering on them.

Only the next morning would they shed those clothes and go to the bathroom to wash.

Of course, this was mainly limited to the lower classes. The middle and upper classes, if conditions allowed, cleaned themselves daily.

Roland emerged from the bathroom, toweling his hair. His wife had already laid out his casual clothes on a counter outside the bathroom.

As he dressed, he smelled the aroma wafting through the air.

He did not live in a villa but a detached house of about two hundred square meters. The scent of food being cooked in the kitchen reached his nostrils, making him feel hungry.

"What's for dinner?" He walked into the dining room and took a seat.

On the table were beef and lamb, along with some fruit salad and bread—a simple yet hearty dinner.

"Simple" referred to the lack of complicated cooking techniques or elaborate plating. "Hearty" referred to the meat.

"Thank you," Roland said again, seeing the abundant meal.

His wife sat across from him, calmly handling her knife and fork, placing some beef and lamb onto Roland's plate. "I rescued you and your family once. This is my promise to you. You don't need to thank me."

Many years ago, during a case, Roland unexpectedly saved a family of three from a life-or-death situation. They were being driven to suicide by a gang over private debt.

Roland had a case involving that gang, learned of their plight, and saved them.

Roland was perhaps not overly extreme at that time, not yet so obsessed with justice. After saving his current wife and her family, his wife asked if there was anything she could do to repay him.

Roland had no immediate needs, but she insisted that anytime he needed her, she would repay his kindness.

Over the following years, Roland solved many cases. His persona began to shift. As his former colleagues described it, he changed from a humorous, cheerful person to someone cold, severe, and who hated evil as much as he hated an enemy.

His methods were sometimes crude, often going too far when dealing with criminals.

But because he targeted criminals, and the Federation at the time was not sympathetic to them, many criminals who were interrogated had to accept their fate.

During this period, something happened: Roland's parents were targeted for retaliation. Although no serious harm occurred, the incident served as a wake-up call for Roland.

It made him realize that the better he performed, the more criminals hated him, and the more vulnerable he and his family became.

After that, he sought out his current wife and asked her to play this role—a protective facade—until today.

Roland picked up his knife and fork and began eating. "It's close. Everything will be resolved soon."

"Once I finish the current work."

His eyes were filled with yearning. He only completely opened up when talking to his nominal wife because he knew anyone else might betray him, but not her.

They had known each other for twenty years. In those twenty years, she had never disappointed him. She had faced danger but endured it.

His feelings for this woman were complex. It wasn't love in the traditional sense, but a bond like shared ideals, like colleagues or comrades-in-arms.

His wife paused her meal. "Will everything finally be over?"

Roland suddenly reverted to his younger self, a look of satisfied, passionate excitement on his face.

"Yes, yes!"

"After eliminating the Perez family and the Lance family, the President will be able to fulfill a promise to the public within six months of taking office. This is enough to give his approval ratings a massive boost."

"At the same time, people will expect the Federal government to eliminate the remaining gangs. And I, as the initiator and orchestrator of this project, will get everything I want!"

He forked a large piece of lamb into his mouth, chewing without any concern for his image, even letting food scraps spray out. "Power. Greater autonomy. I can do more. No more constraints. No one calling me to drop a case just as I'm about to solve it."

He had experienced many such instances over the years. Criminal organizations, even those he had secured strong evidence against, were protected by powerful figures.

The hard-won evidence, evidence stained with his colleagues' blood, had to be destroyed by him.

He was tired of it. He wanted to gain more power, higher power, so no one could control what he did or wanted to do.

"Congratulations," his wife put down her utensils and smiled at him. "Your wish can finally be fulfilled."

Looking at his nominal wife, Roland couldn't help but show some genuine emotion. "Actually, I should be thanking you. Without your help all these years, my life, and everything else, would likely be a mess!"

He meant it sincerely.

The couple, polite and reserved like strangers, quickly turned their attention back to mundane life.

His wife cleared the dishes. When she returned to the living room, Roland had already retreated to the bedroom to rest.

He was exhausted, not physically—what physical exhaustion was there from sitting in an office?

It was mental exhaustion. He had to remotely orchestrate the escalation of war between two massive gangs until the final moment.

The constant unforeseen emergencies had drained him. He quickly fell asleep and began to snore.

Ignoring the snoring that penetrated the bedroom door, Roland's wife went into her own bathroom. She took off her clothes, adjusted the water temperature, and stepped into the shower.

The water immediately poured down, like a sudden downpour. She instinctively closed her eyes, stood there silently, running her hands through her hair.

The water was warm, but she didn't feel it.

After the initial surge of emotion subsided, she stepped out of the shower and walked naked into her bedroom, looking at herself in the full-length mirror.

She had two knife wounds on her shoulder. A few years ago, a madman, seeking revenge on Roland, hid outside their home.

After Roland left, she was about to go out for groceries when the madman rushed out and slashed at her.

Fortunately, their neighborhood had many police officers and their families. Her screams drew attention, and the man was subdued after only cutting her twice.

She later learned Roland had shot the man's son dead at the scene of a robbery. The man had lost his only family; after his son's death, he had no one left.

He attacked her to make Roland feel the pain of losing a loved one.

The wounds on her shoulder still ached slightly when the weather turned grim.

Her gaze then fell on her right chest. There was a bullet wound there.

Roland had sent a gang leader to prison, and the man later died under mysterious circumstances. Some claimed it was an internal gang conflict.

But others believed Roland arranged it.

The gang leader's relative tried to assassinate her in revenge.

She was lucky. The gunman's aim was poor, and the bullet only grazed her after penetrating two layers of glass, lodging near her ribcage.

Although the wound wasn't life-threatening, her ribs were fractured, forcing her to rest for half a year.

Any action that increased chest pressure—a deep breath, a sneeze—caused intense pain.

She had several such scars. Her life over the years hadn't been easy or safe.

Initially, she was terrified, but as she experienced more, she grew accustomed to it: accustomed to being hurt, to facing revenge, to enduring it all.

While she only received Roland's "I'm sorry" and a few explanations after each incident, he never changed. He continued to pursue his goals.

If those were the things she could endure, the one thing she couldn't was that Roland had never touched her.

Strictly speaking, she was still a "maiden." She had tried to initiate intimacy with Roland, but he always refused.

Yet, she knew Roland had a real wife and two children, and she was merely a public facade to protect his real family.

She had always believed that one day she could move Roland, and something would happen between them.

Even if she never had his child, just being a permanent companion might have been enough.

Twenty years of companionship and the bond of his rescue had deepened her feelings for Roland.

But Roland always avoided her, avoided her intense desire.

Looking at her face in the mirror, no longer young, a surge of resentment grew within her.

But the emotion came and went quickly. She changed into a thin nightgown and lay in bed, quickly drifting into sleep.

Tomorrow was a new day.

The next morning, Roland went to the garage. He needed to take some files to the office. When he returned, his brow remained furrowed.

The woman eating breakfast asked, "What's wrong?"

"Did you not like breakfast?"

Roland snapped back to attention. "No, it's not the breakfast."

"I remember the garage door was fully closed last night, but when I just checked, it was slightly open."

The garage's rolling door had a malfunction. It wouldn't fully close, leaving a gap about three to four fingers wide at the bottom.

The gap wasn't wide enough for a person to crawl through, but he worried about wild animals getting in.

The Federal ecosystem was generally good, and their community was pleasant, but there were many rats, stray cats, and other wildlife.

These small animals wouldn't pose a huge danger, but they would make a mess of the garage.

These curious little creatures would run in, leaving him with a long cleanup.

He always stood on the door to ensure it went down completely.

He had meant to fix it, but he never had the time.

Of course, it was likely that he simply didn't view it as a priority compared to his work. He wouldn't address it until his major projects were finished.

His wife continued eating. "Maybe the wind was strong and blew it up a bit."

"The wind is strong lately. I heard there's a hurricane coming."

Roland looked at her and thought for a moment. "I'll have the community send someone to repair it."

He felt uneasy, but he couldn't pinpoint the reason, so he left it at that.

His wife was indifferent. Repaired or not, she rarely went to the garage; that was the men's domain.

After breakfast, he returned to his office. It was mid-August, the hottest time of the year, but the mornings and evenings already carried a hint of autumn's coolness.

After greeting several colleagues, he returned to his office. Just as he was about to start reviewing some work materials, the phone rang.

He picked it up without thinking. "This is Roland."

A few seconds later, a voice came through. "I've run into trouble. I need your help."

Roland immediately dropped his work. He glanced at the slightly ajar door, said "Hold on," and walked over to close and lock it.

He then returned to his desk. "What happened?"

"I told you not to call me unless necessary. The situation isn't clear yet."

The woman on the other end sounded somewhat aggrieved. "I didn't want to call you, but they rejected Little Jamie's admission application."

"I was hoping you could find a way to make them accept him."

Little Jamie was his son, his eldest. He was supposed to start high school this year.

He had contacted his real wife, and she had arranged a good local private high school. The school's administrator had agreed to admit him.

But for some unknown reason, just before the school year started, the school changed its mind and said they couldn't admit Little Jamie for now.

Private schools, especially good ones, required more than just tuition money; they required connections.

The most common requirement was "alumni connection." For example, the student's parents might be graduates of the school, or they might have recommendations from influential figures.

Otherwise, to get into a good private school, one had to either ace the entrance exams or pay a massive donation.

Roland had money. As the FBI Director for two or three years, he wasn't poor.

But he couldn't spend the money too freely, especially not on sponsoring schools. That would essentially expose his connection to the school.

Hearing his wife's account, he was annoyed. "I'll make a call and ask. I'll call you back when I have news."

He hung up. He was very concerned about his son's education because he was a direct beneficiary of the system.

If he hadn't attended a good school, and hadn't met the right people during his education, he wouldn't be the FBI Director.

His skill and ability alone?

He was confident that there were hundreds, if not thousands, of people more skilled than him in his professional field.

But why were they still working as patrol officers in some remote police branch, while he was in such a high position?

Because he graduated from a top university, and they only finished high school.

So, he wanted his son to have a smooth path. A prestigious private high school and an elite alliance university were prerequisites.

After his son finished that schooling, Roland planned to recruit him directly, giving him opportunities to distinguish himself and build the FBI into an organization that could be passed down.

There were still many issues, but he believed he could achieve this.

His effort to curry favor with Congress was intended to prevent the FBI Director's tenure from being tied to the President's term.

A President would be replaced every eight years at most, and if the FBI Director was the President's man, he would be constantly replaced.

But if he was aligned with Congress and had political clout with the President, he could stay indefinitely.

He also planned to gather more sensitive information on people to ensure his authority remained unchallengeable.

Only then could power be transferred to his son through him.

He sat there for a while, then called a number. "The child of my friend. The one I told you about last time, Little Jamie."

"His admission was rejected. Could you find out what happened?"

The person on the other end was his cousin. No one knew those two children were related to him besides him and his wife.

He claimed the mother and son were the family of a deceased close friend whom he had promised to look after.

His cousin immediately agreed, promising to call him back with news.

After hanging up, he felt a lingering sense of unease.

(End of this chapter)

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