The Great Demon Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 83: End it as quickly as possible…

Crawford Capital Management Company.

In the Lower City, this might not be considered a well-known debt institution.

It occupies the first three floors of an office building opposite the Hamilton Hotel, with a laundromat to the left and the entrance to an apartment building to the right.

Unassuming and unassuming, with hardly any dignified carriages ever parked outside, compared to those large-scale lending companies that could easily dictate terms to the Bank of London, this one was truly insignificant.

However, everyone with common sense knows that the number of floors in an office building never represents the strength of a company, and reputation never indicates the power of any particular force.

Because what most people see only represents what they are worthy of seeing.

Take this small, three-story company, for example… in fact, it also owns 8 economic entities registered under different agents, 15 hotels, over 20 carriage rental stations, more than 40 mobile gambling dens operating in various areas, and over 500 streetwalkers.

The profits from these businesses are transferred, every six months, through various channels into dozens of shell accounts. No one knows that these accounts all belong to Crawford Capital Management Company. Therefore, even if one of these businesses runs into trouble, it will never affect the company itself. Even if it's seized by the government, they can simply send out their legal representatives, keep quiet for a few months, change the company name, and continue operating.

This is the correct way to use the law…

At this moment, Sherlock was sitting in the reception room on the first floor of this capital management company. A beautiful waitress served him a cup of tea and smiled at him with impeccable manners.

This subtle gesture of goodwill greatly enhances a client's favor.

"So, Mr. Sherlock, what needs do you have from our company?" The man sitting opposite him was dressed in a sharp suit, his hair meticulously styled. Both his posture and his speech revealed his extensive experience in customer service.

"May I ask your position in the company...?"

"Oh, sorry I didn't introduce myself. I'm a financial approval officer, my name is..." The man spoke very politely, but before he could finish,

"You're not good enough. Please call someone of a higher rank, the highest-ranking person here, or the boss behind this company," Sherlock said casually.

"Wh...what...?" The man was taken aback, looking at him with confusion.

Sherlock lit a cigarette: "Believe me, this deal is bigger than you think, so find someone high enough. This will save both of us a lot of trouble." He spoke sincerely. The man in front of him sized him up. Having done this many times, he knew that you couldn't judge someone's wealth solely by their clothing style, so he hesitated for a moment, seemingly going through a series of internal struggles, before finally nodding.

"Please wait a moment." With that, he left…

Five minutes later, a middle-aged man dressed in loose clothing entered the reception room, accompanied by the financial approver from before, and three men who appeared to be bodyguards.

The man at the head of the group saw Sherlock, smiled, and sat down opposite him, crossing his legs.

"Hello, sir." His tone was polite, but somewhat nonchalant; he hadn't even remembered Sherlock's name. "It's late now, let's get straight to the point. I'm in charge of this company. For matters under 100,000 pounds, we can finalize all the paperwork within half an hour. Please be as quick as possible; I have an appointment later." 100,000 pounds was indeed a considerable sum in the Lower City, so his words carried an air of self-assured confidence.

Sherlock didn't need to observe or deduce to confirm that the other person was indeed someone who could speak. He then turned to look at the bodyguards standing by the door and the slightly bulging outline of a pistol inside his coat, nodding with satisfaction:

"Alright, I'll try to speed things up. So, to finish this quickly, can you tell me where those who haven't paid their debts on time are being held?"

"...?" The middle-aged man opposite him was clearly taken aback for a moment before looking at Sherlock with a puzzled expression.

Of course, this puzzlement wasn't because he didn't understand what the other man said; on the contrary, he instantly understood what the other man wanted.

He just didn't understand why this guy, all alone, dared to openly ask him these questions.

Moreover, he didn't seem like a brainless desperado; after all, he didn't seem to be carrying a g*n, but he also didn't seem to be there to ransom people, because he didn't even have a suitcase containing money.

“Actually, you don’t need to look at me like that. I can find it myself. I just want you to tell me personally and take me there. These things need a witness, otherwise, nobody will even understand what mistakes they made or why they died. That… um… isn’t very satisfying.”

“Heh—” The middle-aged man chuckled and shook his head. He clearly didn’t care about the other man’s words, only expressing helplessness and amusement. He then got up to leave.

This kind of i***t can just be dealt with by his subordinates.

However, the next second!

A crisp ‘c***k’ resounded!

He felt everything in front of him suddenly fly upwards. Doors, tables, chairs, and paintings on the walls all rose half a meter in an instant, then slanted to the side!

The middle-aged man was bewildered, instinctively looking down at his lower body… and then he saw a calf twisted at a bizarre angle!! "Ah—"

"Ahhhhhh—" A sharp pain shot straight to his head, and the middle-aged man collapsed miserably to the ground. One leg was bent forward at a 90-degree angle from the knee, a broken bone protruding from his trousers, white and b****y.

Of course, that wasn't the end of it. The man in the long trench coat stood right in front of him, his face showing a hint of impatience. Then… he kicked the broken bone, grinding it down, while simultaneously grabbing his ankle and pulling it out!

Yes, pulling!

Like pulling a handful of withered but resilient weeds from the ground! The crushed soil and roots were all torn apart and snapped! What should have been a long, drawn-out scene was compressed into a single instant by the immense force, culminating in a complex and loud "Bang!" Something was ripped apart... Just the sound was so horrifying.