Chapter 1195: Kidnapping

After sitting down, the woman glanced at the two FBI agents, and a dreamy, almost lovestruck expression appeared on her face—her gaze practically frozen in place. Jack’s looks spoke for themselves, and his colleague Clay wasn’t far behind—an undeniably handsome man.

Back in his Navy SEAL days, Clay had maintained a rugged look, often going weeks without grooming his thick beard, which masked his good looks. But after joining the FBI, not only did the Bureau require field agents to maintain a professional appearance, his wife Stella also took great pride in styling her husband.

After all, when Clay was still in the military, the two only got to spend two or three months together each year. Now that he worked for the FBI, though his job still required frequent travel, their life was no longer one of endless separation. Supporting her husband and raising their children had become Stella’s new routine. With the couple’s financial situation steadily improving, Clay’s wardrobe, though not exactly trendy, was far more polished than that of an old bachelor like Jubal.

Jack ignored the woman's infatuated grin and put on a stern expression as he addressed Larry Griffin. “We’re aware that you won the lawsuit. But that also means a lot of people are extremely unhappy. Don’t you think?”

“Then they should take it up with the jury or the Birmingham judge,” Larry replied with a dismissive wave of his hand, his tone flippant.

Jack couldn’t tell whether that attitude was just his personality or the result of being a rich man for too long, gradually turning arrogant and tone-deaf.

While part of him felt someone like Griffin might just deserve whatever was coming to him, Jack remained professional—especially knowing there could be innocent lives at risk. “The Hammond brothers have already murdered three people. We don’t believe they’ll stop there.

The FBI has evidence that they’re in possession of bomb-making materials, and we’re concerned their next target might be you—or your current business operations.”

“Hah!” Griffin let out a genuine laugh, showing no sign of alarm.

“This is rural Alabama, Agent Tavore. You Northerners might not get it, but do you really think I’ve never been threatened before?”

“Have you?” Clay asked with a polite cough, clearly uncomfortable under the woman’s smitten stare.

“Of course!” Griffin snapped, growing impatient. “Listen, gentlemen, those people are just a bunch of ungrateful yokels. For over fifty years, the power plant—built by my father and myself—was that town’s only industry.

But because of that lawsuit, I had to shut the plant down, which left them jobless. And somehow, I became the villain.”

Jack noticed the woman next to Griffin, staring at her boyfriend with adoring eyes, and silently tagged her as another “big chest, small brain” case.

Meanwhile, Griffin continued his self-serving tirade. “The experts I hired have already proven it—whatever made those people sick, it wasn’t the coal plant. And definitely not the fly ash.”

Experts—right. As if you couldn’t just pay someone to “scientifically prove” that planting trees and reversing desertification harms the planet. Jack, still listening to Griffin’s nonsense, jotted a mental note: contact the EPA and get a real environmental team out here to investigate.

The woman chimed in confidently, “There’s a direct link between cancer and lifestyle. This isn’t Larry’s fault. The real solution is healthy living—green products.”

“Have you even been to a diner in Blue Springs? In a place like that, mac and cheese counts as a vegetable. If they could, they’d probably deep-fry their toothpaste,” she scoffed.

Griffin and his girlfriend’s little back-and-forth was so ridiculous it almost made Jack laugh aloud. But they mistook his smirk for agreement, which only encouraged them.

Sure, Jack had criticized American diets more than once. But context mattered.

High-salt, high-calorie, especially deep-fried foods—yes, those were major health hazards for urban dwellers. But Blue Springs was rural Alabama.

American small farmers weren’t like the landowners in Ceres, who barely needed to lift a finger. These folks worked just as hard as any regular farmer. And for laborers like them, a diet lacking in salt and calories could be dangerous—even fatal.

Jack had lived in America long enough to spot all kinds of self-righteous liberal idiots. Like that one “eco-girl” who slammed ordinary people for driving trucks while turning a blind eye to the elite’s lavish waste.

He could tell that Griffin was a smug, hypocritical opportunist—and that his clueless, left-ideology-obsessed girlfriend was little more than a pawn.

Growing impatient, Jack began steering the conversation. “So this is your new endeavor after selling the mine and the power plant? Promoting green living? I heard you launched an environmental company.”

“Yes. Blue Springs Blossom. That’s actually my company,” the woman said proudly, gripping Griffin’s hand with starry eyes.

“After Larry stepped down from the plant, he helped me start this company. We want to promote healthier lifestyles and help the town escape its cancer problem.”

Jack forced down his disgust, asked for their company address, and forwarded it to Jubal to have the state police monitor the place. Then he handed over his card and prepared to leave with Clay.

But the “twist” came faster than expected.

Just as Clay was about to start the car, Larry Griffin burst out the front door, panicked and stumbling, shouting at the top of his lungs.

“Agent Tavore! Agent Tavore! My daughter Julia!”

The old man ran to the side of their Suburban and slammed his phone against the window.

“They—they’ve kidnapped my daughter! I just got this message!”

Jack lowered the window and took the phone. On the screen was a photo of a girl in her late teens, wearing a pink T-shirt and yoga pants. Her hands were tied, duct tape over her mouth, and she was stuffed in the trunk of a car.

“What do I do?” Griffin’s voice cracked with panic. The smug arrogance was gone—replaced by genuine fear.

“What are their demands?” Jack asked, flipping through the phone. But there was only the one photo—no message, no demands.

“There aren’t any. The message just arrived. But whatever they want, I’ll give it—anything!” Griffin was nearly incoherent with desperation.

“Stay calm, Mr. Griffin.” Jack pulled out his own phone and called Jubal. “Get your team here fast,” he said.