Chapter 141 — Old Buffon's Origins
Years of Heartflutter · Page 119 of 214
What bothered young Dorsk was that his father's deposits in the Swiss bank had actually disappeared. Yes—over thirty billion euros! For various reasons, young Dorsk had not followed in his father's footsteps but instead headed a casino. Still, he was clearly no good either—just not as conspicuous as a drug trafficker.
This too had been Dorsk's idea, because if something really did go wrong, it would be he himself who went down; his son must not be caught up in it. Gambling, after all, was legal in their city.
So when he got the news that his father had been killed, young Dorsk's first reaction was not to investigate how his father had died, but to hurry to the safe in his father's study and find his father's Swiss bank account details.
The safe in his father's study used fingerprint verification; if it was forced open, a self-destruct device would be triggered. When it was set up, the safe recognized only the fingerprints of father and son.
And young Dorsk was an only child, so he had no worry that anyone would contest the inheritance. He had never bothered about the family's wealth before; this was the first time he had activated the safe.
Following the steps his father had told him, young Dorsk opened the safe. Inside were some precious jewels, a Swiss bank account certificate, and a few scattered fund accounts.
Young Dorsk paid no attention to those scattered fund accounts; they held only loose cash, none of it in large amounts, adding up to just over a hundred million euros altogether. The bulk of it was still in the Swiss bank.
The Swiss bank account was a numbered account. Dorsk had set it up as numbered because he too feared that one day something might happen to him and Interpol would dig up his black money.
A numbered account did away with that trouble: as long as one had the account number and password, anyone could operate it, but without the account number and password, no one could touch a single cent inside.
Young Dorsk did not know how much was in his father's numbered account, but he reckoned it could not be little. He dialed the Swiss bank's number, and following the voice prompts, entered the account number and password. The result astonished him: the account actually held only one hundred and thirty-eight euros.
Young Dorsk was greatly alarmed and hurriedly called the Swiss bank's customer service hotline to ask whether something had gone wrong with the system. After the service staff verified young Dorsk's account number and password, they informed him that a sum of money had been transferred out of the account a few days earlier—and the date and time of the transfer were precisely around the moment his father, Dorsk, had been killed.
Little Dorsk was instantly dumbfounded. He hurriedly inquired after the money's whereabouts, but unfortunately all he could trace was another anonymous account, with no way of learning who had opened it.
Of course, Little Dorsk was no fool. Connecting the timeline at once, he arrived at a horrifying conclusion: the man who had killed his father had, in the very act of murder, also drained the money from his father's account. Little Dorsk went berserk. Over thirty billion euros! He had already found the exact sum in the transfer records.
So Little Dorsk had no choice but to begin investigating the circumstances of his father's murder. But to his dismay, he found his inquiries blocked at every turn.
The local police, citing confidentiality pending the resolution of the case, refused to disclose a single detail. The crew of the Alice were even worse—they paid him no mind at all. Whenever he mentioned the name Dorsk, the staff looked at him with open contempt. Evidently his father's reputation had been poor indeed.
Still, from a few of his father's old unsavory cronies, Little Dorsk managed to glean something.