Chương 158: John Dillinger, the Robin Hood

Clayton narrowed his eyes, coldly scrutinizing the young man who had suddenly appeared.

"Who are you? This is a federal asset enforcement site. Unauthorized personnel, get out of here immediately."

Arthur ignored him, picked up the federal blue document on the table, and glanced at it.

"The issuing judge was Howard Duncan. The enforcement agency was Midwest Agricultural Trust."

Arthur looked up and stared into Clayton's eyes.

"Under federal antitrust laws and interstate commerce provisions, no trust company may conduct large-scale interstate land acquisitions without an audit by the Congressional Commerce Committee. Your enforcement order is procedurally illegal."

Clayton paused for a moment, then burst into arrogant laughter.

"The Congressional Commerce Committee? You bookworm who came out of nowhere, thinking you can scare me with a few lines of legal quotations? In Indiana, my submachine gun is procedure!"

Clayton gestured to the men in trench coats behind him.

Two Thompson submachine guns were roughly raised, their muzzles pointed directly at Arthur's chest.

The surrounding farmers gripped their hunting rifles tightly in tension. The situation was on the verge of erupting.

Arthur did not take a single step back.

He slowly reached into the inside pocket of his coat. The safety on both submachine guns snapped open instantly with a crisp click.

But what Arthur pulled out wasn't a gun, but a dark blue ID.

He slammed his identification onto the federal enforcement order.

The golden Capitol eagle emblem gleamed in the morning sunlight.

"Special Investigator for the United States Congress, Arthur Kennedy."

Arthur revealed his identity.

Clayton's arrogance froze instantly, then cracked little by little.

He knew the weight of that congressional badge.

Local police can be bribed, and federal district judges can exert pressure, but special investigators from the U. S. Congress represent the highest level of oversight power within the Washington legislature.

The most crucial point is that this person in front of you is not only an investigator, but also the infamous "Arthur Kennedy" who is famous throughout the United States.

.

If he were killed here, it would no longer be a business dispute, but a political murder that would shake the entire United States.

Wall Street giants would not hesitate to chop Clayton up and feed him to the dogs to quell the anger in Washington and among the people.

The two Thompson submachine guns, which were being held aloft, were awkwardly frozen in mid-air.

"You—you have no right to unilaterally halt a federal court order!"

Clayton gritted his teeth, but his confidence had completely crumbled.

Arthur sneered, "I have it. Take your worthless papers and your bunch of idiots with submachine guns and get out of this farm. This land is now part of the evidence protection zone for the Congressional investigation. Anyone who dares to cross the fence will be charged with obstructing a Congressional investigation."

Clayton's face turned ashen. He stared intently at Arthur for a moment, then finally gritted his teeth in humiliation.

"Kennedy, you can save one farm, but not ten thousand. There are plenty of big shots on the Great Plains who want you dead."

Clayton turned around and waved awkwardly, "Let's go!"

Just as they turned around to get into the car.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Three deafening gunshots rang out in quick succession, blasting out the front tires of the two Packard cars.

"Now that you're in Terre Haute, don't be in such a hurry to leave, you Wall Street bastards."

A flippant, arrogant voice came from the top of the barn at the back of the farm.

Everyone looked up abruptly.

Three men wearing khaki trench coats and wide-brimmed felt hats had somehow taken up the high ground.

The young man at the head of the group held a smoking Browning automatic rifle in his hand, a toothpick dangling from his lips, and looked down at the scene with amusement.

Clayton's men immediately raised their guns, but the young man decisively pulled the trigger again.

A volley of bullets swept across the muddy ground beneath their feet, splashing up a cloud of mud.

"Put down your guns. Or the next volley of bullets will crack your skulls open," the young man said with a laugh.

Clayton's men were all intimidated by this desperate aura and obediently dropped their submachine guns.

The young man nimbly slid down the wooden ladder.

He walked to the wooden table and casually picked up the federal enforcement order and a whole box of auction files brought by the agent.

He took out a windproof lighter, lit it with a "snap," and threw it directly into the file box.

With a loud bang, flames erupted. The legal documents that could have seized land from countless people were instantly reduced to ashes.

Clayton screamed in terror, "You—you're insane! Those are the bank's legal records!"

"No, that's just waste paper." The young man looked at the flames happily.

"I love burning this kind of waste paper. Every time I finish burning it, hundreds of old farmers can get a good night's sleep."

The young man turned around and looked Arthur up and down carefully.

"You don't look as good in your photograph in the newspaper, Mr. Kennedy."

The young man reached out his hand.

"John. John Dillinger. That was a great job. The Congressional badge is much better than my rifle."

John Dillinger, the Robin Hood-like thief.

During the Great Depression of the early 1930s, a group of unusual bank robbers emerged in the American Midwest.

They not only robbed banks of cash, but also had a penchant for burning farm mortgage loan ledgers in bank safes. Because once the ledgers were burned, the banks lost their legal grounds for debt collection, and the farmers' debts were effectively wiped clean.

The most famous of these robbers was John Dillinger, born in Indianapolis and later known as "Public Enemy Number One."

In the hearts of the common people at that time, he was Robin Hood, who acted on behalf of God.

Arthur looked at the man who would later become America's most notorious thief, extended his hand, and shook hands with him.

"Do you know me?" Arthur asked.

"Every poor person in Indiana knows you. You used your pen to get the mayor, I used explosives to blow up a bank vault. Different paths, same destination." Dillinger smiled.

Arthur looked at the burning file box, took out his camera, and calmly pressed the shutter to capture Dillinger and the fire.

Dillinger didn't dodge; instead, he cooperated by pressing down the brim of his hat and striking a defiant pose.

Then he walked over to Arthur and lowered his voice, saying, "Mr. Kennedy, that guy named Clayton wasn't lying. Indianapolis is a dangerous hornet's nest right now. Wall Street conglomerates have bribed most of the state government officials and are preparing to oust that old man Russell Harrison."

"Your congressional sign might intimidate people in the countryside, but once you get to the state capitol, they have plenty of legal ways to kill you."

Arthur put away his camera and smiled.

"That's why I'm going to Polis."

Dillinger looked at Arthur for a moment, then whistled approvingly.

"You've got guts. If you're down on your luck, come find me. We need a cultured guy to write a robbery statement."

After saying that, Dillinger laughed and waved, then jumped into an old truck with his men and drove away.