Chapter 64 — Frank's Move and Sisyphus
Carter was in a terrible mood.
He knew perfectly well that a sorority girl like Theresa was never someone a bookish guy like him could realistically aim for.
Still, watching her laugh and chat so easily with William made it impossible to suppress the turmoil in his chest.
"You're Carter?"
William didn't care how Carter felt about him—though the guarded, slightly hostile look in Carter's eyes was hard to miss.
"Yeah. That's me. You looking for me?"
Carter was confused.
As far as he knew, he and William had never crossed paths—aside from occasionally hearing people talk about him.
His understanding of William stopped at one point only:
popular guy on campus.
"Yeah. I wanted to ask you something. Do you know Sisyphus?"
Before Carter could even respond, Ryan—standing beside them—stared at William as if he'd just spoken a forbidden word.
"Bro… how do you know about Sisyphus?"
Ryan's reaction was unmistakably shocked.
Sisyphus was the focus of his research group's project.
Originally designed to solve an energy problem—
Instead, it had done the opposite.
Multiple campus-wide blackouts had already occurred because of it, and the university was on the verge of shutting the entire project down.
"You know Sisyphus?"
William immediately latched onto Ryan's reaction.
This guy knew something—almost certainly.
"Of course I do. It's the project my research group is working on. But you—how do you know about it?"
---
The Night Before
Time rewound to the previous night.
While William and Amanda were busy inside the car,
Frank and T-Bag had already arrived outside the morgue.
Earlier that day, with T-Bag's help, Frank had successfully swapped Patrick's will with his own.
Only one problem remained now—
The body.
"Well, I'll stand guard out here for you guys," Frank said shamelessly, glancing at T-Bag.
"With my busted leg, I'd just slow you down if I went inside, right?"
T-Bag shot him a look filled with thinly veiled disgust.
He genuinely wanted to stab Frank to death.
Unfortunately, Frank still owed his boss six thousand dollars.
Until that money was recovered, Frank was untouchable.
"You know something, Frank?" T-Bag said coldly.
"You're a lucky man."
He wasn't lying.
If Frank hadn't owed money—and dared to speak to him like that—
he'd already be a corpse.
Without another word, T-Bag led his two accomplices into the morgue.
Not long after, Frank heard a piercing scream echo from inside.
A short while later—
T-Bag and his partner emerged, pushing a gurney with a body on it.
---
Back to the Present
Just moments ago, Frank had officially submitted "Ginger's" body.
The death certificate had been issued.
Everything was now in place.
With that, both problems—the pension fraud and the inheritance of the house—were finally resolved.
Now, however, Frank's real concern was far more practical:
How to keep the six thousand dollars from T-Bag—and pocket every cent from selling the house himself.
As a world-class selfish bastard, Frank had never possessed even the faintest hint of a sharing spirit.
"Frank, this is the last piece of the puzzle. You know that.
And you know exactly what happens if you try to screw me over, right?"
Just as Frank was about to walk into the probate office to complete the death certificate and will verification, T-Bag stopped him cold.
"I know," Frank nodded, putting on a suitably frightened expression before heading inside.
He glanced around.
The clerk who had handled his paperwork yesterday wasn't there.
Frank quietly exhaled in relief.
After all, this determined whether he could successfully inherit the property.
The day before, after secretly swapping the two wills, Frank had also slipped something into that clerk's coffee.
Nothing fancy—just a bit of rat poison he'd had T-Bag buy from a store.
The dose wasn't lethal.
At worst, the guy was probably lying in a hospital bed right now.
Frank had balls when it came to scams and petty crimes, but murder?
That was beyond him.
Deep down, he was still a coward.
Before long, the verification process was complete.
Next came the appraisal, then finding a buyer.
One trip to the property exchange office later, and he'd walk away with at least fifty thousand dollars.
That was a fire-sale price.
If he'd had patience, seventy or even a hundred grand wasn't impossible—
assuming he found a buyer like William.
Of course, that was the proper process.
And Frank Gallagher hated proper processes.
---
"Excuse me, miss. Could I borrow your phone? I've got an urgent call to make."
Frank instantly transformed into a polite, well-mannered gentleman.
As expected, his silver tongue worked its magic.
A middle-aged woman handed over her phone without much hesitation.
The moment Frank got it, he dialed the Gallagher household's shared phone.
---
At the laundromat, Fiona was working when her phone rang.
"Hello?" she answered, cradling the phone between her shoulder and ear while continuing to work.
"Fiona?"
"Frank?" Her voice hardened instantly.
"You're not dead yet?"
There was no joy—only pure, unfiltered hostility.
She didn't even give him a chance to speak before hanging up.
---
Back at the probate office, Frank forced an awkward smile at the woman who'd lent him the phone.
"You know how kids are…"
The woman—clearly a mother herself—immediately softened, sympathy flickering across her face.
Frank didn't give up.
He dialed again.
"Fiona! Don't hang up! This is important—I really need to talk to you!"
---
At the Same Time — Chicago Institute of Technology
William stood in front of a machine that looked ripped straight out of a science fiction film.
"This is Sisyphus?" he asked Ryan.
Standing behind him were Carter and Ryan—along with two others.
Samar, an Indian-American programming prodigy, handled Sisyphus's software.
Dre, a Jewish woman, served as the project's scientific consultant, responsible for its theoretical framework.
"That's right," Ryan said proudly.
"Our masterpiece."
"So… what does it actually do?" Carter asked bluntly.
"Uh…" Ryan stalled, then deflated.
"At the moment? Nothing."
Carter stared at him.
"What do you mean, at the moment?"
Dre stepped in to explain:
"Sisyphus was designed to generate power—high-efficiency power, theoretically far beyond current systems.
But for some reason, every time it runs, it only consumes electricity.
It never outputs any."
Carter blinked.
"So basically, it's a really cool-looking machine that's completely useless?"
"Hey! That's harsh!" Ryan protested, wounded.
"What? I'm just being honest."
As Carter shrugged helplessly, William's phone suddenly began to ring in his pocket.
---