The three elderly robbers refused all interviews and any form of assistance, keeping their doors tightly shut. This left the groups of students and reporters—hoping for social practice material and sensational headlines—deeply disappointed. With no breakthrough, they could only shift their attention to other former workers, searching for new angles.
Bella, however, took a different approach. She walked straight up and knocked boldly on the door.
"We've said it countless times—we don't accept interviews!" A middle-aged woman yanked the door open, her expression irritated and unfriendly.
I'm the most beautiful. I'm your friend. Look into my sincere eyes…
A radiant glow spread across Bella's face—an external manifestation of her psionic energy slowly activating. She flooded the woman and the ten-year-old girl beside her with overwhelming mental suggestions:
I'm your friend. I'm your friend. I'm your friend…
Suspicion faded. Hostility softened into confusion. The middle-aged woman suddenly felt a stab of guilt. Had her tone been too harsh just now? Such a lovely young girl had come all this way—shouldn't she invite her inside, offer her a seat, maybe a glass of water?
The little girl tugged at her mother's sleeve, instinctively feeling that Bella and Natasha were kind, friendly—like heroes from a storybook.
"We'd like to understand more about the suspended pensions and the bank's investment products."
Spoken by a different person, the exact same sentence would've gotten the door slammed in their faces.
To the middle-aged woman, Bella's words felt warm and persuasive. She didn't hesitate. "Come in, come in!"
The moment they stepped inside, Natasha was stunned. She'd been here before and had definitely not received this kind of treatment. She shot Bella a suspicious look. Does she really have this much pull with strangers?
Their first target was Joe, an eighty-two-year-old former worker who had once held a minor supervisory role at the factory—someone with a bit of organizational ability and social standing.
By now, everyone knew the three old men were the bank robbers. And the three old men themselves knew that everyone knew. But since there was no evidence, everyone pretended not to know, while the three pretended not to know that everyone else knew.
Joe was surprised to see them. He had repeatedly told his daughter not to receive visitors or answer questions. They already had the money—now all they needed was to lie low. Once the heat died down, they'd have enough to live comfortably. Why stir up trouble now?
Still, since the guests had been brought in by his daughter and granddaughter, he struggled to his feet and greeted them politely.
Bella's high charisma had very little effect on him. At eighty-two, his eyesight was so poor that everyone looked like blurry mosaics. She could look like a goddess and it wouldn't help—he simply couldn't see her clearly.
Fortunately, Natasha was skilled at conversation. Before he could open his mouth to send them away, she steered the discussion straight to business.
Bella added pointedly, "You really shouldn't underestimate the FBI's tracking capabilities. Those people are wolves—once they lock onto you, you won't shake them for the rest of your life."
She wanted to shatter the old man's illusions. Stolen money is still stolen money. You think you can use it openly? Keep dreaming.
Joe maintained a calm front. "Maybe… they have their own methods."
"Methods?" Bella chuckled. "What, laundering it through the mob? Even an ordinary student like me knows that trick. Do you think the FBI doesn't? Do you think they aren't monitoring every major gang boss in the city? Or do you think the three robbers can smuggle the money to Mexico?"
Joe's expression changed instantly. If, after all their effort, the money ended up confiscated, then everything they'd risked would be for nothing. At their age, they had trained for an entire month just for those two minutes of robbery—was that easy?
Natasha caught his panic and smoothly played along. "Yeah, that would be awful. Imagine going through all that, only to end up with nothing. Bella, do you have a solution?"
Bella said sincerely, "If those three robbers are smart, they should donate all the money. Then use legal, legitimate means to defend their rights. This wouldn't be for themselves—not just for three old buddies—but for everyone. For all the retired workers, to fight for justice and compensation."
Joe thought for a moment, then asked cautiously, "So the reason you two came today is…?"
Both girls took out small notebooks, looking like serious reporters ready to record testimony.
"Mr. Joe, could you tell us the official reasons Wexler Steel gave for freezing your pensions?"
They deliberately avoided mentioning the bank robbery, focusing only on the pension freeze and the collapse of the investment products.
Joe was hooked immediately. He needed to vent. Keeping all this anger bottled up might actually kill him.
His hands began to tremble as he spoke. "That Stark Industries—whatever they call themselves—wants to move Wexler Steel to Vietnam! Says labor is cheaper there! Damn capitalists! During the war, we worked day and night producing steel—no rest, no sleep—just so they could build tanks, planes, artillery! Why didn't they talk about moving to Vietnam back then?"
His voice shook violently. "The younger workers are devastated. Vietnam? My God! They've never even left Arizona! What's waiting for them is unemployment—maybe not even severance pay!"
Bella and Natasha hurried to comfort him, assuring him that everything could still be negotiated with the acquiring company. Only then did his emotions gradually calm.
"They said they needed the full pension expenditure breakdown… said they needed to… to…" Joe frowned, struggling to recall the terminology.
Natasha prompted gently, "Asset restructuring? Property liquidation?"
He shook his head. He couldn't remember the exact management jargon.
Bella cut straight to the key issue. "Then… how much is your annual pension?"
That number, he knew perfectly. "Forty-five thousand dollars."
He gestured around his dilapidated home. "Look at this place. My daughter's divorced—her husband was trash—and she's raising my granddaughter alone. No income. The kid's still in school. Our whole family depends on my pension. Those bastards! Those parasites! Taking away my pension is killing me! I—"
The more he spoke, the more agitated he became, teetering on the edge of blurting out the truth about the robbery.
Bella coughed loudly, cutting him off before he could say too much.