Lin Chen slowly walked to his seat, looking at Tatsuo Nakamura's face and hands covered in blood, flipping through the documents in his hands: "Tatsuo Nakamura, isn't it? You should be in charge of the casino operations for the syndicate. Now, seventy percent of the casinos in Shinjuku are under your control. But how much of the share do you hand over to the syndicate every year? It's been decreasing annually. Do you think President Yamamoto is a fool? The reason he hasn't made an issue of it is mainly because you're an elder, and therefore, he has been lenient with you. Yet, what have you done? You've made fake accounts to deceive the boss."
Tatsuo Nakamura clutched his blood-dripping hand, his face pale, sweat drops as big as beans splattering down. Enduring the pain, he trembled and said, "These accounts are real. The gambling industry isn't doing well now, and the police investigation is strict, the business really isn't good."
