Perfect Undercover

During the dinner rush, the lobby of Aurelia Heights suddenly exploded into chaos.

A woman from one of the penthouse duplexes stormed downstairs and blocked my delivery scooter.

“Everyone, come look at how disgusting this delivery guy is!”

With that, she threw a half-spilled bowl of lobster bisque at my feet.

In her other hand, she held up what she claimed was surveillance footage.

The residents walking their dogs and the security guards nearby immediately gathered around.

“No wonder my takeout has been smelling weird lately. So these delivery drivers have been spitting in our food to get back at us?”

“That’s disgusting. Guys like him can’t stand seeing other people doing better than they are. No wonder he’s stuck delivering food for a living.”

“Management really needs to be stricter. People who dress like that could be carrying who knows what. How can you let them into a luxury building like ours?”

The penthouse lady grew even more smug. She pointed right at my nose and snapped, “Young man, there’s nothing wrong with being poor. But at least have some dignity.”

“How much do you even make per delivery? Five dollars? Is that worth throwing away your conscience over? Is this how your parents taught you to behave?”

To curry favor with the residents, the head of security even came at me with a baton, shouting that he was going to drag me to the police station himself.

But the thing was, I had never cared about that five-dollar delivery fee in the first place.

I was the captain of the city's Major Crimes Unit.

The delivery uniform was just a disguise.

I was only here to get close to the high-priority fugitive hiding inside this building.

The penthouse lady’s husband.

Watching the residents around me get worked up and shout for someone to call the police, I clenched my fists hard.

The penthouse lady, Melissa Grant, only looked more pleased when I stayed silent.

She clicked toward me in her heels, pointed at my face, and sneered, “See that? Nothing to say now? That’s what guilty people look like.”

Every instinct in me wanted to take her down on the spot.

But I forced myself to stay still.

I reminded myself that the entire team was counting on me. I could not let my temper ruin the operation.

If I made a move now, the high-priority fugitive hiding in Unit 2801, Victor Grant, Melissa’s husband, would definitely slip away.

We had spent three full months watching this building for this one chance.

“Mrs. Grant, why waste your breath on trash like him?”

Derek Cole, the head of security, was desperate to please her. He shoved me hard.

The force nearly sent me crashing into the pillar beside me.

Truthfully, I could have dodged it.

I could have grabbed his arm and thrown him over my shoulder in the same motion.

I had won the department’s combat tournament three years in a row.

Forget one security guard. I could drop three trained men at close range in under five seconds.

But I couldn’t.

Right now, I was supposed to be a delivery guy who didn’t dare fight back because he needed the five-dollar delivery fee.

Seeing how “weak” I looked, Derek became even more aggressive.

“This is what happens when poor people get bitter! Mrs. Grant’s truffle lobster bisque costs over a hundred dollars. You couldn’t pay her back even if you delivered food for a month!”

“Pay me back?” Melissa folded her arms and laughed coldly. “Can he afford it?”

“People like him aren’t worth as much as my soup.”

Then she looked down at me, smug and cruel.

“I’m not unreasonable. Kneel down, lick it clean, and admit you spit in my food because you hate rich people. Do that, and I’ll let this go.”

“That’s right! Kneel! Lick it clean!”

Several residents, clearly eager to flatter Melissa, joined in.

“Young man, if you did something wrong, own up to it.”

“Mrs. Grant is being generous by not making you pay. You should be thanking her.”

“Exactly. Delivery drivers these days have no manners. Someone needs to teach him a lesson.”

Someone even shoved a phone into my face and started livestreaming.

“Guys, look at this. This is one of those bitter delivery drivers who hates rich people. Got caught red-handed and still wants to play dead.”

I lowered my head and checked the time.

6:28 p.m.

According to our intel, Victor Grant stepped out onto his balcony every night at exactly six-thirty to smoke.

That was our only chance to visually confirm the arrest target.

To make sure the operation went smoothly, I had to endure this.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Grant.”

I gritted my teeth and made my voice sound shaky.

“I really didn’t spit in your food. The road was uneven, so the soup spilled on the way here. But I’m willing to pay for it. Please don’t call the police. I can’t lose this job.”

When Melissa heard me beg, she didn’t back off.

Instead, she laughed as if I had just told the funniest joke in the world.

“Pay for it? With what? Your worthless life?”

She suddenly stepped forward and kicked over my delivery bag.

The other orders inside spilled all over the ground.

“I’m telling you, this isn’t over. I’m not just getting you fired. I’m going to make sure you can’t survive in this city.”

Just then, from the corner of my eye, I saw the curtains on the twenty-eighth floor move.

A figure appeared.

But in the next second, Derek pulled the baton from his belt and stalked toward me with a vicious look on his face.

“Mrs. Grant, why bother talking to a punk like this? Since he won’t kneel, I’ll help him.”

As he spoke, he raised the baton and swung it hard toward my knees.