Fortunately, Joe Mason had been a field agent after all. Although at 80 years old, he couldn't physically confront the strong security guards and caregivers, many of his skills remained intact. After two weeks of lulling the caregivers into complacency, the old man finally found an opportunity, securing a phone to call Frank Moses for help.
At this point, Frank had only been retired for less than a year and was still trying to adjust to post-retirement life. Rushing from Texas after receiving Joe's call, Frank conducted a thorough investigation, only to be shocked by the fact that he was powerless.
Yes, Frank could easily sneak into Marla Grayson's home, break her neck, and leave without a trace—so cleanly that neither CSI nor the BAU would stand a chance of solving it.
But clearly, that wasn't what Joe Mason wanted when he asked Frank for help. Joe might be 80 years old, but he wasn't completely immobile. If he really wanted to escape, it wouldn't be too difficult with a bit of time.
What Joe Mason wanted was freedom. He longed to return to the life he had before, to his small villa where he had lived for over a decade. He wanted to drive his vintage cars and flirt with the older ladies on the street. He wished to stroll along the old railroad in Cold Spring, stand by the Hudson River, and gaze across at West Point.
But clearly, neither Joe nor Frank had the means to achieve that goal.
Marla Grayson's methods, though despicable, were technically legal. She had expertly exploited the loopholes in the guardianship system, turning hundreds of elderly people like Joe Mason into her personal cash cows.
For once-formidable field agents like Joe and Frank, who had lived under new identities after leaving their past behind, they now found themselves with no social connections to rely on.
Frank realized, to his frustration, that aside from drastic measures that could result in mutual destruction, there was no way to deal with that wicked woman.
In the end, Frank could only comfort Joe Mason, urging him to stay quiet for the time being to avoid being treated like some of the uncooperative seniors who were sedated long-term or even locked in basements and abused.
Frank then turned to the Hunter couple for help.
It wasn't that he didn't want to seek help from the CIA, but doing so felt humiliating. Besides, successfully retiring from the CIA was a rare feat. Former agents like Frank cherished their anonymity and didn't want to draw attention unless absolutely necessary.
R.E.D. members had participated in countless covert missions that could never be mentioned. They had seen too many unlucky souls silenced—some by their own hands.
Fortunately for Frank, he still had a few old friends he could reach out to, such as Hunter and his lovely female partner, whom Frank had met during his younger days as a rookie cop in New York.
While the three old-timers were vague about how they initially met, Jack could more or less guess—it seemed like a real-life version of *Die Hard* had played out to some extent.
However, what Frank didn't expect was that while this wasn't a case of an outsider being outmatched by locals, it was clear that Hunter, a retired West Coast cop, had little influence on the East Coast.
Marla Grayson had seemingly greased all the necessary palms in Putnam County. From the doctors to the family court judge, everyone had been bought off.
In yet another courtroom session lasting barely ten minutes, the lawyer hired by old Hunter lost the case swiftly and decisively.
Afterward, they tried another route, involving Chris's girlfriend, Dana, who worked for the IRS. They hoped to force Marla Grayson to submit by investigating the finances of her guardianship company.
But an unexpected development occurred: Dana's investigation yielded results that were almost too perfect, creating even more problems.
After more than a month of digging, Dana and her IRS investigation team discovered that behind this seemingly insignificant company lay a conglomerate with 80 overseas subsidiaries.
These companies issued invoices to one another, concealing profits. They had their own real estate, legal, training, medical, and even pharmaceutical teams. While they were small compared to the market's major players, they formed a complete supply chain in the eldercare industry.
Within this supply chain were hundreds of professional guardians like Marla Grayson, stretching their claws into the lives of wealthy, lonely elderly people, using various means to seize their assets.
The IRS had now set its sights on this massive target, but their investigation was far from over. It could take months, or even more than a year, before they were ready to make a move.
But Joe Mason was already 80 years old, and recently his liver seemed to be acting up. Frank worried that the old man might not live long enough to see his freedom restored.
With no other options left, the three elderly men turned to Jack, hoping that the younger, sharp-minded FBI agent might come up with a solution. After all, youth had its advantages, and perhaps being with the FBI meant Jack could think of something they hadn't.
Was this some kind of test? Jack wondered silently. He hadn't forgotten that scene from the police station's New Year's party, where old Hunter and Zoe's grandfather, old Anderson, were whispering to each other.
The Anderson family wielded significant influence, capable of reaching Washington. To deal with Marla Grayson and force her to give up her ill-gotten gains might just require a phone call to a senator.
After all, it was just one money tree, not an entire forest—it wouldn't cause any real damage. A woman like Marla, who relied on official channels to survive, would surely weigh her options.
Jack glanced over at the three elderly men. Frank's face was resolute, a look of indifference as if to say, "If you can't help, no big deal. I'll just break in and rescue Joe, then get the CIA to change his identity again."
Old Hunter, on the other hand, stared intently at Jack with a weary expression, almost as if he was lamenting his age and helplessness.
What an actor, Jack thought with a hint of sarcasm. He wasn't fooled, because Officer Didi McCall's face had already betrayed Hunter.
Despite appearing to focus on knitting, Didi's lips were subtly curling upward. Though her face bore the marks of time, her bright eyes still sparkled as they had in Jack's memories.
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