After several minutes of torture (primarily because she beat him up first, so he struggled to speak and tell her what she wanted to hear), she finally gathered the information she wanted.
Anghit had a small safe deposit box in the corner of the bedroom. It wasn't visible and had to go over the bed. Since she was sold here, and there must be records of it, she did not bother hiding her traces on the bed at least.
He had also had a few ingots of gold hidden underneath two floors, waddles of cash in cabinets, and a few other things in different places, too. He also had a few pieces of jewelry, though some of them had blood splattered, so she could guess one of his wives owned these things.
Counting, these should be worth around a few million danas, this country's pre-apocalyptic currency. Even if she couldn't use the old man's 80+ million immediately, she could tide through and buy quite a few things with just these things.
Rummaging Nadia's old memories, the standard monthly salary of an average white-collar worker with a college degree was around 25,000 to 40,000 danas. Meanwhile, the minimum wage was around 15,000 danas.
The living standards and cost of living in this country were also fair, so she knew she'd be able to buy maybe a few years' worth of food and supplies with this money.
Maybe. Probably. Naia hadn't quite grasped the economics of this timeline yet. After all, there was no such thing as money back in her day. The only currency she knew was supplies or points given by the base.
She couldn't use Nadia's knowledge either. As someone treated like a slave, she knew the price of chicken and vegetables, but not much awareness of anything else.
No matter. She could study these things as she went. Seeing an eyesore like this scum wasn't really conducive to a scholarly session.
Naia placed everything in Nadia's luggage. It was a duffel bag she had been using since young, so it wasn't exactly clean-looking. Inside were just two pairs of plain clothing and underwear, as well as a few hygiene stuff, so the new items could fit decently inside because there was still so much space.
She looked at the old man, who was already half dead and gravely beaten. She took the phone again to do a few other things, including getting the address to the land poor Nadia lost her life for.
She also went to look at the funds he had in his digital wallet and bank accounts. They were easy to access because he activated the biometrics. He was alive and well and had all his fingers, so she could just use them to open things.
She had learned a bit of programming back then. It was part of their curriculum because they had to know how to crack tech they find during missions. However, the knowledge wasn't that deep.
She was confident she could manipulate the records of the CCTV footage and get rid of things she didn't want anyone to dig up, but hiding from banks was not in her skillset.
After all, when people investigated this guy's (future) death, they would investigate his activity. The recent spending on the apocalypse announcement could be seen as odd, but it shouldn't complicate things too much. It was tracing the rest of the money that would be risky.
She could use something called cryptocurrency to slow down their search, but she didn't have the confidence to completely hide from it, especially since it was tied to a criminal investigation.
In the end, using the old guy's fingerprints, she transferred it to a new account she'd use in the future. It would have no outward connection with her, so even if law enforcement found it, they wouldn't know it was owned by someone else, not by the old man.
The complication would be when she used the money, which was why she'd probably use this in the final month or something. The case (hopefully) should be closed then, so maybe people wouldn't be interested in the account anymore.
Other than these, she cleaned up everything she needed to clean. Whether it was the CCTV records since she entered the house, her fingerprints on the weapons, all of these were cleaned up. The old man had no idea what she was doing. He was too busy staying sane amidst the agony.
She walked over to him, kneeling down near his head. The old man could only stare at her, shivering, wondering what she, the devil, was about to do.
"Don't be scared. You know I hate my father the most, right? Not you," she said. "Now…if you report him as your attacker, I might spare your life. However, it depends on how convincing you are."
She placed the handheld over his face, but the blade she carried conveniently found itself against his neck.
"Be careful. The moment you try to slip anything about me, your neck will be gone."
He nodded as fast as he could, which wasn't very fast due to injuries, but he got the message. She called 666, the country's emergency hotline.
Naia looked at the number and thought, why did the number sound like bad luck?
Anyway, the old man spoke as soon as it connected.
"P-P-PLEASE! H-H-HELP!! T-T-THAT BASTARD DE-MON H-H-HOUSER, IS TRYING TO KILL ME—"
Beep!
That was enough of a clue for the police. She didn't want to risk him sending hints about the truth. She placed the phone on his chest, leaving it there after wiping it.
The old man breathed out, thinking she must be satisfied, seeing that she was about to walk away. He watched her take her dingy duffel bag and head to the door.
In his mind, he cursed her, determined to find a way to get his revenge when she finally left.
Unexpectedly, his eyes widened a moment later when he felt a shadow over him. His pupils constricted, shocked, when he saw his large refrigerator suddenly above him.
"How—"
BANG!
SPLAT!!
Naia looked coldly at the corpse, feeling no remorse in her heart at all. She looked at her hand, eyebrows raised.
"Thanks for being the guinea pig for this skill," she said, sneering, completely clean despite the interior of the house being splattered with blood and brain matter.
It seemed like this 'space' power was a bit different from Kael's. Kael's was very destructive, the kind that could make an alien's head explode. It was very difficult to control, however, and was prone to collateral damage.
Her space seemed to be anchored in this box thing.
Earlier today, while the torture was ongoing, she was trying to teleport herself here and there, but also other things. She found out that as long as the items were within the 3-meter by 3-meter by 3-meter area, she could move them around at will.
She could even move it midair, which was how the refrigerator found itself above the scumbag's body.
Anyway, it was time for her to go. This time, even if the police investigated more deeply, they would have a clear suspect to focus on.
She knew that the state recorded calls for a certain duration. For big cases like these, even more so. From there, the police could easily gather the clues that would ultimately place the sperm donor at the scene of the crime, with motivation to boot.
With this, that scumbag father would be arrested.
There probably wouldn't be enough proof to actually throw him in jail from the get-go, at least not until the apocalypse actually happened, but he would at least be withheld, interrogated, and humiliated thoroughly for the next few months.
It would also come out that he sold his daughter, only to get her killed.
Even if he didn't go to prison, he would be vilified, and that was an even worse punishment for a vain man like him.
Not to mention her stepmother and stepsiblings. She did not care if he didn't go to prison, but the media circus that would follow would be entertaining to see.
She smirked. She did not have the time to go to them and punish them directly, but this was enough for now.
Enjoy my gift, scumbags.