"Should I prepare the same amount today?" "As always." "That guy sure has an appetite." With a sigh, the kitchen assistant helped the server
"Should I prepare the same amount today?"
"As always."
"That guy sure has an appetite."
With a sigh, the kitchen assistant helped the server load up a pile of food onto a meal cart. "Hurry up and get going. If you're late again, he might start yelling at you."
"Just a guy riding on his cousin's coattails..."
"Watch your mouth. If someone hears you, you know what'll happen."
After neatly arranging the food, the assistant waved his hand. "Enough talk—get going. You just need to put up with it a few more days. Once the other hotel finishes coordinating his stay, he'll be out of L.A."
"I knew I shouldn't have delivered his food that first time. Ever since then, he's insisted on me doing it personally. The guy's way too cautious."
Though he grumbled, the server didn't delay in his actions. Once he confirmed the food was secured, he quickly pushed the cart out of the kitchen.
On the cart were four roasted chickens, two kilograms of cream rolls, four jars of jam, two fried eggs, forty strips of bacon, two sausages, and four large plates piled with raspberries and other fruits.
For an average New American family, this would be enough to feed everyone for a whole day. But for the VIP guest upstairs, this was just breakfast—and not even satisfying at that. To meet his standards, it had to be paired with California wine delivered from downstairs.
"He really can eat, that presidential candidate..."
The moment the server pushed the cart out of the kitchen and into the restaurant, he was unknowingly being watched. The eyes followed his every move.
Oliver subtly shifted his gaze, making sure the server remained within his line of sight while speaking into the comms: "That guy's stomach is a bottomless pit. His breakfast alone is more than I eat in a week."
"You're exaggerating," Karl replied, sipping coffee and eyeing the server as well. "You definitely eat more than that in a week. But I hacked into the kitchen camera earlier—checked the meat, fruit, and eggs. It's all real. Price-wise, this breakfast could very well cost as much as your week's food budget. Hell, maybe even your whole month."
"Thinking about the stuff we ate when we first got to L.A.… yeah, talk about 'tight rations for the bottom while the top eats rich.'"
Jack, seated beside Oliver, wasn't watching the server. He asked over the comms instead, "Can we confirm the identity? Is the recipient really that guy named Thomas—the presidential candidate?"
"When I hacked the kitchen feed, I overheard a line during the kitchen staff's convo: 'Just some guy living off his cousin's name.' A VIP riding on his cousin's coattails, staying in this hotel... it's gotta be the candidate. Unless by sheer coincidence, there are two gluttonous big shots in this hotel with powerful cousins."
"Even if it is a coincidence, we've got to act," Oliver said, watching the elevator doors close behind the server and the floor number begin to climb. "Karl, should we move now?"
"No rush," Karl replied lazily, still sipping his coffee.
"That presidential candidate has stayed locked up in his room the entire time. Clearly, he's being cautious. If we charge in now, we could spook him. And if he panics and draws a gun, I'm not gonna bet on myself not reflexively putting a round through his skull. We're here to retrieve documents—not assassinate a candidate. That's a whole different contract price. What we're getting paid now is strictly for retrieval."
"But if he never leaves the room, we'll definitely alert him when we go in."
Oliver kept an eye on the floor display. "You thinking of a way to lure him out?"
"I got nothing."
Karl was blunt. "That guy's clearly on guard. What can I do? Start a fire and smoke him out? We're not catching rabbits here. Besides, I wouldn't doubt that even if we did try to flush him out with fire, he'd take the documents with him. Once he's outside, in a crowd, it'll be ten times harder to make a move. And if anything goes missing and a search is ordered, we're all screwed."
"So then?"
"I can't force him out, but I do have a plan to get in."
Karl's words puzzled the others. Jack asked, "You mean go in while he's in the room? Right in front of him?"
"Exactly."
Karl thought his teammates were overthinking it. "He's gotta sleep sometime, right? We sneak in while he's out cold. He's not some corporate psycho hopped up on stims 24/7. Even those guys end up dying from overwork eventually."
"Stealing while someone's asleep..." Oliver muttered skeptically. It was such a textbook move, the kind of thing ancient pickpockets did. Could it really work?
"If he wakes up, we'll just manually help him back to sleep," Karl said casually, finishing his coffee. "As long as the bio-monitors don't flag it as a medical emergency, we're golden. Once we have the files, we're out. By the time he wakes up, we'll be long gone—off into the Badlands, where the sky's the limit."
"So, what now?"
Just as Oliver asked, V walked up.
"Karl, I've finished installing the covert camera on the meal cart, just like you asked."
"Nice work."
Karl nodded. "With that, we'll be able to confirm his identity 100%. When it comes to speed and reach, you're still the best for this kind of job."
All of them could've planted a camera unnoticed—but V was the safest bet.
"Once we confirm it's him, all that's left is to wait for nightfall," Karl said, then turned to Oliver. "Now go get me another milk coffee. I need a refill, bodyguard."
"Seriously? You've got it all mapped out, huh?"
Oliver scratched his head. "Fine, young master. I'll go get you your drink."
And so, after a leisurely break, night fell.
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