Dolphin Hotel, Manager's Office.
The familiar decor, the familiar Black man.
"Mr. Black, it's been a while," Gerald said, looking exhausted. His hairline was receding even more, the "ecosystem" on his head growing increasingly sparse.
At his age, though, a little hair loss wasn't a big deal, and he didn't seem too bothered by it.
"Hold on, Mr. Orion. Didn't we meet in mid-August? That was just a month ago," Roy replied.
Gerald rubbed his temples, his expression turning helpless. "Yeah, right here in this office. We were laughing about how Armacham took a big hit. But who'd have thought, just a month later, they'd bounce back?"
Roy shrugged. "That's how the world works. Some things you hate still exist, no matter what. Besides, we made a killing in the stock market, didn't we?"
Gerald managed a weak smile. He didn't have as much capital as Roy to throw into the market, but he'd still made a decent profit—enough to secure a comfortable retirement.
Roy, meanwhile, had gotten word from Katherine. Through a series of short and long trades, his initial $200 million investment had ballooned to nearly $1 billion. It felt almost too easy.
Even Buffett couldn't compete with the "Stock Market God of Capitol Hill."
Roy's biggest headache now was the massive capital gains tax he'd owe. In America, short-term gains from stocks held less than a year were taxed at nearly double the rate of long-term gains—up to 37%. That meant Roy was looking at handing over about $200 million to the federal government, which made him want to blow up the IRS headquarters.
Thankfully, Katherine, with her wealth of experience, assured him she could legally reduce the tax to around 10%. That calmed Roy down, though shelling out nearly $100 million still stung. Compared to the original tax bill, it was two-thirds less—and perfectly legal.
---
That's America for you. If you've got money, there's always a loophole.
Roy reinvested most of his profits back into the stock market, planning to buy low when the Nasdaq tech bubble burst. He also wanted to acquire a promising chemical lab to produce leech serum.
The serum could enhance Black Widow's physical condition and preserve youth. If diluted to retain just a mild cosmetic effect, it could be a goldmine.
The catch was finding a trustworthy scientist to develop the formula. Roy had a backup plan: if push came to shove, he'd find a less-than-ethical scientist, use his mark to control them, and have them work for him. It was the safest option.
The rest of his cash was set aside for emergencies—like funding Nidi's Red Book project. If it took off, it'd burn through a lot of money upfront. Using this cash for operations would be smarter than diluting shares early on.
"I get what you mean… Let's not talk about depressing stuff," Gerald said, changing the subject. "Mr. Black, can you share any details about the Council's attack on the Shadowhunter base? Don't worry, this room's clean—no bugs. And I won't breathe a word of what you tell me."
Gerald gave his assurance, and Roy trusted him. Their relationship had long surpassed mere business; they were friends.
So Roy didn't refuse. "I only got to the Shadowhunter base after everything went down. You'd have to ask Clary or Iris for what happened before."
Gerald nodded, and Roy recounted the battle in detail, including Cain's immortality and how he ultimately defeated him.
Gerald listened, then gave a wry smile. "What a chaotic time. The supernatural events of the past decade don't hold a candle to what's happened this year alone."
What was causing it? Hard to say.
Roy coughed, steering the conversation elsewhere. "Mr. Orion, I need a favor."
Having just answered Gerald's questions, Roy knew he wouldn't say no.
"Go ahead."
"It's about the dark web."
Roy explained its ties to the Council. "If the dark web hadn't lured my friends away, I wouldn't have gone underground and missed the FEA's distress call. Iris wouldn't be in such bad shape."
Gerald frowned deeply. "The dark web did that?"
He looked troubled. The dark web was deeply entangled with powerful elites. The escape room game alone had generated a $150 billion prize pool.
Taking on the dark web with official channels would be tricky.
Seeing Gerald's hesitation, Roy added, "Mr. Orion, just help me find them. I'll handle the rest."
Gerald exhaled in relief. "If it's just locating them, I can manage that. I've got some pull with the FBI and CIA. But, Mr. Black, the dark web can't be eradicated."
Where there's demand, there's a market.
Roy already knew this. The dark web existed because bored, wealthy elites craved thrills. Even if he took out Henry and Claire, a "white web" or "green web" would just take its place.
Did anyone think the fall of LL Island stopped America's elite from playing their games?
These things could only be curbed from the top down. If the top was corrupt, no amount of dismantling would matter.
"I get it. I just want to take out the Puzzler. That guy dared to target my girlfriend," Roy said. "Mr. Orion, if there's any loot, I'll donate to the FEA, FBI, and CIA."
Gerald's eyes lit up. That would definitely motivate the agencies. "Deal. I'm on it."
With the dark web discussion done, Roy prepared to leave and check on Saltana.
She'd been pulling all-nighters because of the Council incident and only just got a break today. Seeing how exhausted she was, Roy didn't disturb her and left the Dolphin Hotel to head back to UCLA.
But as soon as he arrived, he got an unexpected call—from Claire.
Not the Puzzler's daughter, but Claire Sheffield, the psychiatrist he hadn't seen in ages.
"Roy, guess where I am?" she teased.
When a woman says that, she's usually nearby.
Roy scanned the UCLA entrance and spotted Claire sneaking a call from the guardhouse.
He didn't call her out, though. If she wanted to play a little game, he'd go along. "How would I know? That's a tough one!"
"Hehe! I'm right here!" Claire jumped out from the guardhouse, rushing over to hug him. "Roy, I missed you so much!"
He could feel her longing, intense enough to melt into him. Of course, if Roy melted into her, that'd work too.
"Claire, what brought you to UCLA all of a sudden?" he asked.
She pouted, her expression turning plaintive. "Someone hasn't come to see me in over a month, so I had to come find him myself!"
Roy looked sheepish. Between the Sydney Olympics and everything else over the summer, he hadn't seen Claire since.
"My bad. I've been swamped lately…" he started, but before he could finish, Claire kissed him.
The kiss was fiery, like Mars crashing into Earth, as if she were pouring out all her pent-up longing.
After a while, she pulled back, breathless. "So, I decided to move my practice to Los Angeles. Now we can see each other all the time!"
Roy was touched. Claire's practice in Austin had been running for years, with a loyal client base. Moving to LA meant starting over.
"Claire, I…"
She pressed a finger to his lips, stopping him. "Roy, it's fine. If it weren't for you, I might've died in that New York plane crash. I cherish every moment with you. Plus, my mentor's at UCLA—he can hook me up with some work!"
Since she was set on it, Roy didn't argue. "If you run into any trouble, let me know. I've got some connections in LA."
Claire nodded happily. "I won't hold back! Oh, Roy, want to meet my mentor? He's been a professor at UCLA for ten years and probably knows everyone. If you're struggling with finals, he could help."
Roy smiled. His professor was Elizabeth—failing wasn't an option. He'd only attended one class so far and hadn't had any issues.
Claire's mentor likely didn't know Elizabeth, who'd only joined UCLA this year. The film school was far from the arts and sciences department, so they probably hadn't crossed paths.
Still, Roy didn't turn down Claire's offer. She probably wanted to introduce him to her social circle.
"Sure, but I've never been to the arts and sciences building," he said.
"I know the way. Follow me!" Claire said, excitedly pulling him toward the department.
Along the way, she shared stories about UCLA and funny anecdotes from her student days. Roy had heard some from Mary before, but he listened with a smile.
"Here we are! I got my bachelor's and doctorate in this building!" Claire said.
It was lunchtime, and students were streaming out. Many stared at Claire and Roy, assuming they were celebrities filming a movie. In LA, with Hollywood nearby, it wasn't a stretch—UCLA and USC were frequent filming locations.
"Perfect timing! Professor Lecter should be done with class. Let's find him!" Claire said, leading Roy to an office door and knocking.
"Come in!" a middle-aged man's voice called from inside.
Claire pushed the door open, and they stepped into a spacious office, clearly a sign of UCLA's high regard for this Professor Lecter. Most professors didn't get this kind of treatment.
Roy recalled a news story from his past life: a physics lecturer at an LA university couldn't afford rent and faced homelessness, while another did nothing and lived in a mansion. The disparity among professors was stark—top ones secured million-dollar projects, while others scraped by.
"Professor Lecter, I'm here to see you!" Claire said, approaching the man writing at his desk.
Lecter looked up, smiling when he saw her. "Sheffield! What brings you here?"
He was an elegant middle-aged man, not strikingly handsome but with a refined air.
But when Roy saw his face, his heart skipped a beat.
What the fuck?! It's Hannibal!
(Uncle Hannibal's here! Guess his true identity!)
Hannibal, first introduced in Thomas Harris's 1986 novel Red Dragon, became iconic through The Silence of the Lambs and Hannibal. The 1991 film The Silence of the Lambs, with Anthony Hopkins's chilling performance, cemented Hannibal as a cinematic legend, later adapted into multiple films and TV shows.
The man before Roy matched the middle-aged Hannibal from the TV series—a face Roy vividly remembered from his past life.
Hannibal was just too good at "being human."
Roy hadn't realized Hannibal's last name was Lecter.
Sensing Roy's intense gaze, Hannibal turned to him. "And this is…?"
Claire, slightly shy, introduced him. "Roy Black, my boyfriend. He's a freshman at UCLA!"
Hannibal's face broke into his signature smile—polite, but with a chilling edge, like he was sizing up his next meal.