Chapter 378: An Acquaintance
The real issue with Anfisa and Sheila getting involved wasn't that Frank had been "cheated on."
That part didn't bother him much—if anything, it even brought a strange sense of relief. Every time he saw Sheila casually displaying those oversized toys during her livestreams, it had put an unspoken pressure on him.
What truly mattered… were the risks behind it.
It was understandable that Anfisa had kept it a secret. After all, who would openly admit to their boss that they had gotten involved with his partner? That would be asking for trouble.
But Anfisa wasn't just anyone.
Frank had pulled her out of the gutter, given her a new identity, a new life.
And this was how she repaid him?
More importantly—she handled the finances.
If she ever decided to tamper with money, the consequences would be disastrous.
Fortunately, Frank had already arranged for Fiona to learn accounting. Otherwise, by the time something went wrong, it would be far too late.
He didn't make a big issue out of it.
Privately, he spoke to Sheila. Then he had a quiet conversation with Anfisa as well.
He raised the matter… and then let it drop.
That approach reassured both of them.
Sheila even began to feel guilty, as if she had truly betrayed him.
But what Frank was really thinking—
no one else knew.
After being discharged, Frank didn't rush back into action. He didn't return to New Mexico, nor did he head to San Venganza.
Instead, he stayed home.
Reading. Spending time with his kids.
Reorganizing his thoughts.
Everything he had planned before—every arrangement he made—had been based on one assumption:
that he was going to die.
Now that he had recovered after making a deal with Crowley, all of those plans needed to be reconsidered.
Including what to do about Anfisa.
Two weeks later, Frank personally sent Fiona and Anfisa onto a flight to New York.
"This is my first time on a plane…" Fiona said nervously, holding her first-class ticket as she searched for her seat.
"Mine too," Anfisa replied, glancing around the cabin.
The passengers in first class were clearly different—well-dressed, composed, carrying themselves with quiet confidence.
Anfisa instinctively tugged at her leopard-print skirt.
Her past still lingered in her habits and style—bold, attention-grabbing, shaped by a life at the very bottom of society. Even after leaving that world, her sense of fashion hadn't fully changed.
In contrast, the people here exuded refinement.
The difference was stark.
She felt out of place—like a brightly colored bird dropped into a flock of swans.
Fiona felt it too.
Under the subtle weight of surrounding gazes, the two quickly found their seats, speaking little even when the flight attendants offered service.
By the time the plane landed in New York, both of them had barely relaxed.
After stepping out of the airport, they immediately noticed a group of men holding signs with their names.
Before they left, Frank had mentioned someone would pick them up—so they weren't surprised.
"Miss Fiona. Miss Anfisa. Please, this way."
The man leading them wore a suit and sunglasses, his tone respectful but firm.
They were escorted out of the airport.
The scene was overwhelming—several suited men surrounding them like bodyguards, guiding them into a luxury car.
Only after sitting inside the expensive vehicle—worth millions—did they finally process what was happening.
They exchanged a glance.
Since when…
did Frank have connections at this level in New York?
Fiona and Anfisa both knew some of Frank's secrets—but only fragments.
What they knew… was just the tip of the iceberg.
They were driven to an upscale nightclub. Before even stepping inside, they could hear the sound of a piano drifting out—smooth, elegant, mesmerizing.
Inside, at the center of the room, a grand piano stood beneath soft lighting.
A Black man sat before it, fingers gliding effortlessly across the keys. The melody was breathtaking—far beyond anything they had ever heard live. It was the kind of performance that belonged on a concert stage.
Hearing the door open, the music stopped.
The man stood and turned toward them.
Only then did they get a clear look at him.
Their first impression—
a gentleman.
Refined, composed… like an aristocrat straight out of a film.
"Hello," he said with a slight smile. "My name is Cornell. I'm a friend of Frank's."
"H-hello…" Fiona and Anfisa replied cautiously.
"There's no need to be nervous," Cornell said warmly. "Frank and I go way back. He's already told me about your situation."
"I also happen to know the owner of the accounting firm where you'll be interning."
Seeing how tense they were, he didn't press further. After a brief explanation, he had his men escort them away.
Everything had already been arranged.
Housing, daily necessities—every detail taken care of.
After all, Frank's relationship with Cornell spoke for itself.
Cornell's current status in New York—his influence, his position—was largely built on Frank's support.
Not just him.
Even Cornell's sister, a rising political figure, had benefited. With her background—Black, female, from the slums—she had carved out a strong image and steadily gained ground in politics, frequently appearing on television as a new face to watch.
So when Frank made the call—
Cornell ensured everything was perfect.
Per Frank's instructions, Fiona and Anfisa weren't placed in some extravagant mansion, but in an apartment close to their workplace—practical, convenient.
After arriving, Anfisa went to her room to rest, casually opening Sheila's livestream out of habit.
Fiona, on the other hand, sat for a while before heading downstairs alone.
The apartment had everything they needed—but personal items still had to be bought.
Walking through the unfamiliar streets of New York, surrounded by crowds, Fiona instinctively clutched her bag tighter.
Then—
"Miss Gallagher."
A voice called out from behind.
"Huh?" Fiona froze, turning around.
Standing there was a man who looked vaguely familiar.
He wore a suit, looked to be in his twenties, handsome, composed—
a pair of sunglasses covering his eyes.
In his hand was a white cane.
"…Wait," Fiona said, startled. "You're… Matt, the lawyer?"
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