The moment money was mentioned, Kim Minjun's eyes lit up. He grabbed a battered calculator from behind the counter and began punching numbers with the enthusiasm of a street hustler.
"This, my friend, is a prime location," Kim said with a confident grin. "At night, people flood this street. Endless foot traffic. It's a gold mine! I've got all the licenses—liquor distribution, bar operation, you name it. And the décor?" He gestured dramatically at the mismatched Japanese-style trinkets. "Top-tier artistic taste! So if we factor in the value of—"
"Enough," Adam interrupted sharply, his expression hardening. "Are you kidding me with this garbage décor? Who in Gotham, or the whole damn U.S, is coming to this place to drink? I'll have to tear all this down and redo it from scratch."
He stepped closer, voice dropping with impatience. "One sentence. How much?"
Kim froze, realizing Adam wasn't the type to entertain sales pitches.
"Fifty thousand U.S. dollars," he said quickly, "cash only. And three thousand more for Uncle Sam, taxes, of course. Not a single cent less."
Before Adam could respond, Selina laughed, a soft, mocking sound that made Kim twitch.
"Kim," she said, emphasizing the name with a teasing drawl.
"You're asking for enough money to buy a better bar in a better location. Don't insult us with jokes like that."
Kim's face turned red. "This is an authentic Japanese izakaya! Customers line up every night. And you—" his eyes flashed with anger at Selina—"you American women don't understand business! If it weren't for the introduction, I'd have thrown you out already!"
Selina didn't flinch. In fact, she smiled sweetly and reached into her bag. With deliberate slowness, she placed a stack of documents on the counter. Thwack.
"Oh? So many customers, you say?" Her voice was silky but cutting., "Then why do my reports say the opposite?"
She leaned closer, her tone like a whip. "My people have been watching this place for two weeks. We counted every single person that walked through your door. Your numbers are embarrassing, Kim. I've seen buskers on the street with bigger crowds."
Kim's confident grin faltered, but Selina wasn't done.
"And," she added, her smile now cold, "I hear the Italians in Queens are talking about your gambling debts. Big debts. It won't be long before the mafia comes knocking. Do you really want to waste time haggling with us, or should we just… wait for them?"
Kim stiffened, his bravado deflating instantly. He hadn't expected this woman to know so much. He swallowed hard.
"Look… there's still money to be made here," he said weakly. "The Japanese companies nearby, their workers, they pay well. But this street…" His eyes darted toward the filthy window. "It's ruined. Pimps, gangs, drug addicts… every night there's a fight. It's killing the business."
Adam listened quietly, leaning against the counter with an almost amused expression. He'd already predicted how this would go. Weaver had tried to squeeze him out by forcing his pirated equipment off police property. Loeb, being the politician he was, would play both sides, giving Weaver a small win while compensating Adam in another way.
Balance. Always balance.
That's why Adam was here. He needed a new base of operations—preferably one that wouldn't be under police scrutiny. And who better to help him find the perfect shady corner of Gotham than Selina Kyle? She knew every back alley, every fence, every fixer in this rotten city.
Adam straightened, stepping into Kim's space. "Let's cut the crap," he said flatly. "I've got thirty thousand dollars in my pocket. That's the ceiling. Every extra dollar you ask for, we stop talking."
Kim's eyes widened. "Thirty thousand? For this place? You're joking! That's nothing! That's—"
"Kim." Adam's tone turned dangerous as he moved closer, his hand casually resting on the counter. "This place isn't worth the dust in its corners. The only valuable things here are your business license and your liquor permit. Everything else?" He glanced around with a smirk. "Negative assets."
He gripped Kim's shoulder tightly, leaning in with a whisper, "Tell me, my friend… would you rather take my offer, or would you like me to put you in the back of a police cruiser and drive you out of Gotham before the mafia finds you? Because trust me, they won't dare mess with someone under police protection. I'm offering you a chance to start fresh. A real shot at survival. But if you stall me?" His smile was sharp. "You'll lose everything."
Kim froze. He knew Adam wasn't bluffing. The mafia was already circling, and getting out alive was worth more than pride. Still, thirty thousand felt too low. His mouth opened to bargain—
"From here on out," Adam cut in coldly, "your answer is either yes or no. Every extra word you say costs you one thousand dollars."
He reached into his jacket and slapped a thick stack of cash onto the table—whap. Then, with his other hand, he placed his police-issued sidearm next to it, the metallic clink echoing in the silent room.
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