William stood in the shadow of the white building.
In his hand, he held the cold Cadillac car keys.
In his pocket, he carried an anonymous bank card, enough to drive a normal person mad.
Jack Lockley's dilapidated taxi had long since vanished without a trace, like a rat scurrying back into its dark nest.
Jack Lockley.
In the model he constructed, this name was labeled as a "controllable violent tool," a "temporary collaborator," and "Moon Knight's mortal mask."
All of his actions should be driven by profit and quantifiable by money.
But he refused.
He refused Kingpin's hush money.
This was illogical.
A madman who doesn't love money is ten thousand times more dangerous than a madman who does.
Because you never know what his price is.
Where his trigger lies.
He tucked the keys and the envelope back into his inner suit pocket, his movements steady, without a single unnecessary tremor.
He couldn't stay here.
Behind Kingpin's "generosity" always hid an invisible knife.
By taking the money and the car now, he had signed a tacit contract.
From this moment on, he was an "insider," and the fate of insiders was usually not good.
He took a step and walked towards the backyard.
The black Cadillac President One was parked quietly in its spot, like a dormant steel beast.
Its body was as black as ink, perfectly absorbing all surrounding light, exuding a suffocating sense of oppression.
William reached out, his fingertips lightly tracing the car door.
The composite armor embedded inside the car door.
The astonishing thickness and density of the bulletproof glass, the precise resonance of every screw inside the V8 engine.
This was a mobile fortress.
It was Kingpin's tool to display power and isolate danger.
Now, it belonged to Rodriguez.
William pulled open the car door and sat in the driver's seat.
The feel of the leather seats was delicate and soft, a World away from the worn-out seats in the taxi he had just been in.
He pressed the start button, and the engine let out a steady, restrained growl.
He didn't leave immediately.
He closed his eyes.
The three-dimensional blueprint of the white building slowly rotated in his mind, all security nodes, surveillance blind spots, and power lines highlighted.
His consciousness, like a ghost, penetrated layers of barriers.
Finally, it locked onto the laboratory, protected by an independent energy shield, located in the deepest part of the basement.
The intelligence was in hand.
Now the question was, how to turn this intelligence into a chess piece that could leverage the entire Hell's Kitchen game.
Hand it directly to Matt Murdock?
No.
That was too crude, like a third-rate informant.
He, William Rodriguez, sold insurance, risk management solutions, not cheap intelligence.
He didn't want Matt's gratitude, but his "debt."
A debt is a stronger contract than money.
He needed an intermediary.
Someone strong enough, independent enough, and able to access that circle.
Someone who could "translate" this hot potato of information into a language they could understand.
The call connected quickly.
"Mr. Rodriguez?"
Danny Rand's voice sounded a little surprised, but he remained polite.
"Good evening, Mr. Rand."
William's tone was calm and professional.
"I apologize for disturbing you so late. I have an urgent addendum that I need to discuss with you in person. It involves an assessment report that could pose a systemic risk to the entire New York City."
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line.
"Systemic risk?"
Danny repeated, immediately grasping the weight of the word.
"Yes."
William's voice lowered slightly.
"A risk that goes beyond the scope of the 'Hero Partner' plan we previously signed. I believe you need, and have the right, to be the first to know."
"...The usual place, in half an hour."
Danny Rand's dojo was, as always, spacious and quiet.
This time, there was no qipao secretary, no unnecessary pleasantries.
White Tiger was also nowhere to be seen.
Danny, dressed in loose training clothes, sat alone cross-legged on the tatami in the center of the dojo, a tea set in front of him, white steam rising.
He watched William walk in, not getting up.
"You look," Danny observed William, "like you've just returned from a war."
"I just completed a high-risk escort contract."
William sat down opposite him frankly, placing the black Cadillac car keys casually on the wooden floor beside him.
"The pay was pretty good."
Danny's gaze lingered on the car keys for a moment, then returned to William's face.
"You said there was a systemic risk."
"Yes."
William didn't beat around the bush.
He took a USB drive from his briefcase.
He had bought it at a random computer store by the roadside, and also borrowed a computer to quietly upload the contract.
This allowed him to embed the information into the drive.
William pushed it towards Danny.
"What is this?"
"Intelligence. Or, in my jargon, a 'Potential Catastrophic Risk Survey Report.'"
William explained unhurriedly.
"I was commissioned by an anonymous client to assess the transport safety of an 'artwork.' During the survey, I discovered some... things outside the contract."
He leaned forward slightly.
"Have you heard of 'black sky,' Mr. Rand?"
Danny's hand, holding the teacup, froze in mid-air.
The air in the dojo seemed to solidify instantly.
"'black sky' is The Hand's ultimate weapon,"
Danny's voice deepened.
"A sacrificed, living vessel filled with dark power. Legend says she was destroyed long ago."
"This is a secret, William Rodriguez, and I think I need to know how you came to know about this."
"Legends are always beautiful. Reality is usually more cruel."
William leaned back into his original position.
"My client, like a piece of cargo, locked this 'legend' in an alloy box and transported her into New York City."
"Now, she is housed in a heavily guarded secret facility, undergoing some... 'transformation' that neither of us can imagine."
"She?"
Danny put down his teacup, his expression completely changed.
He was no longer the gentle CEO, but the Guardian of K'un-Lun, Iron Fist.
"And my assessment report shows that once this 'black sky' is activated or loses control, the destruction it causes will be exponential. It's not a physical explosion, but a conceptual contamination."
"The entire Hell's Kitchen, even the entire Manhattan, could become a dead zone."
"This is an incalculable risk to Rand Corporation's assets, to your friends, and to every person in this city."
Danny stared intently at the USB drive on the table.
"Is the location of that facility in there?"
"More than that." William's lips curved into an arc, "It also includes its complete structural diagram, security system layout, energy supply lines, guard shift schedule, and... my personally marked three most easily breached structural weaknesses."
He paused, then added: "Intelligence validity, forty-eight hours."
Danny's breathing became somewhat rapid.
The value of this intelligence, he knew better than anyone.
This was not just an address; it was a complete raid plan, the only chance to nip Kingpin's huge conspiracy in the bud.
"What do you want?" Danny finally asked the most crucial question, "Money? How much?"
"Money?"
William smiled and shook his head.
"Mr. Rand, the value of this intelligence cannot be measured in money. I'm not selling intelligence; I'm making a risk investment."
He looked into Danny's eyes and said very seriously.
"I don't want money. I want you, or rather, that 'night vigilante' group behind you, to owe me a favor."
"A favor?"
"An unconditional, timeless favor that I can cash in at any time in the future."
"My company is dedicated to risk management. And I believe nothing can offset the risks I might encounter in the future more than having the Guardians owe me a favor."
The dojo fell into a long silence.
Finally, Danny reached out and picked up the USB drive.
"Deal."
William stood up and straightened his suit.
"Pleasure working with you. Also, a friendly reminder."
He walked to the door, stopped, and turned his head.
"After you've dealt with this, remember to destroy the negatives completely. Oh, and I suggest you tell Matt about this."
-------------------------------
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