The drive back to the villa was conducted in a silence so heavy it felt physical. Felicity sat in the passenger seat, her eyes fixed on the blurring city lights, but her mind was replaying the shattered glass and the terrifying speed of the man in the charcoal kimono. She looked at Einstein's hands—the same hands that had cooked her dinner and cleaned her floors for five years—and realized she was sitting next to a stranger who wore her husband's face.
"You're shaking," Einstein said quietly, not taking his eyes off the road.
"I just saw a man fly through a reinforced window, Einstein," she whispered. "My world was about spreadsheets and marketing budgets. Now... I don't even know what world I'm in."
"You're in the real world," Einstein replied. "The one they don't show on the news. Wealth isn't just about numbers in a bank; it's about the power to protect those numbers. My grandfather knew that. My father died for that."
When they reached the villa, the gates opened automatically, the sensors recognizing Einstein's unique Qi signature as much as the vehicle's license plate. Einstein didn't head for the main entrance. He drove around to the rear, toward a hidden ramp that led into the underground levels of the estate.
The Third Gift
Einstein left Felicity with Nick and Simon in the main living area, ignoring her protests. "Stay with them. I need to handle the 'Third Gift' alone."
He descended into the basement. This wasn't the wine cellar or the gym; it was a level deeper, a reinforced bunker accessible only by a biometric scanner that required both a fingerprint and a retinal scan. As the heavy steel door hissed open, Einstein felt a surge of energy—disciplined, cold, and lethal.
The room was vast, lit by recessed LED strips that cast a surgical glow over a group of twelve individuals. They were standing in two perfect rows, dressed in tactical black gear without any insignia. The moment Einstein stepped into the room, all twelve slammed their right fists against their chests in a simultaneous, thunderous salute.
"The Vanguard reports for duty, Young Lord!" they shouted in unison.
A woman stepped forward. She was in her late twenties, with hair cropped short and a scar running through her left eyebrow. Her eyes were like flint. "I am Commander Rhea. Your mother has spent ten years and fifty million dollars training us in the secret techniques of the Jacob Clan. We were your father's final project. We are yours to command."
Einstein looked at them. These weren't just mercenaries; they were peak-level fighters, each ranging between the 6th and 8th levels of combat prowess. They were the "army" his mother had promised.
"General Kael was here today," Einstein said, testing them.
Rhea didn't flinch. "We know. Our satellite feed tracked his retreat. He is heading for the Bradley family's private estate. The Council is using the Bradleys as their financial front in this city."
Einstein nodded. "Good. Rhea, I want a 24-hour perimeter around this hill. I want Felicity Jacob and my two friends, Nick and Simon, monitored at all times. If a leaf falls within five miles of this house, I want to know about it."
"And the Bradleys, sir?"
"The Bradleys think they are the predators," Einstein said, his eyes darkening to a predatory gold. "Tomorrow, Felicity goes to their headquarters to sign the Iron-Core contract. You will be her 'hidden' security. If they try to intimidate her, give them a reason to be afraid of the dark."
The Lion's Den
The next morning, Felicity stood in front of the full-length mirror in the guest suite. She wore her sharpest charcoal suit—the "battle armor" she used for hostile takeovers. But her hands were still trembling.
Einstein knocked on the door and walked in, carrying a small, elegant earpiece.
"Wear this," he said.
"Einstein, I can't do this. The Bradleys hate me. They'll laugh me out of the building. And after yesterday... I can't focus on advertising."
Einstein stepped behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. For the first time in years, the touch wasn't one of a servant, but of a master. "You aren't going there as the girl who is struggling to pay her debts. You are going as the CEO of Vanguard, backed by the infinite resources of E.J. Holdings. If they refuse to sign, tell them the Chairman of Apex is prepared to buy their entire supply chain and shut it down by sunset."
Felicity looked at his reflection. "Are you really that powerful?"
"I am whatever I need to be to keep this legacy alive," he said. "Now go. Show them the woman my grandfather believed in."
The Iron-Core Meeting
The Bradley Plaza was a monument to old money and arrogance. When Felicity entered the top-floor conference room, she was met with a wall of laughter.
Old Man Bradley, a vulture in a three-piece suit, sat at the head of the table. His son, Bradley Jr.—the man who had tried to corner Felicity at the mall—sat next to him, a smug grin on his face.
"Well, well," the younger Bradley sneered. "If it isn't the beggar queen. I heard your little company was bought out by some faceless firm. Are you here to beg for a sub-contract? Or have you finally come to accept my marriage proposal?"
Felicity felt the familiar surge of anger, but this time, it was bolstered by the weight of the earpiece in her ear. She heard Einstein's calm voice: "Don't react. Sit down. Open the folder."
She sat. She didn't look at the son. She looked directly at the father. "I'm not here for a proposal, Bradley. I'm here to finalize the Iron-Core contract. My terms are 15% above market rate, with a five-year exclusivity clause."
The room went dead silent before erupting into a second wave of laughter.
"You're insane!" the father roared. "We were about to announce a partnership with your rival. Why on earth would we sign with a sinking ship like Vanguard?"
"Tell him about the smelting plant," Einstein's voice whispered.
"Because," Felicity said, her voice gaining a newfound coldness, "your primary smelting plant in the northern district is currently facing a hostile takeover. E.J. Holdings has acquired the land leases for your access roads. If you don't sign this contract, your trucks won't be able to leave the facility by tomorrow morning."
Old Man Bradley's face went from red to a sickly purple. "You... you're bluffing. No one has that kind of capital!"
Just then, his secretary burst in, looking terrified. "Sir! The bank... they just called. Our line of credit has been frozen by an anonymous creditor. They're calling in the debt on the northern plant!"
The power in the room shifted instantly. Felicity watched as the two men who had tried to crush her suddenly looked like children caught in a storm. She realized then that Einstein wasn't just a fighter. He was an architect of ruin.
The Shadow's Strike
As Felicity walked out of the building with a signed contract in her hand, she felt like she was floating. But as she reached the parking garage, a group of four men in grey tracksuits stepped out from behind the pillars.
"Ms. Jacob," the leader said, pulling a folding knife. "The General said you'd be a good way to bring the boy out to play."
Felicity backed away, her heart hammering. "Einstein!" she shouted into the earpiece.
She didn't hear Einstein's voice. She heard a different sound—the sound of something heavy hitting the concrete.
From the shadows above the pipes, two members of the Vanguard—Rhea and another man—dropped down. They didn't use words. Rhea moved like a ghost, her strikes surgical and silent. In less than ten seconds, the four attackers were on the ground, their limbs twisted at impossible angles.
Rhea stood over them, her flinty eyes turning to Felicity. She gave a sharp, professional nod. "The car is ready, ma'am. The Young Lord is waiting for you at the office."
Felicity stared at the fallen men, then at Rhea. She realized that the $100 million wasn't for luxury. It was for war. And for the first time, she wasn't sure if she was the wife of the hero, or the wife of the most dangerous man in the city.