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United Company.
Olov strode out of the office, one hand on his hip, a stack of documents clutched in the other. He moved with a cold determination that made even the most hardened bodyguards step aside.
"Don't move!" a United Company security guard shouted, brandishing a stun gun. Seeing Olov's utter indifference, the guard prepared to fire.
In the next second, an Asian man's fist crushed his throat. The guard's eyes widened in shock as Danny withdrew his fist, pressed the guard's head down, and shoved him aside.
Inside United Company, Olov's bodyguards moved like reapers. Security guards lay sprawled on the ground, unable to resist. The bodyguards only stopped when Olov gave the order.
"Alright," Olov said with a frown. "Let's go to the next place. That guy has a vault in Hell's Kitchen—and I remember Red Lion Bank is his too."
Olov's rage fueled his decisiveness and speed. He struck directly at the heart of Kingpin's empire. If Fisk had chosen to go to the company instead of the hotel, he would have been hanging from the building by now.
Kingpin's businesses were destroyed one after another. His men were slaughtered. The scale of the carnage was so great that the entire New York Police Department was mobilized.
The FBI arrived at a smuggling den. The horrifying scene inside made Ray, an agent, feel his stomach churn.
Dax swaggered in, wearing an FBI uniform. The containers were filled with corpses.
Ray spoke solemnly. "We're going to be very busy now."
Dax nodded, though inwardly he was dismissive.
"These people are Wilson Fisk's," Dax said, pulling out a document. "I just received an anonymous tip. It contains evidence of Fisk's illegal activities."
Ray took the file. Upon seeing the ledgers inside, he couldn't hide his shock. Human trafficking, smuggling of contraband, money laundering—every crime that could turn a profit was listed. There were also thirteen murder cases and numerous missing women.
Ray's scalp tingled. This case was too big. He had always wanted a big case, but this was overwhelming.
"Also," Dax said, glancing at a car nearby, "someone reported Fisk under their real name."
Ray walked over, opened the car door, and sucked in a breath of cold air. "Russians?"
The Russians in Hell's Kitchen had actually reported Fisk. It was unbelievable.
Matt was among the crowd. He could smell the bloody misery inside, and a faint sound reached his ears. He looked up.
On the rooftop, a masked figure and a one-armed man stood together.
The one-armed man spoke into a phone. "Your gift has been delivered, Leader."
On the other end, Wenwu's voice replied, "Don't disturb Shang-Chi."
"Yes," came the answer.
Matt frowned, wondering who these people were.
Foggy stood beside him, and the new member, Peggy, covered her mouth in shock.
When John acted, it was swift and decisive. This was his method.
***
At this moment, John faced a group of people waiting for him. He was alone and unarmed. Each step he took seemed to press on everyone's heart. Those with weak nerves were already sweating.
They stared as John walked over and sat across from Fisk. He turned to the nervous waiter and said, "A cup of coffee."
After speaking, John looked at Fisk. The former master of Hell's Kitchen now looked utterly defeated.
"It's been a while," John said, greeting him like an old friend. "How's your day?"
"What do you want, John Wick?" the Adjudicator demanded coldly. "You are destroying the order that was so hard to establish."
John looked first at the Adjudicator, then at Fisk, and finally at Winston.
"Please tell this lady that I don't want to kill anyone in my father's hotel," John said with a slight smile. "So, tell her to keep quiet."
Winston shrugged, turned to the Adjudicator, and said, "You heard him. No need to repeat it."
The Adjudicator's face turned sour.
John leaned back in his chair, took out his pocket watch, opened it, and placed it on the table.
"Ten minutes."
The golden pocket watch ticked away, the hands moving steadily.
"We are not that fragile," Fisk said in a deep voice. "You should have had your men just shoot."
"Because next, I will hunt you relentlessly—and all those close to you will die violent deaths." As he finished, Fisk slammed his hand on the table and roared.
"Are you done?" John's expression remained calm. He propped his chin with one hand and said lightly, "Answer the phone."
The phone rang. It was Wesley's.
Wesley looked at John with uncertainty. After receiving a nod from Fisk, he answered the call. After a few seconds, he hung up and whispered to Fisk, "Our company has been sealed off. Unknown teams are attacking our territory, the Russians have become informants, and the FBI is investigating us."
Fisk's face turned grim. He looked at John, suppressing his anger. "Did you do all of this?"
"You need to be clean to avoid filth," John replied calmly. "Not just cover the filth with a layer of white paper."
"The stench has already reached the sky, Fisk."
One phone call made Fisk experience true powerlessness. His face twisted in rage.
Madam Gao spoke up. "The police will ruin everything."
She wanted to stop John's next move.
"That's right," John said, smiling. "Including your factory."
Madam Gao did not expect to be caught in the crossfire.
John looked at her and said in the kindest tone, "You've sided with the wrong person. Leave New York, and someone will take your place."
"You destroyed my factory?" A hint of killing intent flashed in Madam Gao's eyes.
The next second, she felt a wave of discomfort and started coughing violently.
"How can I be…?" She was the one who knew her body best.
She looked frail and old, but in a fight, even Matt might not be her match. Now, she looked like a gravely ill old woman, her face incredibly pale.
She looked at John, her expression uncertain.
John gave her an ultimatum. "Leave—or decay in this place. Someone will take your seat on the High Table."
The abnormality in Madam Gao's body made her uneasy. In the end, she chose to stand up and said to Fisk, "You'll need to get through this yourself."
Fisk suddenly looked up, not expecting Gao to give up on him so easily.
She left with faltering steps.
Only Fisk and the Adjudicator remained.
John's coffee was brought.
He drank his coffee and said leisurely, "I'll give you a choice too, Fisk."
He smiled. "I like to see what people do when they have a choice."
A handgun was pushed across the table.
Fisk's expression was one of struggle. Everything he had was collapsing tonight—just as John had said during his call in the restaurant.
Wesley saw Fisk's struggle. He rushed over, suddenly raised his gun at John, and said, "Kill you—and everything ends."
Winston advised, "You need to think clearly. Are you ready to cancel all services at the hotel?"
Firing a gun inside the hotel would make you an enemy of the hotel system.
Wesley looked at Fisk, who was also hesitant.
"Shoot—and maybe everything will be over."
John wore a mysterious smile.
Wesley looked at John and saw that he was completely undefended.
A voice told Wesley, "Shoot. Even if he had to sacrifice himself, he had to let Fisk continue to be strong."
Shoot!
Fisk suddenly stood up, snatched the handgun, aimed it at John's heart, and pulled the trigger.
"Go to hell, you devil!"
The furious roar was mixed with malice.
The bullet left the muzzle, flying toward John, aiming to pierce his heart.
Winston did not have time to stop him, and a flicker of satisfaction crossed the Adjudicator's eyes.
Blood was about to splatter on the white tablecloth—that would be the highest art in black.
But the bullet stopped.
John's palm closed. In his eyes, the speed was very slow—so slow that he could observe his surroundings as if watching a movie.
The smoking gun barrel and the silent crowd.
He slowly opened his palm.
Golden scales gradually faded from his palm, and his five fingers fully opened.
A deformed bullet lay in his hand.
Time seemed to have pressed the pause button.
John said calmly, "Now, you are no longer clients of the hotel system."
He looked at Winston, who was also staring at the bullet, and said calmly, "Inform everyone that Wilson Fisk has been excommunicated from the hotel system."
The Adjudicator looked at John's palm in disbelief. He actually caught the bullet.
Not only did he catch it, but he was completely unharmed.
The pocket watch on the table had just reached three minutes.
John stood up, adjusted the buttons on his clothes, picked up the pocket watch, and turned to leave.
"My choice for you is to walk out the door and let the police take you—or wait for the flowers of Death to bloom above your head."
He paid no attention to the expressions of the people behind him.
He walked out of the hotel toward the waiting taxi.
"Been waiting long?"
"Oh, I was just reading about the werewolf waking up hungry in the middle of the night and going hunting rabbits with Gilderoy."
Robert put down the book John had given him and smiled. "Where to?"
"Grab a cup of tea?"
"Great idea."
The taxi started.
After they left, Fisk walked out dejected.
He had just gotten into the car when he was caught by the police, who had blocked the road ahead.
With over fifty charges against him, he was prepared to spend the rest of his life in prison.
But there was still unwillingness in his eyes as he looked at Wesley.
"Wait for me to get out."
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