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Narrowing his eyes at the older man in front of him, Henry said with a hint of displeasure, "Why do I get the feeling you're using this opportunity to test the limits of my abilities?"
Charlie Fisher took a sip of whiskey. "Isn't that perfectly normal? We accepted a contract on you. If it succeeds, great. If not… we learn something."
Then he leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret.
"Actually, there's a simple way to solve your problem. Want to hear it?"
"Go on."
Rubbing his fingers together in a money gesture, Charlie said, "Put up a bounty of your own. Turn it around. Once their side is dealt with, your one-month deadline? That can be… flexible.
"The Continental doesn't forbid this. Most people can't do it because we don't reveal who posted the bounty. But in your case? It's pretty obvious who's behind it.
"And honestly, that hundred-thousand-dollar bounty on you? It's insulting—to you and to the contractors. No one serious is going to treat it as real business."
---
It sounded tempting.
But Henry could already see the traps hidden underneath.
He looked at Charlie. "Let me ask you something first. That hundred-thousand bounty—there's outside pressure behind it, isn't there?"
Charlie's eyes drifted. "Maybe. Maybe not. You should know—money and coins aren't the real currency here.
"Favors and rules—that's what matters. This world isn't run by a few Wall Street bankers. Their turf ends there. This place? Different game."
Henry smiled knowingly. "Oh, I see."
"See what?"
"I see that the Arden family still being alive is… inconvenient for someone. They want that entire bloodline silenced—but don't want to be seen doing it. So I'm a convenient pawn."
Charlie didn't deny it. "So? It's a valuable favor."
Henry shrugged. "Too bad I've always had a rebellious streak. The more someone wants me to do something, the less I feel like doing it.
"If they want my help, they can ask me directly. Dressing it up as 'helping me'? Please.
"And I'm a law-abiding citizen," he added with mock sincerity. "No way I'd put out a bounty on someone's life. Let's say ten thousand per Arden—round it up, maybe ten million total? Do I look like a sucker to you?"
---
Charlie chuckled awkwardly.
In truth, he had only meant eliminating key heirs.
Henry, on the other hand, had jumped straight to wiping out the entire inheritance line.
Best not to clarify that misunderstanding.
---
"Alright," Henry said. "One month. I'll play along, put on a show, keep those broke little brats entertained. Watching angels fall from heaven into hell… can be amusing."
Charlie raised his hands. "Your call. I've got no objections."
"You say that like things might still change."
"My manager decides that, not me," Charlie shrugged. "You don't think I have that authority, do you?"
Henry leaned in, whispering, "Moody day? Mooney on her period?"
Charlie shoved his face away. "I'm her uncle. Why would I track that?"
Then he added, "But you getting a girlfriend? That did upset her."
"Seriously?"
Charlie nodded. "You're useful. Then you ran off with someone else. You think people with control issues just shrug that off?
"She won't obsess over it—but if she gets a chance to mess with you? She won't pass it up."
Henry sighed. "That bad?"
"Go talk to her yourself."
"After hearing that? I'd rather stay far away."
---
With the information gathered—and a warning received—Henry was ready to leave.
"One last thing," he said. "Everything you said… still stands, right?"
Charlie smiled faintly. "If you're asking, you already know the answer."
"Rules don't change. Everything else is… flexible. Right?"
Charlie didn't respond.
Henry downed his coffee in one gulp and slipped out through the side exit.
---
A few minutes later, Mooney Fisher appeared in the café, scanning the room.
"Where is he?"
"Ran. As usual," Charlie replied.
"Did someone warn him?" she asked sharply.
"In your territory? Who would dare?" Charlie said lightly, before adding, "Besides, ever since he stopped being 'the Fixer,' who's managed to corner him?"
Mooney frowned. "You think he has abilities beyond being bulletproof? Like precognition?"
"Luck, instinct—call it what you want. Unless he says something, it's hard to tell.
"Like veteran killers' intuition. Can you classify that as a mutant ability? Maybe not. But it works."
"Damn it." Mooney turned and left, clearly irritated.
Charlie simply continued sipping his whiskey, as if nothing had happened.
---
Outside, Henry shook off anyone trying to tail him.
He reversed cleanly into a dark alley, killed the engine and lights, and watched as his would-be followers wandered the surrounding streets, searching in vain.
Sitting in the car, he reviewed everything Charlie had said.
A bounty without results wouldn't last more than a month.
Not a strict rule—but a common practice.
The target was only him—so collateral damage was the main concern.
A hundred thousand dollars wouldn't attract top-tier assassins or specialists—unless they were desperate.
And from Henry's experience, professional killers were rarely poor.
If they lived modestly, it was by choice—or because they maintained multiple safe houses.
Their biggest problem wasn't lack of money.
It was dying before they could spend it.
(There was a reason abandoned storage units were such a thing in America.)
---
So top-tier assassins wouldn't show up for pocket change like this.
Reputation mattered.
Like luxury goods—better to sit unsold than be discounted.
The only variable was whether the Arden family would raise the bounty.
So both the "one-month limit" and "single target" conditions could change.
Still, Henry needed to survive the first month.
As for the assassins coming after him—
Killing them was optional.
Most Continental contractors only made one attempt. If they failed cleanly, they'd withdraw.
Failure meant the job was beyond them.
Those who couldn't recognize that… didn't live long.
Only those who came close to success—or had personal grudges—would try again.
Professional killers valued survival over killing.
Retreating alive to spend money mattered more than completing a job.
Suicidal types were rare.
---
But passive defense wasn't enough.
Even if he cleared out Los Angeles, the Continental's network meant endless replacements.
He remembered his first encounter—John Wick, the Baba Yaga, arriving with a whole Russian crew from the East Coast.
And constant counterattacks risked exposing his abilities.
Even without witnesses, too many dead bodies raised questions.
That's why he hadn't killed anyone during the first wave.
If the other side was just probing, going all-out would escalate things unnecessarily.
How many people would he have to kill to scare others off?
Or how brutal would he need to be?
---
There was a simpler solution.
Raise the difficulty.
Hire a proper security team.
That alone would deter most opportunists.
It was the most common—and effective—method.
Otherwise, the entire security industry wouldn't exist.
Assassins capable of bypassing protection and escaping cleanly were exceedingly rare.
In short—
Another problem money could solve.
No need to risk exposing more of his abilities or waste time playing cat-and-mouse.
But not just any security firm would do.
In this world, security companies were graded—up to AAA level.
The system felt… oddly familiar.
Still, Henry had no intention of hiring strangers.
He preferred people he could trust.
---
With that thought, Henry pulled out his phone—
And dialed a number he had never called before.
Reaching out to a group he hadn't contacted in a long time.
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