Sometimes, when it comes to deals, especially with smart people, it's better to be simple and direct.
Smart people tend to overthink and complicate things, and a small mistake can lead to a huge difference between expectation and result.
Simply put, it's a case of being too clever for one's own good.
"I want the North American branch of the Continental Hotel to separate from the headquarters."
Winston looked at Mike with appreciation, carefully articulating his idea.
This incident made him realize that after serving the hotel his entire life, he was ultimately just an employee, not even receiving basic respect.
Winston's feelings could be summed up in two words: disheartened.
"The High Table probably won't let go easily."
"Of course, they won't let go easily.
They are the ones who make the rules, and they are also the ones who break them.
For the organization, the Continental Hotel is ultimately a business.
Since it's a business, if there's a significant loss, or if it even becomes a hot potato, they will naturally consider cutting their losses."
Winston showed a mocking smile, "People are different; the promises and beliefs we protect with our lives are worthless in the eyes of some people.
They don't deserve to own the Continental Hotel."
Mike offered no comment on this; everyone has their own thoughts.
"You want the Continental Hotel, so what can I get?"
Winston took out a USB drive and placed it on the table: "Inside are the time and location of the plane sent by the High Table, the equipment and common tactics of their armed forces, and detailed information on members with special abilities.
If the first operation fails, the High Table will, depending on the circumstances, send a second elite unit or directly issue a high bounty."
It was normal for Winston to know the arrival time and location of the elite unit, after all, he was the local boss, responsible for arranging all reception matters.
The question was, how did Winston know the elite unit's configuration?
The High Table couldn't have been so foolish as to tell Winston.
Rome wasn't built in a day; Winston's intention to strike out on his own wasn't a recent development.
This incident was just a fuse, or rather, Mike's power showed him a sliver of opportunity.
"Wouldn't that be endless, wave after wave?"
"No matter how many subordinates die, to the people of the High Table, it's ultimately just a financial loss.
They have plenty of money; only when their own lives are threatened will they feel that they can negotiate, that anything can be discussed.
However, I cannot give you the information on the High Table's high-ranking members, although I can obtain it, but that would violate my oath.
The data is stored in the hotel's Underground Room's offline server, and it's generally impossible to steal it."
The meaning was: I won't give it to you, but if someone steals it, there's nothing I can do.
It was utterly pointless.
Winston continued: "The offline server also contains details of assassin contracts, including employers and targets.
The High Table used Bullseye's recent orders to identify a list of suspicious individuals, among whom your presence is the most conspicuous."
"No way?"
Why did Mike feel a little happy inside? He was clearly the type who preferred to keep a low profile and make a fortune quietly.
Winston smiled: "Not only did you survive Bullseye's gun, but you also protected others, and very few people can do that.
And... it's especially incredible that a powerful, arrogant madman was scared enough to seek refuge in the Continental Hotel."
Oh, is this commercial flattery now?
Well, it sounded pretty good, but to make Mike's head spin... far from it.
Mike shook his head.
"What's the problem?" Winston asked.
"There's a big problem."
Mike said seriously: "On the surface, you and I both get what we need, fair and just.
But... all of this is predicated on everything going smoothly."
"First, the role of intelligence is undeniable, but I'm not completely ignorant of the Continental Hotel; I'll say a name—John Wick.
Since I know something, and still dare to provoke, to put it bluntly, I'm not afraid."
John Wick was once a member of the Continental Hotel, serving the High Table, nicknamed "Baba Yaga."
How strong was Baba Yaga?
Mike felt he should be on the level of Bullseye and Punisher.
John alone could turn the Continental Hotel upside down and, by the way, eliminate the High Table's leader.
Could Mike not compare to him?
Intelligence was useful, but not as important as Winston thought; at most, it would save Mike some time and energy.
Perhaps Winston put a lot of effort into collecting intelligence, but in actual operations, only Mike was in danger.
"Secondly, getting what we need is based on success.
Once it fails—although I don't think it will fail, but if it does, I'll either be dead or on the run, and you... most likely will be fine.
The price paid is different; this is the inequality under apparent equality, what do you think?"
After a moment of silence, Winston knew he had lost the organization's trust; once Mike was dealt with, the organization's next step would be to remove Winston from his position.
For Winston, losing the hotel meant losing everything.
So Winston didn't quite agree with Mike's statement about the high inequality.
But he didn't want to argue about this issue: "What do you want? I think, someone like you doesn't need money..."
Mike: "..."
When did he start treating money like dirt?
Was there some misunderstanding?
At this moment, two clusters of energy floated out from Winston.
System Prompt:
[Winston's Long-Cherished Wish: The Continental Hotel]
[Commission: 1,000,000 U.S. dollars (system takes 90% after deducting fees)]
[Mission Description: Help Winston gain control of the Continental Hotel.]
"Is it too far-fetched for this to generate a commission?"
"One million... Stark only charges so little, doesn't Stark care about his reputation!"
He grumbled a couple of times inwardly.
"Ahem, one price: one million U.S. dollars.
I'll help you gain control of the North American branch.
My offer remains valid until the elite unit launches its attack; you can consider it."
Mike was slightly embarrassed.
What the hell about not needing money...
"Deal!"
Winston didn't deliberate for long; he got up and shook Mike's hand again, then bid farewell to Old Earle.
As for the USB drive containing the intelligence, he "forgot" it on the table.
Mike opened his laptop, plugged in the USB drive, and carefully read the information inside.
A text message notification: one million U.S. dollars arrived.
Mike called Coulson.
Connected.
"Hello, Mike..." Coulson's voice sounded a bit tired.
He had just completed a mission and was on a Quinjet.
"Getting your call, I have a feeling of dread; my intuition tells me it's not good."
"Are you a woman, always talking about intuition?
I'm just a concerned citizen with some news: Around 11:30 tonight, a private jet will land at LaGuardia Airport, with twenty-five elite armed personnel on board, including two Mutants."
"..." His intuition was indeed correct, Coulson asked: "How do you know?"
"Hahaha..." Mike laughed, "Because I'm their target!"
Coulson: "I'm going to kill myself..."
Did he suffer internal injuries during the mission?
Otherwise, why did he feel like spitting blood so much?