Inside the cafe.
Soothing jazz music flowed through the air, primarily using magic to defeat magic, attempting to soothe the nerves of urban workers with a petty bourgeois ambiance.
William pushed open the glass door.
The wind chimes on the door jingled.
He immediately spotted the man.
He sat by the window.
Dressed in a well-tailored gray suit.
His hairline was just right, making his forehead look clean and intelligent.
A gentle smile was on his face.
That face, so gentle it could be printed directly on a community hero's promotional poster, with the award reason being "consistently enthusiastic about helping neighbors solve Wi-Fi problems."
Phil Coulson.
S.H.I.E.L.D.'s ace Agent.
Nick Fury's sharpest scalpel.
William straightened his tie and switched his briefcase to his left hand.
He put on his most practiced, friendly smile—one that could make a fresh graduate max out their credit card on three financial products—and strode over.
"Mr. Coulson?"
Coulson looked up, a touch of genuine emotion added to his gentle smile.
"Mr. Rodriguez, please sit."
He gestured to the empty seat opposite him.
William calmly sat down, placing his briefcase steadily by his feet; his persona had to be maintained.
A waiter came over.
"A black coffee, please," Coulson said.
"Same, no sugar," William added.
Coulson's smile was standard.
It was as if precisely generated by AI drawing software, with not an ounce more enthusiasm nor an ounce less politeness.
"I wonder how Mr. Rodriguez's business has been recently?"
Coulson interlaced his fingers, resting them casually on the table.
His tone was like a casual greeting between old classmates.
"I heard that your client Base… is very special."
It came, it finally came.
William's brain was working frantically, but his face still maintained that impeccable professional smile, emphasizing emotional stability.
S.H.I.E.L.D.
The most powerful intelligence and enforcement agency on this Planet, its ace Agent inviting him for coffee, surely it wasn't to discuss the cutthroat competition in the insurance industry.
"It's alright, all thanks to my clients for keeping me in business."
William leaned back slightly in his chair, adopting a relaxed posture.
"My business philosophy is to provide the most considerate service to every special individual who needs protection. After all, with great power comes great risk, doesn't it?"
This was his sales instinct, etched into his DNA—no matter if the other party was human or ghost, first draw them into his own BGM.
The coffee was brought over.
The deep black liquid swirled in the White ceramic cup, reflecting William's somewhat stiff smile.
Coulson picked up his coffee, took a small sip, but his gaze never left William's face.
"That makes a lot of sense. Risk… is indeed everywhere."
He put down the cup, making a faint clinking sound.
"For example, a man named Kilgrave, he himself is a huge, walking source of risk. We've been very interested in him, following him for a long time."
William felt his temples begin to throb rhythmically again.
"Just last night,"
Coulson's tone remained calm.
"Our risk source walked into a Villa, and our people were waiting outside, planning to intervene at an opportune moment."
He paused.
Seemingly giving William's CPU time to cool down.
"Then, some interesting things happened."
William still didn't respond.
He picked up his coffee, taking a sip just like Coulson.
The bitter liquid slid down his throat, calming his heart that was about to leap out of his chest a little.
"First, our surveillance equipment experienced a brief signal interruption. After it recovered, we found that the Villa… was excessively quiet."
Coulson's lips curved into a meaningful arc.
"By the time we sent people in to check…"
"Mr. Rodriguez, what do you think we found?"
William was internally screaming: I bet you found the scene so clean it was unbelievable, even a night rat would leave in tears, emphasizing a professional team, leaving no stone unturned!
But he merely asked blandly, "What did you find?"
"Nothing."
Coulson's smile widened a bit.
"The family whose minds were controlled had their memories flawlessly altered; they only remembered a gas leak at home last night, and a highly efficient repair company came and did a full house renovation for them."
He leaned forward, and the invisible sense of oppression instantly intensified; the soothing jazz music in the cafe seemed to be squeezed out of tune by this aura.
"Most importantly, our 'risk source,' Kilgrave, he disappeared. Vanished into thin air, without even leaving a single strand of hair."
Coulson's voice dropped, as if sharing a shocking secret.
"Mr. Rodriguez, does your company's scope of business also include… making people disappear?"
William's heart plummeted like a freefall, sinking to the Mariana Trench.
He knew the other party surely had some information, but he hadn't expected it to be so detailed.
Surveillance, on-site investigation, memory extraction… S.H.I.E.L.D.'s methods were terrifying.
What to do?
Admit it?
And then be taken to some secret Base to be studied, this idealistic warrior who could summon "cleaning specialists"?
No, do you want this blessing or not!
"Mr. Coulson, what you're saying… if I may be frank, if this plot were in Hollywood, the screenwriter would have half their bento deducted. It's too outlandish."
William forced himself to smile, even though he felt his lips twitching.
"My company is only responsible for claims, not for performing magic. As for that Kilgrave you mentioned, I truly don't know him. Do my sales figures look like someone who could be involved in such major affairs? You must have the wrong person."
"Is that so?"
Coulson's smile vanished, replaced by a sharp, scrutinizing gaze.
He pulled a thin tablet from his suit's inner pocket, gently slid it across the table, and pushed it in front of William.
On the screen was a high-definition surveillance screenshot.
The background of the photo was exactly the entrance to that Villa.
Two people stood under the dim streetlights.
The woman was Jessica Jones.
And the man was himself.
"Gas leak."
In Coulson's voice, the gentle pretense instantly evaporated, leaving only icy shards.
"Usually, it wouldn't require a private detective and an insurance salesman to make a joint house call late at night, would it?"