Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City, February 15, 2009
Leon S. Kennedy stood watching the iconic painting before him: The Death of Socrates. Claire, at his side, had just explained that the painting depicted the moment before the philosopher's execution—when he chose death for his beliefs rather than renounce his ideas.
He didn't know why, but that explanation led him to wonder whether he himself would one day meet death for similar reasons.
Leon smiled and lowered his gaze. What a foolish thing—to compare himself to a man like that.
- What? - Claire said beside him. - That's what he said.
Leon looked at her and smiled again. She returned it in kind.
- Socrates was accused of 'corrupting the youth' - Claire continued. - He was given a choice: recant or die… and he chose the latter. 'I would rather die than stop thinking.'
- Right… - he murmured. - How could I possibly doubt the words of a man who lived in ancient Greece?
- Don't tell me you're a skeptic, Leon. - she replied, laughing softly.
Claire lifted her glass of Veuve Clicquot to her lips and took a sip. Then, almost in a whisper, she added:
- If power is unjust… resist. Even if it costs you your life. Or whatever it takes.
They looked at each other. Neither said anything more.
This time, it was him who raised the Glenfiddich to his lips before letting his gaze return to the painting, thinking about her last words. It wasn't a scene of death, Claire had said, but an intellectual victory. Socrates had lost his life, but he had won the argument… and the fact that, centuries later, the two of them still stood before that painting was proof enough. Sometimes, he thought, justice really did take its time to appear… How long had that recognition been delayed? Centuries?
Three weeks earlier, on one of those nights when the ghosts in his head seemed determined to drive him insane, Leon's phone had rung. On the other end, Claire's cheerful voice broke in naturally, telling him she would be in the United States in a few weeks—and that she had a proposal for him.
At first, he assumed it would be some job or favor, now that he worked for the government. But the surprise came when she explained that she had been invited to a private charity gala at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, organized by one of TerraSave's largest benefactors… and that she had been given an extra invitation for a guest.
And she wanted him to be that guest.
Leon remembered falling silent for a few seconds. Claire probably took that pause as a polite attempt to decline, because she immediately began listing reasons to convince him. But the truth was different—and he knew it. He hadn't answered right away because, in that moment, he realized something he hadn't expected… She was one of the few people who sought him out without asking for anything in return. No mission, no assignment, no debt. Claire had called because she wanted to see him.
And so he accepted.
He couldn't remember the last time anyone had done that.
Leon returned to the present and took another sip of his whisky.
"It's not a scene of death, but an intellectual victory."
Sometimes, dying could be a form of victory… even if only a moral one…
His hand tightened around the glass as memories of his last mission resurfaced without warning. And, as always, the image of Ada forced its way into his mind, leaving him without answers. He wondered when that woman had decided to silence her own moral compass. Or whether she had ever listened to it at all.
- So… what's this guy's name? - he asked, turning to Claire. - The one we came to hear.
He wasn't going to think about Ada again. That was enough.
Claire, who was already walking toward the appetizer table, stopped when she heard him.
- Come. - she said, gently tugging at the sleeve of his suit.
Leon followed her.
As they moved forward, he found himself watching her again. Claire wore her hair pulled back tight, with a few loose strands deliberately framing her face. Her eyes were lined in black, her lips painted a bold red. She wore a fitted black dress that fell below the knee, with sheer panels at the waist and hips. Around her neck, a rigid gold necklace gave her an almost Egyptian goddess-like air.
Good thing he'd had the sense to invest in a tux…
- He's a well-known philanthropist—Sebastian Harrington-Alcántara. But everyone here just calls him Harrington. - she explained. - He's one of TerraSave's main benefactors. He donates millions every year.
- I see…
The appetizer table turned out to be an excellent idea. They had been drinking while walking through the galleries, and the alcohol was starting to show. Not just in him—Claire was laughing with increasing ease.
- Sebastian is a world-class prodigy—and he's not even forty!
- Prodigy? - Leon repeated, grabbing a random bite.
- At thirty-eight, he's a billionaire. He inherited Alcántara Pharma, a historic pharmaceutical company in Madrid specializing in sleep disorders… but he didn't stop there. He studied Law at the Complutense and got his doctorate at Harvard. That's where he built his connections.
- A lawyer who doesn't practice…
- A strategist. - she corrected. - He understands money, law… and power.
She paused, clearly enthusiastic.
- Two years ago, his company's stock skyrocketed due to breakthroughs in sleep pharmacology. He's on TerraSave's board, organizes events like this, funds humanitarian causes… even small nursing homes. He's very interested in gerontology.
- Of course… the elderly sleep less. Good business.
Claire ignored the sarcasm.
- He's also an environmental activist.
- The most eligible bachelor in Europe. - Leon said dryly.
Claire laughed.
- Two continents, actually.
- Wow… no pressure.
- He's incredibly handsome and has no known partner. And he helped fund the research that proved Umbrella's connection to Raccoon.
Leon raised an eyebrow slightly.
- A real hero…
- That's why TerraSave invited me. - she continued. - Because I'm a survivor.
Leon looked at her.
- And is that why you brought me?
- No. - she laughed. - I brought you because this is fun… - she shrugged. - And because, yes… even if that's what connects us, I'm glad I met you, Leon.
He didn't know how to respond—though he didn't have time to. A man in a navy-blue suit and red tie approached the microphone and announced:
- Ladies and gentlemen, please proceed to the Temple of Dendur. Our guest of honor awaits you.
Claire let out a small squeal, her eyes lighting up with excitement, which drew a smile from Leon. It was clear she deeply admired that man—and was eager to see him. That alone sparked his interest; it wasn't easy for something to excite her like that.
Once inside the gala hall, everyone gathered together, standing side by side.
The Temple of Dendur stood within a structure of glass and steel, with a roof and a northern wall of glass that softened the light. But at night, warm illumination traced its base, casting golden shadows over the pink sandstone and making it even more striking. In front of the temple, a sheet of water represented the Nile, while the slanted wall behind evoked the cliffs of its original location in Nubia.
A two-thousand-year-old Egyptian temple inside a museum in New York.
And someone had decided it was the perfect place to open the gala.
Leon took the last sip of his Glenfiddich and muttered under his breath… he should have refilled it before coming in.
A man with dark hair, touched with early gray at the temples, stepped up to the podium. He was slender, broad-shouldered, with a neatly trimmed beard framing a firm jaw. The black suit he wore had nothing particularly distinctive at first glance… and yet Leon knew instantly it cost more than his monthly salary. And Leon earned well.
It was the kind of fabric that fell perfectly, that seemed to absorb light—and attention—instead of reflecting it.
Then the newcomer smiled.
The smile was warm, present… and seemed genuine.
He raised a hand to greet the room with effortless ease, as though he were completely accustomed to every gaze turning toward him.
The room responded with contained applause.
That was Harrington.
At his side, Leon felt Claire hold her breath. He saw her break into a radiant smile, lift her champagne glass, and attempt to clap—but failed, spilling some of the drink.
- Claire… - he whispered, taking the glass from her with his free hand.
She thanked him and, this time, joined in the applause with the rest.
Well… it seemed this man had truly managed to captivate his audience.
Leon turned his attention back to the only billionaire who had also managed to captivate his friend—despite belonging to that same world of politicians, bureaucrats, economists, and stockbrokers that had so often made their lives difficult in the past.
Maybe this one was different.
And he was about to find out.