A black sedan with the Umbrella logo on the door pulled smoothly away from the curb and merged into the flow of Manhattan traffic.
In the back seat, Matthew turned his attention to the suit he was wearing. Eleanor had brought it for him. He didn't know much about tailoring, but the weight of the fabric and the precision of the stitching told him everything he needed to know about the price tag.
"Ross," he said, "does the job description for personal assistant usually include ordering custom suits in advance?"
Eleanor, who was driving, glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "More accurately, going forward I'll be managing all your day-to-day needs. Housing, meals, transportation, wardrobe. It falls under the role."
"You're going to be very busy," Matthew said, and opened the laptop again.
The first half of Eleanor's document covered his father's background and how Theodore Lawrence had come to be involved with Umbrella in the first place. Matthew skimmed it. Interesting enough, but not urgent. The second half was what he actually needed.
Security Division. Primary responsibilities: internal corporate security, evidence suppression, management of biohazard containment events, protection of high-value personnel, deployment of BOWs...
In short, everything Umbrella needed done that it couldn't put on an official invoice. Matthew didn't expect to be doing any of it himself. But knowing how it worked and who was doing it on his behalf was a different matter entirely.
By the time he finished reading, the shape of the job was clear. Personnel decisions, mission approvals, and budget requests to the parent company. The last one mattered most. Nobody worked for free, and Umbrella's people were no exception.
The car rolled to a stop in front of the building.
Matthew stepped out and looked up. A hundred floors of glass and steel, the Umbrella logo running the height of the facade. Right across from Stark Tower, close enough that you could almost feel the tension between the two buildings just standing on the sidewalk.
He took a breath and walked in.
Not far away, Tony Stark climbed out of his car in front of Stark Tower with a cheeseburger in one hand, caught a glimpse of Matthew disappearing through the revolving doors, and looked over at Happy.
"Happy, I've been thinking. I need a better-looking bodyguard. Even a random guy's driver looks better than you."
Happy glanced in the direction Matthew had gone, then offered the mild, noncommittal smile of someone who had survived years of Tony Stark. "That's not some random guy's driver. That's the new head of Umbrella's security division. And the woman walking with him is Eleanor Ross, the previous director's assistant."
He flexed one arm and patted the muscle with complete sincerity. "Besides, I don't think someone with a build like that can actually protect anybody."
Tony looked at him for a moment. Then he took a bite of his cheeseburger, said nothing, and walked inside.
Happy hurried after him, continuing to make his case.
The lobby of Umbrella's New York office moved with the quiet efficiency of a place where everyone knew exactly what they were doing and had too much of it to do. Matthew and Eleanor cut through the foot traffic and stepped into an elevator that required a Level 3 clearance to access.
Inside, Matthew found himself staring at the access bracelet on Eleanor's wrist. Something about it nagged at him, the way a half-remembered thing does.
"Who designed those?" he asked.
Eleanor held up her wrist. "Spencer, one of the board members. Mine is Level 4. Yours is Level 5, which is the highest clearance within the division."
"So I have one too?"
"No. I had your access set up through facial recognition before you arrived. No bracelet needed."
The elevator opened onto a subterranean floor that Matthew hadn't been expecting.
The space was enormous. Every wall was lined with weapons, ranging from combat knives to grenade launchers, and the floor stretched out into what was clearly a serious training facility.
He turned to Eleanor. "Why are we here?"
"Because this," she said, "is currently your most important job."
She reached into her bag and produced a folder.
"Your father left detailed instructions on how he wanted the transition handled. The first item on that list was ensuring you acquire a functional level of military competence." She held out the folder. "Handlers can be bought out. Bodyguards can be killed. And frankly, the head of a corporate security division shouldn't be someone who can't defend himself."
Matthew took the folder. Inside was a list of names with photographs, credentials, and salary figures.
"Pick whoever you want," Eleanor said. "And don't worry about the facility. This is twenty-five floors underground, the whole room is reinforced, and everything on those walls is rated within safe operational limits."
Matthew started flipping through the pages.
He'd already been thinking about finding someone to train with once he was inside Umbrella. He just hadn't expected it to be handed to him on day one.
He stopped.
"Him," he said.
Eleanor leaned over to see who he was pointing at.
The photograph showed a man in full tactical gear: gas mask, black military helmet, matte black body armor layered over a tactical vest. From his belt hung a submachine gun, flashbang grenades, and fragmentation grenades. Every piece of equipment looked used and deliberately placed. Nothing decorative about any of it.
Eleanor read the name from the profile beside the photo. "Hank?"
"That's the one." Matthew tapped the annual salary listed below. One point two million. "And give him a twenty percent raise."
Eleanor hesitated. "Twenty percent? That's..."
"Your salary goes up twenty percent too."
"Understood."
System Points +20. "Eleanor Ross" feels genuinely grateful.
Cumulative total: 30 points. Season Pass reward unlocked: Basic Zombie Dogs x5 (stored in system inventory.)
Next milestone: 100 points. Keep finding ways to benefit the public.
Matthew stared at the notification for a moment.
He had nothing left to say about it. He'd made his peace.
The training floor was lit with flat white light that left no shadows anywhere. After a few minutes, the elevator doors opened again.
A figure stepped out.
The gas mask was gone, but the presence wasn't. He moved with the kind of deliberate stillness that made the air around him feel different, the way a room changes when someone walks in who has genuinely seen things.
He stopped, came to attention, and looked directly at Matthew.
"Sir. Hank, reporting in."