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"What do you want to do?" Carlos immediately became alert.
"I can consider joining the Templar Knights, but it cannot involve my son, Wesley!"
"This isn't a matter of what I want," Morin said, examining the wine glass in his hand.
"You don't think Sloan doesn't know you have a son, do you?"
"If you betray the Fraternity of Assassins, what do you think Sloan will do? Won't he target your son?"
"Will he do things to your son, like using him to threaten you, or even taking him back to the Fraternity of Assassins, training him, misleading him, making him believe you are his enemy, and then making him fight you?"
"If everything I've said happens, will you hurt him, Carlos? When you're facing Wesley, your son, what will you do? Do you think he'll believe your words, or the words of the Fraternity of Assassins who raised him?"
"...Then I won't betray the Fraternity of Assassins," Carlos said after some thought.
"We're all adults. Don't talk so childishly, Carlos. I know what kind of person you are, otherwise I wouldn't have come to you," Morin said.
"In my opinion, you're one of the few people in the Fraternity of Assassins who still believes in the 'kill one to save thousands' philosophy, and who wouldn't betray or run away for profit or to save their own life."
"So when you discover Sloan's problem, whether I'm here or not, whether you're thinking about Wesley or not, you will oppose Sloan. And when you face Sloan, who controls the Loom of Fate, you will become a so-called 'traitor.'"
"That's why I came to you."
"..." Carlos stayed silent for a long time, staring at Morin.
"If-and I mean if-everything you said is true," Carlos finally spoke, his voice a little hoarse.
"What do you plan to do with my son?"
"It's not about what I want to do with your son, but what you need to do with your son," Morin said, shaking his head.
"Don't you realize you've been a negligent father, Carlos? A father who has never let his son see him, and..."
"Enough," Carlos interrupted. "I just don't want to drag him into this cruel world!"
"So you'd rather stand by and watch him," Morin said, "watch him sink into a mediocre life?"
"With a terrible job, a terrible boss, a terrible girlfriend, a terrible 'friend'..."
"In that environment, slowly, his entire life is wasted until he dies."
Morin's words left Carlos with no room to argue.
"His mother begged me," Carlos said softly, as if trying to convince himself.
"That was her last wish."
"No one can decide another person's life for them, Carlos," Morin said seriously.
"Gold will always be gold. Wesley's talent is no less than yours, and even stronger. This kind of talent means he's destined not to fit into a normal life."
"So why don't we give Wesley a chance?" Morin continued.
"Put all the possible choices in front of him, and let him make his own decision."
"Besides," Morin said, his voice sounding like a tempting devil,
"you also want to formally meet him, acknowledge him as your son, and hear him call you..."
"Dad, right?"
...
Morin watched Carlos leave, a little lost. He drank another glass of wine before returning to his hotel room.
Now that he had successfully contacted Carlos, he naturally had to start preparing for the next step.
As for what choice Carlos would make, Morin wasn't worried at all. The options he offered were absolutely the most beneficial to Carlos.
If Carlos chose something else, it would mean there was something wrong with his brain.
"Next, I need to go there..."
...
The next day.
175 Fifth Avenue, Manhattan.
A triangular skyscraper stood there. It had a name.
The Continental Hotel.
The Continental Hotel was, in truth, a killer organization. There were twelve Continental Hotels around the world. In each one, killers could stay, and in exchange for a special currency-a gold coin-they could receive top-tier services.
Cars, women, money, status.
All of it could be obtained with these coins.
With such value, the coins were naturally difficult to acquire.
They circulated only among killers and were stained with the blood of countless murders. Saying each coin carried a tormented soul would not be an exaggeration.
Morin came here for one reason.
The best way to dismantle an enemy was to attack from within.
He walked into the Continental Hotel, moving unhurriedly, meeting the gazes of killers resting in the lobby or checking in.
"Sir, are you checking in, or...?" The black man at the front desk, wearing glasses, asked.
"If dollars are acceptable," Morin replied.
His answer made several nearby killers chuckle quietly.
With his hearing, Morin caught comments like "still a newbie," and "what a waste of that face to come here to die instead of selling it."
He ignored them and looked calmly at the front desk.
"Sir, if this is your first time at the Continental Hotel, there are a few things I need to inform you of," the clerk said, his professional smile unchanged.
"First, the hotel uses a special gold coin as its currency."
"Second, no conflicts or bloodshed are allowed inside the hotel."
"Third, if you wish to stay, you need a new identity. Only with this identity can you learn the subsequent rules."
"Oh?" Morin asked, as if unaware. "What kind of identity?"
"A killer," the clerk said. "A professional killer, sir."
"So how do I obtain this identity?" Morin asked.
"If you are certain," the clerk replied, "I will apply for a temporary killer identity for you."
"In addition, the hotel will temporarily provide you with five gold coins as assistance, so you can complete your assessment mission."