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"Oh?" Morin raised an eyebrow. "Who?"
Winston smiled. "Yesterday, a gentleman of considerable status checked into the New York Continental Hotel. More interestingly, his name is Sloan Kenway. And just a short while ago, the High Table contacted me. They're sending people to escort him out tomorrow."
"That is interesting," Morin said.
"But there's no need to interfere," he continued. "If he wants to leave, let him."
"It's perfect. He can personally deliver a message to the High Table Elders."
"We'll settle everything at once later."
"It's not time for you to be exposed yet, Mr. Winston. Continue as you are. I'll contact you when I need your cooperation."
"Of course," Winston said, nodding.
"Then," Morin said, pulling out a piece of paper and a cross, "due to current funding issues, the Temple Knights' initiation ceremony will be simplified."
"This is our tenet."
"And this," he added, handing over the cross, "is your initiation gift."
"I'll hold a proper ceremony later. I promise."
Winston stared at the paper-clearly torn from a notebook and covered in hurried handwriting-then at the low-quality cross.
A faint sense of regret washed over him.
Had he agreed too quickly?
Ding-
Both phones chimed at the same time.
Morin and Winston exchanged a glance, picked them up, and checked.
That sound could only mean one thing.
A massive bounty.
"The chairman of the Eyre Group," Winston read, stunned. "Eight million dollars?"
"That's a fortune," he said slowly. "But Mr. Morin... if I remember correctly, wasn't this man the one who commissioned you privately?"
"Yes," Morin nodded. "If I'm not mistaken-"
Before he could finish, his phone rang.
"Mr. Morin?" He answered and lifted it to his ear. Eyre's voice came through immediately.
"I'm here, Mr. Eyre," Morin laughed. "You're fast. Your bounty just went up, and you're already calling."
"I don't have a choice," Eyre said, half-laughing, half-panicked. Then his tone shifted, formal and composed.
"So, Mr. Temple Knight-"
"In the name of righteous order, are you willing to accept the sixteen million dollar reward I'm offering to protect me and punish those who disrupt order?"
The delivery was smooth. Too smooth.
Morin was convinced Eyre had rehearsed it.
Honestly, he thought Eyre would make an excellent candidate for the Temple Knights' future public relations department.
He was talented.
"Since you've phrased it that way," Morin said solemnly, "even if I wanted to refuse, my righteous heart wouldn't allow it."
"I'll be there shortly. There's no need to panic."
"Perfect," Eyre replied. "I'll await your arrival."
After hanging up, Morin looked at Winston's frozen expression.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing... nothing," Winston replied quickly.
He immediately called the concierge.
"Charon. Inform everyone. No one is to accept that eight-million-dollar bounty."
After managing the Continental for so many years, Winston had built a core of loyal assassins.
He had no intention of letting them walk into Morin's hands.
Family fighting family was pointless.
As for everyone else?
Not his concern.
"You've reached an agreement with Mr. Eyre?" Winston asked after ending the call.
"Yes," Morin replied, already heading for the door.
"And this is also the perfect opportunity for the Temple Knights to formally announce our return."
...
At the same time.
"What?"
Inside a conference room, several men stared at one another in disbelief.
They were CEOs of pharmaceutical companies crushed by the Eyre Group's sudden price cuts.
Cornered, they had turned to the High Table, paying for the right to place a bounty on Eyre.
They were supposed to be celebrating by now.
Instead-
"Why didn't it succeed?" one of them asked. "Isn't this the Continental Hotel's failure?"
"They don't see it that way," said the man who took the call. "If too many of their people die, they demand compensation."
"In thirty minutes," he continued grimly, "the New York Continental Hotel has lost twenty percent of its registered assassins."
"That loss is unacceptable to them."
"So they're demanding we raise the bounty."
"...How much?" another asked.
"Ten million dollars. And it may increase further."
"That's impossible! We don't have that kind of liquidity!"
"They don't care."
Silence fell.
Finally, one man spoke.
"We've already gone this far. Backing out isn't an option."
"Sell assets. Prepare to-"
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The conference room door opened.
"A representative of the High Table has arrived," a subordinate announced.
The room went pale.
The Continental was one thing.
The High Table was another.
Moments later, a woman in elegant high heels entered.
"I am a High Table adjudicator," she said coldly.
"Due to your direct actions, the registered assassins of the New York Continental Hotel have suffered losses exceeding twenty percent."
"This wasn't our fault-" someone tried to argue. "It was the Continental's incompetence-"
"I am not here to negotiate," the adjudicator interrupted.
"I am here to announce judgment."
"The Eye of the Hawk and the Continental Hotel will face their reckoning."
"But first-yours."
"Forty percent of your companies' total assets will be transferred to the High Table as compensation."
"You have ten days."
She placed the contract on the table.
"To be clear," she said, turning away, "this is not a negotiation."
"It is a verdict."
...
The adjudicator entered her vehicle, preparing to move on to her remaining duties.
A single bullet stopped her.
The armored window shattered like paper.
The driver slumped forward, blood seeping from a hole between his eyebrows.
The adjudicator remained frozen in her seat.
Pale. Motionless.
The Temple Knights' debut-
Had only just begun.