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Morin had no intention of persuading Anderson.
After saying a few more words, he hung up directly.
Talking was never as convincing as action.
Let the facts speak.
On the way, Morin called Wick.
He needed to notify his main combat force in advance.
"...Hmm?"
After a moment, Wick answered, panting.
"You... better be quick..."
"Uh..." Morin paused. "Let me guess. You're exercising?"
"Exercising?" Wick froze, then reacted.
"Fuck-I'm on a mission!"
"Alright. My bad." Morin's mouth twitched, remembering the last time he'd called Wick.
Why was it that every time he called, it was always like this?
"You... hurry up... what is it?"
Wick panted again. Morin could hear suppressed gunshots in the background.
"I'm heading out to take a big job," Morin said.
"While I'm gone, the High Table might attack our base."
"Hold it if you can. If you can't, abandon it."
"What?" Wick frowned. "A big job? How big could it be to make you leave now?"
"Two point two billion dollars," Morin replied calmly.
"Eleven Continental Hotels."
"What the fuck?" Wick was stunned.
"Two point two billion? Eleven Hotels? Who would issue something like that? And we actually took it?"
"Are you insane?"
"Yes," Morin said.
"I'm doing it alone."
"You defend the base. Don't let them take it."
"If you can't hold it, abandon it. Even if it's overrun, as long as the people are alive, I can rebuild."
"Got it?"
"Are you sure you can pull this off?" Wick asked.
He flicked his wrist. Two bullets curved around a corner and dropped his enemies. He wedged the phone between his shoulder and head and started reloading.
"Those are Continental Hotels."
"You saw what I did that night," Morin chuckled.
"Relax. Even if I fail, I can still get out."
"You defend the base."
"I'll go steal."
-
The entire world was discussing the contract.
Two point two billion dollars.
No matter how you looked at it, that number was absurd.
So the question was simple.
Could someone who produced two point two billion dollars be an "ordinary enthusiastic citizen"?
And one who just happened to find it lying around?
Obviously not.
A hundred million would fill a car-sized safe.
Two point two billion?
Did they find a fully loaded cargo truck on the roadside?
No one believed that.
Anyone with a functioning brain understood what this really meant.
A country had stepped in.
It wasn't official.
But everyone knew.
The only thing missing was a public confirmation.
This time, Ezio didn't bother calling the government.
He knew it was pointless.
Unless he wanted to tear away the last layer of pretense and face both the Templar Knights and the world's major powers at once.
He didn't.
So there was only one solution.
Crush the Templar Knights head-on.
Ezio mobilized all forces near the former New York Continental Hotel and ordered them to attack the current New York Templar Knights headquarters.
At the same time, he commanded the other Continental Hotels to contract their forces and prepare for assault.
He also activated several hidden cards.
Assassins he had secretly trained.
Pawns he'd buried for years.
Ezio had a feeling.
This crisis would force him to use everything.
-
Rome Continental Hotel.
Even knowing the Templar Knights would come because of the high-priced contract, the hotel could not close.
Closing meant preemptive surrender.
And in the public eye, the High Table still held the advantage.
Very few truly believed the Templar Knights could dismantle it.
So business continued as usual.
Of course, precautions were raised to the highest level.
A handsome blond man with blue eyes, wearing a luxurious suit, stepped into the Continental Hotel.
His posture was precise. His movements exact, measured down to the millimeter.
As he walked, countless eyes followed him.
Some hands drifted toward guns.
Ezio had issued a special order.
If anyone showed hostile intent inside the Continental Hotel-
They could be shot on the spot.
No violation.
Rewards included.
Under layers of vigilance, the man reached the front desk.
He was Morin.
The blond hair and blue eyes came from an Ethan Hunt-style mask and colored contacts.
Morin's rule for realistic masks was simple.
They had to match his level of good looks.
So far, only Ethan Hunt and John Wick qualified.
As for Wick's face-
He hadn't had the chance to copy it.
And using it here would get him stopped three hundred meters out.
Everyone knew the Boogeyman's face.
And everyone knew the Boogeyman was now a Templar.
"Sir?"
Coincidentally-or perhaps not-the receptionist was also Black.
Maybe it was tradition.
"You seem unfamiliar."
"Of course." Morin slipped his hand into his pocket.
Nearby assassins tensed.
But when they saw what he pulled out, their pupils shrank.
They quietly stepped back.
Trying to make themselves invisible.
It wasn't because the item was large or valuable-
Though Morin did possess such things.
He simply had no interest in showing them to a crowd of burly men.
What he took out was a blue-and-black gold coin.
Every assassin understood what it meant.
"I am the Adjudicator," Morin said coldly.
"I'm here to see the hotel's owner."