The dissuasion failed.
The client was determined to jump into the fire pit, ignoring all advice.
What could he, as a risk manager, do?
He couldn't exactly knock him out and drag him away.
William put down his cup, deciding to review his troublesome business.
He closed his eyes, and an Excel spreadsheet automatically generated in his mind, titled "High-Risk Clients and Potential Claims List."
The client list column flickered with colorful highlights; each name was like a ticking time bomb.
Dark Alley Walker, Arc Kid, Chain Bro, Slingshot Kid... these were the "Newbie Village Four Little Dragons" signed during early market expansion.
The claim risk wasn't high, but the profit was pitifully small.
Then came the official clients:
Jessica Jones.
A walking demolition crew; her policy's additional clauses were thicker than the contract itself.
Matt Murdock.
A blind lawyer who championed justice by day and settled disputes with his fists by night; his work injury assessments were always a challenge.
Tony Stark.
He was the risk itself.
Peter Parker.
A high school student about to be bitten by "fate"; future claim applications would probably wrap around the Earth.
Maxwell Dillon.
An insecure and paranoid electrical engineer, diving headfirst into the future "Electro" script.
Finally, Steven Grant.
Just thinking of him made William feel a little better.
Moon Knight, the ultimate buy-one-get-two bundle package.
Steven signed the contract.
Mark handled battle claims.
Jack provided intelligence services.
One policy, three sets of performance, sixty points of income.
He was practically the Employee of the Year.
William even wanted to give him a trophy.
He pulled up the system ledger in his mind.
Total income: two hundred sixty points.
Claim expenditures: two hundred ten points.
Balance: fifty points.
William's eye twitched.
After all that hard work, he still only had fifty points left.
He began to assess his own abilities again.
The more William thought, the sadder he felt.
The cards in his hand were like a pile of scattered pieces from different board games, impossible to form a winning set.
He looked in the direction Maxwell had disappeared, and a sense of powerlessness washed over him.
He couldn't change other people's destinies.
Especially when the person himself was determined to hit a brick wall.
William finished the last bitter sip of coffee in his cup, as if drinking poison.
Never mind.
He placed the cup heavily on the table.
Since persuasion didn't work, he'd try a different approach.
Thinking this, his mood lightened slightly.
He got up and left the cafe, blending into the afternoon crowd of New York.
He had no destination.
He just walked aimlessly along the sidewalk, letting the city's noise wash over his tired nerves.
The glass curtain walls of the tall buildings reflected the dazzling sunlight.
Well-dressed white-collar workers hurried by.
The street hot dog stands emitted a cheap yet enticing aroma.
William's thoughts began to drift.
He entered a daydream mode peculiar to insurance salesmen.
He needed a perfect client.
An ideal client profile gradually became clear in his mind: first, they had to be rich, preferably the kind who had no concept of money.
Second, they needed to be powerful.
But not very smart.
Often causing massive destruction over minor incidents.
Third, they needed to have noble status, value their reputation, and be willing to pay for intangible things like "image damage."
Finally, and most importantly, he had to be a good person, who wouldn't try to harm him because he grew stronger through his claims.
A figure with long blonde hair, bulging muscles, and a large hammer flashed through his mind.
William's steps paused, and his eyes lit up.
That's right! Thor of Asgard!
He immediately began to draft a brand new insurance product in his mind – "Asgardian Noble Earth Life Accident Insurance."
Coverage included:
"Bifrost Bridge Precision Deployment Error Insurance": If, due to Heimdall's shaky hand or system delay, the insured's landing spot deviates from the predetermined coordinates (e.g., smashing the roof of Stark Tower, falling into a swamp in New Jersey), a "Public Relations Crisis Management Allowance" can be claimed.
"Divine Wrath Consequential Liability Insurance": If the insured loses emotional control and summons lightning to strike a municipal substation, a public restroom, or an innocent passerby's car, the company will be responsible for compensation negotiations with the local government and victims.
"Mortal Misunderstanding Reputation Damage Insurance": If, due to cultural differences (e.g., smashing a cup in a restaurant to ask for a refill), the insured is perceived as barbaric by mortals, leading to damage to their heroic image, a "Image Reshaping Public Relations Service Package" can be claimed.
The more William thought about it, the more reliable it seemed, and a smile unconsciously curved his lips.
This was high-end business; this was the sea of stars he should be pursuing.
What street vigilantes, what electrical engineers? Their scope was too small!
Just as he was immersed in the beautiful blueprint of this "cosmic-level policy"—
"Bang!"
A dull thud accompanied by a short gasp interrupted William's financial fantasy.
He snapped back to reality.
He saw a thin figure stumble and fall to the ground beside him.
It was a boy who looked only fifteen or sixteen.
He wore a faded hoodie, the hood pulled low, almost covering his entire face.
He had fallen hard.
A brown paper bag in his hand rolled to the side, revealing the tips of a few baguettes.
William instinctively reached out to help, but another figure was faster than him.
"Are you hurt?"
A girl, of similar age, with short blonde hair that looked like a burning flame in the sunlight.
Her face still held a trace of unvanished panic, but her movements were swift; she was already half-kneeling, trying to help the boy up.
The person who had bumped into them was a hurried middle-aged man carrying a briefcase.
He looked back, grumbling impatiently, "Kids who don't watch where they're going," then merged back into the crowd without a second glance.
Typical New York indifference.
William frowned, bent down, picked up the brown paper bag, and dusted it off.
"Here you go," he offered.
"Thank you."
The blonde girl looked up, giving him a grateful smile.
The smile was bright, yet carried a weariness and wariness unsuited for her age.
The boy said nothing, only peeked out from behind the girl, quickly glanced at William, then swiftly pulled back.
His eyes were like a startled woodland animal, full of caution.
These two children... something wasn't right.
"You two..."
Just as William was about to say something, a harsh shout came from across the street.
"Stop! You damned thief!"
A burly man in a vest, with tattooed arms, was frantically chasing a young Black man weaving nimbly through the crowd.
In the young man's hand, he clutched a woman's handbag.
Robbery in broad daylight.
William sighed, instinctively stepping back half a pace, ready to clear a "pursuit path."
He wasn't Police, nor was he a vigilante.
His scope of business did not include dealing with this kind of street crime.
However, the two children beside him didn't move.
-------------------------------
I've already uploaded 40 chapters of this story on Patreon!
If you enjoy it, come check out the latest chapters in advance.
Here's the link:
[patreon.com/TripleCrown07]
Thank you so much for your support!!!