The morning sun of Manhattan filtered through the one-way bulletproof glass of the hundredth floor, brightly illuminating the carpet of the Senior Vice President’s office at Vought Tower.
Madelyn Stillwell sat behind her large mahogany desk.
She wore a well-tailored beige business suit and held a steaming cup of black coffee.
On her screen, Vought International’s stock chart showed a steady green line.
The dull sound of high heels stepping on the cushioned flooring echoed from the corridor outside.
The rhythm was deliberate, with no attempt to quiet the steps; every stride carried a habitual sense of condescension.
The office’s automatic doors slid open.
Joanne walked in.
She had changed back into her signature star-spangled suit.
Her long blonde hair was perfectly styled, draped immaculately over her shoulders.
If one ignored the trace of exhaustion lingering deep in her eyes, she was still the invincible American Sweetheart, the most perfect work of art in the Vought empire.
Madelyn set down her coffee cup, rose from her leather chair, and offered a warm smile full of maternal affection.
“Good morning, dear,” Madelyn said.
She walked around the desk to the climate-controlled cabinet, took out a bottle of premium milk imported from New Zealand, and poured it into an elegant glass.
“You didn’t return to your private suite in the tower last night.
As your agent, and your elder, I couldn’t help but worry.”
She handed the warm glass of milk to Joanne, her eyes filled with deep concern.
Joanne’s eyes fell on the glass.
Fine condensation beaded on its outer surface.
For the past twenty years of her life, a warm glass of milk had been her sole comfort for relieving anxiety.
Madelyn had always used this method, paired with gentle words, to soothe her whenever her powers went out of control and caused emotional turbulence.
But today, looking at the milk, what came to Joanne’s mind was last night’s drafty apartment, the steaming pot of sweet and sour ribs, and the silhouette of that man stir-frying at the kitchen counter despite the knife wound on his neck.
“I went for a walk outside,” Joanne said, turning her eyes away from the milk.
She walked to the office’s floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the heavy traffic that resembled swarms of ants.
“The air in the tower is too stuffy.
I needed to breathe some air that hasn’t been filtered and recycled.”
The hand holding Madelyn’s cup froze in midair for a fraction of a second, though the curve of her smile remained perfectly symmetrical.
She was keen enough to detect the coldness in Joanne’s tone.
This coldness was different from her usual high-and-mighty arrogance; it was a true, deep-seated detachment.
It was as if an invisible, silent barrier now separated Joanne from this office and Vought itself.
“The world outside is too noisy for you, Joanne.”
Madelyn set the milk down on the coffee table, walked over to Joanne, and reached out, attempting to stroke her long blonde hair.
“Those ordinary humans can never understand the pressure you bear.
They will only look up to you, or fear you.
Only here, at Vought, by my side, are you safe.” Madelyn’s voice was soft, laced with a seductive whisper.
“I heard there was some unpleasantness in Queens last night.
You know how the security department is—they always maintain the highest vigilance regarding your surroundings.
They were just worried some unsavory characters might affect you.”
Her rhetoric was flawless.
She effortlessly spun Black Noir’s assassination attempt as “routine security vigilance,” not only shirking responsibility but also attempting to test Joanne’s boundaries regarding that Asian youth under the guise of a protector.
A month ago, Joanne might have been blinded by this display of “maternal love.”
But now, everything had changed.
Joanne tilted her head slightly, dodging Madelyn’s hand.
This subtle evasion caused Madelyn’s smile to stiffen.
“There was no unpleasantness,” Joanne said calmly.
This very calmness, however, filled Madelyn with an unprecedented sense of dread.
“Just an unleashed rat running into someone’s home and breaking a window,” Joanne said, staring into Madelyn’s eyes.
Every word she spoke dripped with bone-chilling pressure.
“I threw the rat out.
But that was someone else’s property.
Since it got dirty, I have to take responsibility for cleaning it up.”
Madelyn’s breathing hitched for a split second.
“That is a shame,” she said, quickly regulating her breathing and putting on her flawless smile once more.
“Vought will cover the damages for the window.
In any case, as long as you are happy.
If necessary, I can have Public Relations look into the landlord’s background to make sure he isn’t taking advantage of you…”
“No need,” Joanne interrupted coldly.
She turned and strode toward the automatic door.
Just as she was about to step through, she paused and looked back slightly over her shoulder.
“Keep your security department on a tight leash, Madelyn.”
Joanne’s peripheral vision swept over the cooling milk on the coffee table.
Her tone was completely devoid of emotion.
“If any sharp object capable of breaking skin ever appears in that apartment again, or if another rat I don’t recognize gets close…
I will personally tear down this tower’s load-bearing walls one by one, melt them into glass shards with my heat vision, and shove them down the throats of your security team.”
The automatic doors closed.
Joanne’s silhouette disappeared down the corridor.
Madelyn stood alone in her massive office.
The smile on her face vanished piece by piece, replaced by a dark, absolute coldness.
She walked to her desk and pressed a hidden, encrypted communication button.
“Inform Public Relations that all of Joanne’s scheduled events for today will proceed as planned.
Also, downgrade the surveillance on that Asian in Queens, Zack Vance, to the lowest level of passive observation.”
Madelyn ground her teeth as she issued the order, nearly shattering her molars.
“Without my direct authorization, no one is to step foot within half a block of that neighborhood.”
Meanwhile, in the high-rise apartment in Queens.
The morning sun poured unimpeded into the living room, chasing away the chill of the previous night.
Due to the missing pane of security glass, the wind whistled as it blew in, fluttering the tassels on the edge of the carpet.
Zack Vance sat on the armchair wearing a gray hoodie.
His right hand held an ice pack, gently pressing it against the skin next to the scabbed-over cut on his neck to soothe the muscle soreness.
Setting the ice pack down on the coffee table, he pulled out his phone.
With the newly added funds atop his previous savings, his cash flow had grown to a scale large enough to attract the attention of the major predators on Wall Street.
The corner of Zack’s mouth curled up in a slight arc.
He knew very well that constantly staying on the defensive and relying on Joanne’s protection in this villain-infested world of *The Boys* was no different from tightrope-walking over a cliff.
Once Madelyn or Butcher found a way to isolate Joanne from him, his ordinary human body would still be unable to escape the fate of being crushed.
“Hello, is this Lehman Law Firm?”
Zack dialed an encrypted international long-distance call, his tone calm.
“I am the actual controller of Great Wall Capital.
Yes, the shell companies in the Cayman Islands that I commissioned you to set up can now begin operations.”
Zack walked to the edge of the broken balcony, looking down at the bustling streets below.
“Activate Plan Three.
Through those shell accounts, begin acquiring circulating shares of Vought International on NASDAQ in the name of retail investors and micro-funds.
Remember, keep your movements dispersed.
Keep the daily transaction volume under one-third of the SEC’s disclosure threshold.
I want you to attach yourselves to Vought’s capital pool like leeches, completely undetected.”