"Your phone, and your place to stay."
William pulled open a drawer.
He took out a brand new, unopened, latest-model Stark phone and placed it in front of Jessica.
Then he took out an electronic key card.
"Go get some good sleep first."
Jessica Jones stared at the phone and the key card, silent for a few seconds.
"You're not coming?"
"My work isn't finished yet. How about a romantic candlelight dinner tonight?"
Jessica looked surprised after hearing this.
She seemed curious why this pervert suddenly changed his tune.
But she didn't say anything more. She snatched the phone and key card, turned, and left without any hesitation.
Watching Jessica's figure disappear at the door, the smile on William's face instantly faded, replaced by gloom and coldness.
He walked to the window and looked at the turbulent East River outside.
Only one thought occupied his mind.
Someone was messing with his livelihood!
This was no longer just simple street thugs causing trouble; this was a precise strike targeting his core business.
His client list was practically this guy's Michelin three-star menu!
William quickly returned to his desk and opened his self-designed client management system.
Without a moment's hesitation, he began to draft a mass message.
This wasn't about morality or a sense of responsibility; this was basic "risk warning" and "asset preservation."
Every one of his clients was a source of his power and wealth.
One dead meant one less.
He could not accept such a loss.
His fingers flew across the virtual keyboard.
"[Rodriguez Risk Management Co., Ltd. Urgent Security Notice]"
"To all esteemed clients:"
"A highly dangerous hostile individual has recently appeared in New York City. Codename unknown. External features: [Green Bodysuit]. Target confirmed as [Jackson Awad]. This individual is indiscriminately hunting super-powered individuals."
"Known abilities: [Energy Devour/Stripping]."
"Threat Level: [Lethal]."
"Clients of our company have already been confirmed as casualties."
"Please immediately cease all non-essential public activities and activate the highest level of alert. If the target's whereabouts are discovered, strictly prohibit contact and contact me immediately via the emergency channel."
"—Your Exclusive Risk Consultant, William Rodriguez."
After clicking "Send," William leaned back in his chair, waiting quietly.
A few seconds later, his phone began to chime repeatedly.
The first reply came from the friendly neighbor in Queens.
"[Little Spider]: Oh my god! Mr. Rodriguez! It's him! That guy! Tandy and I met him last night! He's terrifying, my web-shooters were useless against him! I'll be careful! Thank you very much for the warning!"
The second came from the Knight.
"[Moon Knight]: Received. Do you have more detailed information? Such as his modus operandi, or the exact location of his last appearance."
The third came from the old-school street hero in Brooklyn.
"[Chain Bro]: Got it. Damn it, another lunatic."
William knew very well that a mere warning message was useless.
It was like sending a message saying "Waves, be careful" to a fishing boat at sea before a storm.
Full of capitalistic, irresponsible humanitarian concern.
He needed a solution.
A solution that could eliminate the "risk" itself.
Passive defense, waiting for clients to be hunted one by one, and then constantly receiving electronic obituaries from the system?
The big names, such as Iron Man, War Machine, Daredevil, Moon Knight, and others, should be safe.
Peter didn't need to worry either; if he couldn't win, he could run.
That kid had strong mobility.
The few people on his island also had nothing to worry about.
But Dark Alley Walker, Chain Bro, and Slingshot Kid were another story.
Street heroes with some special abilities would likely appeal to that guy's appetite.
Even Maxwell Dillon... he was even less in danger; this guy hadn't become a major villain yet.
But this wasn't William's style.
He needed a hunter.
A professional, rule-breaking, and preferably somewhat insane hunter.
William looked at the replies from his clients on the screen, each one like a potential casualty notice.
Peter Parker's enthusiasm and sense of justice would only make him a more delicious "high-energy cookie" in front of this energy-devouring monster.
Jackson Awad.
That devourer clearly had no bottom line.
Going head-to-head would only shorten his client list.
This wasn't a game of superhero make-believe; this was a brutal business war.
Someone was attacking his "supply chain," liquidating his "quality assets."
Since the other party wasn't playing by the rules, he could only overturn the table.
William's mindset instantly switched from "insurance company boss" to "venture capital liquidator."
His fingers tapped on the keyboard.
"[External Threat Intervention Plan]"
Jessica Jones's impatient face and her mention of a "red and black spandex-wearing psycho" flashed through his mind.
Dual swords, talkative, psycho... a perfect candidate automatically popped into his head.
Wade Wilson, codenamed "Deadpool."
A name that, theoretically, should never appear on any reputable company's partner list.
William's lips, however, curled into an uncontrollable smile.
"[Potential Contractor: Deadpool]"
"[Risk Assessment: Uncontrollable, unpredictable, extremely chaotic, with associated risks of large-scale property damage and psychological contamination.]"
"[Cooperation Value: Extremely high. Using one madman to deal with another monster is the best means of risk hedging.]"
Perfect.
This was simply a "cleaner" tailor-made for the current situation.
He didn't need a hero to judge Jackson; he needed a hungrier, less picky madman to drive away the guy who was feasting at his table, preferably devouring him bones and all.
The question was, how to find this walking aggregate of trouble?
"Jarvis."
"Yes, sir."
"Help me retrieve all recent reports of abnormal violent incidents in Washington D.C. Keywords: red spandex, dual swords, and... high frequency of profanity."
Jarvis's data stream was silent for less than three seconds.
"Sir, based on your keywords, seventeen bar brawls, three public property damage cases, and..."
"...a graffiti from a toilet stall door in 'Hell House' bar. It reads 'Looking for some fun? Call this number, good in bed and not clingy, even to the undead.' followed by a phone number."
"This information was flagged as 'high-risk prank' because three unfortunate individuals who called this number: one was sent to a mental institution, one was found at home arranging a summoning circle with Mexican tortillas, and another... disappeared."
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