What the hell is wrong with you?!
Kingpin, that bastard, is even more suspicious than he is big.
He never truly trusts anyone.
Making him personally inspect the container was the first layer of probing.
And now, making him travel with the cargo is the second layer of shackles.
Once he enters that enclosed truck compartment, he transforms from an "insurance consultant" into a "package."
He will lose his vision.
Lose his perception of the outside world.
Lose all initiative.
If Hellcat really appears, he won't even know which direction the attack will come from.
He will become a sitting duck, along with the box containing Elektra.
His brain completed tens of thousands of deductions in an instant.
Refuse?
That would immediately expose his little scheme.
Scarface and his men's muzzles would be aimed at him within 0.1 seconds.
Accept?
That would mean completely entrusting his life to a group of desperadoes and that crazy driver.
Danger Prediction was alarming wildly.
It wasn't pointing to a specific threat, but a global risk warning, representing "loss of control."
William's expression remained unchanged, not even the professional arc of his smile altered.
He just sighed softly, as if talking to himself.
His tone was filled with the helplessness and weariness of a professional being dictated to by an amateur.
"Mr. Fisk is still so… cautious."
He shook his head, his gaze sweeping over the massive heavy truck, revealing a hint of undisguised disdain.
"Putting all your eggs in one basket, and it's a big, clumsy basket with 'Come rob me' written all over it. With all due respect, this isn't security; this is a mobile target practice."
Scarface's brow furrowed even deeper.
"Mr. Rodriguez, this is Mr. Fisk's order."
"Orders can be right or wrong."
William's voice carried an unquestionable authority.
As if he were the one giving orders.
"I am responsible for risk management. Putting me in that tin can is the biggest risk."
"I need to be able to control the overall situation at all times, evaluate routes, and respond to emergencies. Not turn myself into an item that needs to be protected."
He paused, and without waiting for Scarface to retort, he directly presented his plan.
His finger pointed to the incongruous yellow taxi in the distance.
"True security is about catching people off guard."
"That truck is a perfect decoy; it will attract everyone's attention."
"We will proceed as planned, letting it depart ostentatiously."
"And the real 'artwork,'" William's gaze returned to Scarface, his eyes sharp as knives, "will be personally escorted by me. Using that car."
Scarface followed his finger, his expression shifting from confusion to absurdity.
"A taxi?"
"A taxi that will attract the least attention on the streets of New York."
William corrected him.
"It can go down any small road a truck can't, and it can blend into any traffic. My driver is the person in all of New York most familiar with the routes of Hell's Kitchen. And I,"
He patted his chest.
"Will be with the cargo. You can open the trunk, put that box in, and then lock me inside, I don't care."
That confident, in-control smile reappeared on his face.
"Now, you can go consult Mr. Fisk."
"Whether to choose his conspicuous and foolish 'Fortress Plan,' or my more professional, more flexible, and more foolproof 'Ghost Plan' for his precious 'artwork.'"
"Tell him, the insurance policy does not have a clause to pay for the client's foolish commands."
Scarface was somewhat stunned by William's barrage of words.
He had never seen anyone dare to comment on Kingpin's arrangements like this, nor had he seen anyone dare to speak to him in such a manner.
But strangely, the other party's rhetoric sounded… incredibly reasonable.
He stared intently at William, as if trying to discern even a trace of fear or bluster on his face.
But he failed.
William's gaze was calm and firm, as if stating an indisputable law of physics.
"…I need to consult again."
Finally, Scarface squeezed out these words through gritted teeth, then turned and walked away again to make a call.
William did not look at him, but instead cast his gaze towards Jack Lockley in the distance.
He could feel Jack's eyes constantly fixed on this spot.
The Knight heard it.
This sudden change in plans was also a huge test for the suspicious Moon Knight.
The waiting time felt exceptionally long.
The wind on the dock seemed colder.
Finally, Scarface hung up the phone and walked back.
His expression was complex, with surprise, incomprehension, but more so, a sense of obedience.
"Mr. Fisk… agreed to your plan." He said in a deep voice, "He said he hired professionals, and he will respect your professional judgment."
A huge weight lifted from William's heart, but his face remained impassive. "A wise decision."
"However," Scarface added, "Mr. Fisk has one condition. From now until the cargo is delivered, you cannot leave that taxi. Your driver will be responsible for driving, and you must stay with the cargo."
"Deal."
William replied decisively.
The following scene became incredibly bizarre.
Under the supervision of several security personnel.
The huge crane arm restarted.
Carefully, it slowly lifted the heavy, priceless dark silver alloy box.
The target was no longer the imposing heavy truck, but the yellow Ford Crown Victoria that looked like it could fall apart at any moment.
"Screech—"
When the alloy box was crammed into the trunk, the entire body of the taxi suddenly sank downwards.
Then those people placed the container in the back of the heavy truck and locked it.
It would serve as a decoy.
Escorted by a convoy of four black SUVs, it would depart along the original route.
And the true center of the storm.
This overloaded, dilapidated taxi, waited quietly.
William pulled open the passenger door and got in.
Jack did not start the car immediately.
He chewed on a toothpick, turned his head, and his eyes, sharp as an eagle's in the shadows, stared intently at William.
He said nothing, but his gaze asked everything.
"Plans have changed."
Jack still didn't speak, merely nudged his chin towards the back of the car, the questioning in his eyes growing more intense.
He could feel the sluggishness the car had due to the overload.
He knew that anything that could make Kingpin go to such lengths, and make William change the entire plan on the fly, was certainly not ordinary.
Silence fermented in the confined space.
Finally, Jack broke the silence first.
His hoarse, rough voice carried a hint of the irreverent sarcasm unique to the streets of Brooklyn.
"What's up, Mr. Consultant?"
He spat out the toothpick and asked, "What exactly did you see in that metal box? A live T-Rex, or an alien ready to dance in Times Square?"
William turned his head, meeting Jack's gaze.
He didn't smile, and there wasn't even a superfluous expression on his face.
He looked at this man, a taxi driver by day and Moon Knight by night, and slowly shook his head.
"No."
His voice was very soft, yet it was like a stone dropped into a bottomless, cold pool.
"There are no dinosaurs in there, and no aliens."
William's gaze seemed to penetrate the seats and the steel plate of the trunk, falling upon the sleeping woman.
Through "Mechanical Induction," he could clearly "hear" the faint electrical hum of the life support system running smoothly inside the alloy box, and… the heart beating as silently as if in hibernation.
He withdrew his gaze, looking at the rusty warehouse gate and the grey sky ahead, and said softly:
"Just one big problem."
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