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Daisy lowered her finger, and the fork returned to the table as she ended the psychic suggestion.
"The CEO is still you. Have James Wesley serve as vice president and handle some of the day-to-day operations. I'm going to sleep for a while; wake me when we arrive."
"All right, waiter, get a blanket for Miss Johnson," Justin quickly adapted to his role, although not exactly bowing down, he certainly placed himself in the role of a minion.
As Daisy flew towards California, the former mob strategist, James Wesley, took over the role of vice president. He spent the afternoon tirelessly meeting with various executives at Hammer Industries. With the support of both Daisy and Justin, combined with his own capabilities, he quickly stabilized the situation.
People at Hammer Industries had never really had much sense of ownership or responsibility, so the lightning-fast change in leadership didn't seem strange at all.
Near the end of the workday, he received a phone call, and after hesitating a few times, decided to go for the meeting.
As the president of Skye Data and Skye Pictures, with various salaries, stock dividends, and grey income, Mr. Wesley's fortune had already surpassed ten million dollars. Now formally entering Hammer Industries, his wealth was set to multiply several times over—Daisy was quite generous with her trusted subordinates.
He didn't bring a bodyguard, driving alone in a Ford into Hell's Kitchen. Observing the familiar but foreign streets, seeing the eyes of people living here filled with anger and fear, he felt mixed feelings in his heart. How many years had it been since he had returned here? In reality, only two years, but it felt like a lifetime ago.
Dressed in a crisp suit and shiny leather shoes, walking on the sewage-strewn streets, he felt that he was completely out of place.
Pushing open the door of a restaurant, he used to be a frequent visitor to this place, where he had spent more time than even at his own home, the current interior decoration made him disordered—it felt like stepping into a strange place.
He walked down to the basement, the dim lighting causing him to frown slightly. Everything was uncomfortable, the environment that once felt natural now seemed like torture.
Still, he straightened his suit and gently pushed open the wooden door to the basement.
From the narrow staircase to the worn wooden door, everything brightened up after he pushed open the door; a 500-square-meter underground space was revealed, filled with gang members drinking, playing cards, and boasting.
Seeing James, a new face, some quickly reached for their guns, but the older ones recognized him and stopped their companions' rash actions.
It seemed like a big deal, and it was best for them to pretend not to see.
"James, my friend!" Standing tall at two meters, built like a thick wall, Wilson Fisk—known in the underworld as Kingpin—slowly approached James. His voice was deep and his expression serious as he opened his arms for a hug.
Kingpin was always reserved, his voice deep and it was hard to judge his likes or dislikes from his outward expressions.
James was not worried that the other party would attack him, as he had always considered Kingpin a friend, a sentiment that had never changed and was presumably reciprocated.
Their hug was warm, without any drama of breaking bones or tearing muscles, leaving the gangsters confused and unable to understand.
Without concerning themselves with the opinions of the underlings, they walked into Kingpin's office, which was formerly James' office.
Returning to this not-too-spacious room after two years, James had mixed feelings. Kingpin hadn't altered the layout; everything seemed as if it had been left unchanged from the day before.
However, there was another man in the office, dressed in a tight-fitting blue battle suit with white wristbands and boots, his most striking feature being a target-like disc on his forehead.
The man leaned against the wall, sizing up James with a glance that seemed unimpressed as if he saw nothing special in him.
"James, this is Lester, codenamed Bullseye. Bullseye, this is my dear friend James Wesley," Kingpin introduced them.
James attempted a handshake, but Bullseye didn't even look at him, instead idly flipping a pair of playing cards.
Kingpin frowned slightly, signaling James to sit down. They talked about old times for a while, Kingpin rarely spoke for such a long time, and by the end, his throat was dry, forcing him to move to the main topic.
"Will you come back?" Kingpin's tone was firm and powerful, being fully straightforward.
Now slightly unaccustomed to such directness, James responded more diplomatically, "I still want to continue proving my worth."
Bullseye snorted, flicking a playing card towards a wooden target across the room. The card struck precisely at the throat of the target, making no secret of the threat
"James is my friend, don't try to go too far," Kingpin scolded, turning back to rebuke Bullseye, who lowered his gaze as if nothing had happened.
"Whenever you find yourself in trouble, you can come to me," Kingpin promised sincerely.
His summoning of James was not merely for reminiscing or persuading; there was a bigger purpose.
Kingpin weighed his words carefully, "I've returned from Spain, and now I need a large amount of weapons. I wonder if you..."
James did not refuse his old friend's request. His fingers interlaced on the table, he asked, "How much do you need? What kind of weapons?"
"The more, the better." Kingpin wasn't aware of James' current position; he only knew his own subordinates had been keeping an eye on Hammer Industries, noting that James had stayed in the office without coming out all afternoon.
"Hehe," James chuckled at the irony of his old friend and boss coming to him to buy arms.
"Fisk," he still used the old nickname, "give me a number of people you need to arm, and I'll allocate some weapons for you."
Even though it was only an afternoon, James had already gained considerable authority within Hammer Industries, and allocating some weapons was easy for him.
He thought it was a trivial matter, but not everyone saw it that way. Bullseye spoke sarcastically, "Don't you need to consult your new boss?"
James had spent much of his life in the mob and wasn't someone to be pushed around. Although he wasn't a fighter, he knew Kingpin wouldn't harm him and would even protect him, so he wasn't afraid of Bullseye.
He scoffed, "What kind of weapons are you looking to buy? Tomahawk missiles? Or Hellfire, Sidewinder? Maybe a submarine? Those items would need Miss Johnson's approval. If not, I call the shots. If you need, I can also allocate within my authority a couple of armored troop carriers and armed helicopters, though I doubt those would be much use in the streets."
Kingpin didn't need missiles, which would overly agitate the authorities and politicians, and gang fights wouldn't escalate to such extreme weaponry. As for submarines, even if offered for free, he had no use for them.
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