Chapter 687

"That’s it?"

Even after Stephanie left the room, Fisk and Grace still looked stunned.

Fisk couldn’t shake the feeling that the whole thing had been unreal.

Protecting his assets from an FBI investigation was no small matter. Yet Evenson hadn’t needed some elaborate scheme or a dozen intermediaries. A few phone calls, a few casual words, and apparently the entire problem had been solved.

They hadn’t even bothered to arrange the usual precautions about what would happen if things went wrong.

That alone told Fisk how confident they were.

"Why are you still worried?" Evenson asked. "The Malik family is handling it."

Fisk said nothing.

Evenson wasn’t worried in the slightest.

Hydra had spent decades operating from the shadows, quietly building its network and waiting for the right moment to emerge. That moment was rapidly approaching.

Alexander Pierce and the other Hydra leaders had already taken control of S.H.I.E.L.D. From where Evenson stood, it was only a matter of time before they stepped into the light.

Gideon Malik, meanwhile, had shifted most of his attention toward business and politics. His influence extended far beyond the United States. There were countless politicians who appeared powerful in public yet depended on Malik behind the scenes.

Even within the FBI, an organization supposedly dedicated to law and justice, Malik had people in his pocket.

So Stephanie didn’t even need to personally intervene in any significant way. A suggestion here, a hint there, and protecting the assets of a crime boss was barely worth mentioning.

Grace quickly stepped in to reassure Fisk.

"The Malik family’s position speaks for itself. With their eldest daughter personally handling this, there shouldn’t be anything to worry about."

Fisk nodded silently.

He had always known that America’s talk about democracy and equality was mostly political theater.

Apparently, he still hadn’t understood just how deep the rabbit hole went.

Something that had looked like an impossible crisis to him had been solved by a young woman making a few phone calls.

He had spent half his life clawing his way upward, building an empire from nothing.

And she had simply been born into a world far above his.

Fisk sighed.

For some reason, he suddenly thought of his father.

The bastard had spent most of his life drinking and beating his wife instead of doing anything useful. If he’d worked hard for a few years and left his son even a modest inheritance, Fisk’s own rise would have been much easier.

No wonder I killed the bastard with a hammer.

Fisk clenched his jaw, pushed the thought aside, and composed himself.

"Since the problem I was concerned about is no longer a problem, I’m willing to transfer my assets as you requested."

He looked directly at Evenson.

"So we have a deal?"

Fisk had already made his decision.

For Vanessa, he was willing to sacrifice everything.

And he wasn’t particularly worried about being reduced to nothing afterward. The assets might no longer technically belong to him, but he expected to retain access to them.

Besides, anyone with common sense understood where Wilson Fisk’s real value lay.

He hadn’t built his position because of the number in his bank account or the companies listed under his name.

His value was himself.

His ability.

His ambition.

His methods.

His courage.

And the network he had spent years building.

If Evenson wanted him to work for him, then controlling his assets was probably less about stealing his money and more about making sure Fisk remained under control.

That reasoning happened to align perfectly with Evenson’s own thinking.

Money was useful.

Talented people were valuable.

So why choose between the two?

Why not keep both?

"Then we have a deal."

Evenson nodded.

Then he paused.

"But before we finalize it, we need to sign a contract."

"A contract?"

Fisk and Grace exchanged a glance.

They understood that Evenson operated on a different level, but putting everything down in writing seemed almost absurd.

And looking at the two of them, did they really seem like the sort of people whose devotion to contractual obligations was carved into their souls?

"Give me a moment."

Evenson ignored their expressions and pulled out his phone again.

Fisk’s eyes narrowed.

This time, Evenson had dialed only three digits.

"Hey, Old M. Keeping busy? It’s me. Come on, don’t get hung up on titles between us."

Evenson listened for a moment.

"Anyway, can you help me draft a contract? I need it right away."

Another pause.

"Yes, I know you taught me how to write contracts. I can do it myself. The problem is that I don’t have any parchment on hand."

Evenson suddenly looked offended.

"What? You want something in return for a favor that small? That’s just like you."

He listened again.

"Fine. How about ten souls?"

His eyebrows rose.

"You don’t want them? You want to give me ten instead?"

Evenson laughed.

"Well, if you’re willing to break the rules over there, I’m not going to complain. So what do you want?"

He listened.

"A French Rubik’s Cube made by a craftsman in the seventeenth century?"

Evenson thought about it.

"Sure. When you have time, send me the details. Pictures too, preferably. I’ll see if I can track one down."

He nodded seriously.

"I’ll find it. Don’t worry."

Then he straightened.

"Now write this down."

Evenson finished the call.

A moment later, a tightly rolled piece of parchment appeared on the table in front of him.

He blinked.

"Well, that was fast."

He picked it up and inspected the contract.

"Not bad."

He gave it one final look, then tossed it toward Fisk.

"Sign it."

"May I ask one question?"

Grace suddenly interrupted.

Evenson looked at her.

"Who wrote that contract?"

It was a reasonable question.

Evenson had spoken on the phone as casually as though he were calling an old friend, but some of the things he’d said were deeply unsettling.

Ten souls?

Was that just some bizarre criminal slang?

Or did he literally mean souls?

"Mephisto," Evenson said casually. "One of the Lords of Hell."

Grace’s expression changed.

Evenson didn’t bother hiding it.

Technically, he could have written the contract himself.

His agreement with Gideon Malik, for instance, could have been written on a sheet of printer paper. Their relationship was based on mutual interests, and the contract existed primarily as a final safeguard.

But Fisk was different.

Evenson had no interest in spending hours arguing over details with a crime lord.

If invoking Mephisto made the man take the contract seriously, then why not?

It worked.

Fisk stared at the parchment with unprecedented gravity.

Mephisto.

The demon from the old Faustian legends actually existed?

And if Mephisto had served as the witness to this contract, then violating it probably wasn’t something even the best lawyer on Earth could get him out of.

Fisk slowly looked up at Evenson.

This man could deal with powerful politicians and industrialists.

He could apparently communicate with beings from Hell.

Could he actually be some kind of real sorcerer?

Fisk finally gritted his teeth and signed his name.

"The deal is done."

Evenson took the completed contract.

Then he raised one hand.

The bodyguard whose life force had been partially drained earlier had only just managed to regain his breath and crawl back to his feet.

He immediately collapsed again.

This time, he wasn’t so lucky.

Green vapor erupted from his eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. His body rapidly withered as the strange energy poured out of him, leaving behind little more than a skeleton wrapped in scraps of skin.

All of that green vapor flowed into Vanessa.

Evenson slowly lowered his hand.

"There."

He looked toward Fisk.

"The poison in her body is completely gone. There won’t be any lasting effects, either. You can take her home and get back to your normal life."

Fisk’s expression brightened.

Then Evenson’s eyes hardened.

"But..."

Fisk’s smile vanished.

"You understand what I just did, right?"

Evenson raised one finger.

"I gave her life back with a movement of my hand."

His finger curled slightly.

"Which means taking it away again would be just as easy."

"I understand."

Fisk’s voice was low.

"I understand completely."

A moment earlier, he’d been overwhelmed with relief.

Now the weight of the situation settled over him again.

He was trapped.

His assets were under Evenson’s control. That alone wasn’t enough to break him. He could rebuild. He had done it once, and he could do it again.

But Vanessa?

Could he really abandon her?

And after signing a contract written by Mephisto, Fisk suspected that even his soul wasn’t entirely his anymore.

"Then we won’t take up any more of your time," Fisk said. "We’ll be leaving."

"Wait."

Evenson raised a hand, stopping Fisk and Grace before they could go.

"I have something for you to do first."

Grace immediately nodded.

"Of course. What do you need?"

"I heard you’re involved in real estate."

Fisk’s mind immediately began turning.

"Not just in Hell’s Kitchen," Evenson continued. "You’ve got properties throughout New York, including some fairly expensive apartment buildings."

"Yes."

Fisk wondered where this was going.

Does he want a house?

Given Evenson’s position, asking for an entire office building would probably make more sense.

"I also heard you’re the man behind a venture bank that specializes in mortgages."

Fisk’s expression tightened.

That was true.

He made money selling expensive properties and then made more money financing the people buying them.

Apparently, that still wasn’t enough.

"Don’t misunderstand me," Evenson said reassuringly. "I’m not interested in taking anything from you by force."

Right.

Because after today, you’ll own half my empire anyway.

Fisk kept that thought to himself.

"I also heard that a medical doctor named Stephen Strange bought his apartment through your real estate company."

Evenson paused.

"And, conveniently, his mortgage is held by your bank."

Fisk hesitated.

"I’d have to check."

"No need."

Evenson waved his hand.

"I already checked. It’s exactly as I said."

Fisk’s mind raced.

"So what is it you want?"

Perhaps Strange was an old acquaintance of Evenson’s.

Maybe he wanted Fisk to forgive the doctor’s mortgage.

That wouldn’t be difficult.

But Evenson frowned at him.

"You really don’t pay enough attention to your own businesses."

Fisk blinked.

"The newspapers have already reported that Doctor Strange was in a car accident. Both of his hands were badly injured."

Evenson spread his hands.

"He’s a surgeon. His hands are his livelihood."

He looked genuinely puzzled.

"So he has no income now."

Then his expression became almost annoyed.

"Why haven’t you gone to collect the debt?"

Fisk stared at him.

"You’re a businessman. Are you running a charity?"

"I’ll handle it immediately."

Fisk’s answer came quickly.

"It shouldn’t be difficult. I’ll hold a meeting with the bank, establish that he’s lost his source of income, and begin foreclosure proceedings."

Inside, Fisk was cursing his earlier assumption.

So that’s what this is.

Strange isn’t his friend.

He’s his enemy.

And apparently, a very serious one.

"Exactly."

Evenson smiled without warmth.

"As the owner, you should pay attention to your business."

He turned away, then added casually:

"Oh, and don’t rush it."

Fisk looked back.

"Follow the normal procedures. No unconventional methods. Just have someone from the bank visit him every day to collect the payment."

Fisk’s eyes narrowed.

"And one more thing."

Evenson’s expression became serious.

"Do not put him on any kind of debtor blacklist."

Fisk stared at him.

"I need him to be able to fly, take a ship, and travel by train."

He emphasized the point.

"That part is especially important. Understand?"

"I understand."

Fisk lowered his gaze.

He intends to break him piece by piece.

It was like watching a cat toy with a mouse.

Apply a little pressure.

Then a little more.

Never enough to end things.

Just enough to make the prey panic.

And once the game became boring...

The cat would finally swallow it whole.