Chapter 688

The deal was officially complete.

Fisk rose from his seat, but there was no triumph in his expression. He looked almost hollow.

First, he’d lost his position.

He had entered this building as the undisputed king of Hell’s Kitchen. Now he was leaving as a man whose fate rested in someone else’s hands.

Then came the humiliation.

From beginning to end, he’d been treated as though he belonged to a lower tier of society, someone who had no idea how the real world worked.

Then came the payment.

Almost every asset under his name would be transferred away, with only enough left behind for the FBI to save face.

And finally, there was the territory.

After giving up his money and accepting someone else’s control, could Hell’s Kitchen really still be considered his?

Yet after being stripped of practically everything that had made him powerful, Fisk had still ended up standing there with Vanessa in his arms, looking at the woman he loved after she’d been restored to perfect health.

And before leaving, he had to turn around and sincerely say:

"Thank you."

There was something almost absurd about it.

Fisk helped Vanessa out of the treatment chamber.

Evenson had guaranteed that she was completely healed. Not only had the poison been removed, but any underlying illnesses in her body had apparently been cured as well.

Fisk still wasn’t taking chances.

After everything Vanessa had endured, he wanted her home and resting properly for a while. Whether she actually needed the care or not was irrelevant.

This was a rare opportunity to spoil his girlfriend.

He wasn’t about to waste it.

Fisk and Vanessa were almost at the door when Evenson suddenly called after him.

"Mr. Fisk."

Fisk stopped and looked back.

"To be honest, there’s something about you I don’t quite understand."

"Oh?"

Fisk turned fully around.

"What do you mean?"

"I can tell you’re an ambitious man," Evenson said. "And I don’t think your ambitions are limited to money or power."

His tone was confident, but much of that confidence was guesswork.

People who pursued wealth and influence for their own sake usually enjoyed the rewards.

But what did Fisk actually enjoy?

He lived quietly.

For an ordinary person, his lifestyle would have been luxurious. For a man with his wealth and influence, however, it was almost austere.

And he was well into middle age. A man in Fisk’s position could easily have surrounded himself with lovers, mistresses, and children.

Instead, he had one girlfriend.

And he’d only started dating her recently.

That hardly looked like a man intoxicated by wealth and power.

Someone with that much restraint had to be chasing something else.

Fisk didn’t hesitate.

"Yes."

There was almost a sense of relief in his voice, as though he’d finally been given permission to say something he’d kept buried for years.

"I was born in Hell’s Kitchen."

His gaze hardened.

"It was a terrible place. Full of people who contributed nothing, parasites who dragged everyone around them down. They made the neighborhood worse than it already was."

He clenched his fists.

"My ambition is to use these hands to clean it up. I want to turn the place I was born into somewhere decent."

He paused.

"I don’t want people calling it Hell’s Kitchen anymore."

Fisk wasn’t a gifted speaker.

But there was a blunt sincerity to his words that made his determination unmistakable.

Evenson scratched his head.

"So that’s what this is."

A new breed of crime boss with an idealistic streak.

"I won’t judge whether your goal is good or bad," Evenson said. "But I still feel like you haven’t been taking it very seriously."

Fisk’s jaw tightened.

"Perhaps that’s how it looks to you."

He looked at Evenson.

"Someone like you has no idea how difficult something like this is."

The assumption was obvious.

Fisk thought Evenson had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, another privileged man who had never experienced the problems ordinary people faced.

He had no idea how wrong he was.

"Maybe it is difficult."

Evenson shook his head.

"But I still don’t think you’ve given it everything you’ve got."

"What exactly are you saying?"

Fisk’s patience was already thin.

The circumstances might have left him at Evenson’s mercy, but having his efforts repeatedly dismissed was beginning to kindle genuine anger.

"What am I saying?"

Evenson gave a quiet snort.

He walked over to the table and tapped his fingers against its surface.

"You’ve built up this much money and influence. Maybe becoming mayor of New York is out of reach."

He shrugged.

"But getting a seat on the Clinton district council? Is that really so difficult?"

Fisk stared at him.

"A crime boss can be powerful, but he’s still operating in the dark. You’ve spent years throwing money at corrupt cops. What has that actually bought you?"

Evenson shook his head.

"You could have taken that same money and spent it on elections. Get a few people into legitimate political positions."

Fisk’s expression turned amused.

"I couldn’t have done that."

"Why not?"

"When I had the opportunity, I didn’t have the money or influence."

Fisk spread his hands.

"Now I have both, but I don’t have the qualifications."

His criminal record was hardly spotless. Even if America was relatively forgiving about past offenses, someone as thoroughly compromised as Wilson Fisk had no realistic path into public office.

Evenson stared at him.

Then shook his head.

"You really are a smart man. So why can’t you think your way around something this simple?"

Fisk frowned.

"Your own record is dirty. Fine."

Evenson raised a finger.

"But do you honestly not have a few people working for you with clean records?"

Fisk’s expression changed.

"These days, how many wealthy people actually put themselves forward for office? They cultivate political protégés and put them on the stage."

He leaned forward slightly.

"You have the resources. You have the ambition. So why aren’t you doing what you can?"

Fisk remained silent.

"If you want the federal police working for you, bribing a handful of detectives is the best idea you could come up with?"

Evenson shook his head.

"Take some of your younger men. Find the ones with clean records and good education. Send them to the police academy."

Fisk’s eyes slowly widened.

"Once they graduate and join the force, you have people on the inside."

"And then you invest a little more. Give them a few major cases to solve. Let them make the arrests and take the credit."

Evenson’s smile widened.

"With that kind of cooperation, they could climb the ranks quickly. Give it a few years and you might even have your own people running the Hell’s Kitchen precinct."

Fisk’s breathing slowed.

"Then the police answer to them."

"They answer to you."

"And you put a political protégé in the city council."

Evenson spread his hands.

"Congratulations. You control both sides of the line."

He looked directly at Fisk.

"At that point, when you speak in Hell’s Kitchen, your word might carry more weight than the President’s."

A stunned silence followed.

Fisk’s eyes widened.

You can do that?

The realization hit him so hard that he nearly slapped his own forehead.

Was this the kind of dirty game the wealthy and politically connected had been playing all along?

Fisk had always considered himself ruthless.

Now, compared to people who operated at this level, he suddenly felt almost innocent.

He had spent years fighting his way up from the streets.

They had been building systems that made the streets answer to them.

Fisk remained silent for a long moment.

Then he finally spoke.

"One conversation with you is worth ten years of reading."

Grace immediately stepped in to smooth things over.

"There has always been the idea of a teacher who gives you even a single valuable lesson. Today, you’ve taught Mr. Fisk something important."

She smiled.

"Wouldn’t that make him your student?"

Evenson’s expression froze.

Nice move.

Grace had latched onto the opportunity so smoothly that he barely had time to react.

He had merely been making observations after watching too many movies.

How had that somehow turned into him acquiring a student?

Before he could say anything, Fisk stepped forward.

He bowed respectfully.

"Teacher."

Evenson’s face twitched.

"Your student has learned his lesson."

And Fisk meant every word.

When it came to underhanded political games, Evenson had just taught him more in a few minutes than anyone else ever had.

Besides, in less than an hour, Fisk had handed over his fortune, his leverage, and practically his entire future.

If that didn’t make Evenson his teacher, what did?

Evenson stood there, thoroughly caught off guard.

For perhaps the first time that day, he had absolutely no idea what to say.