American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 176 Never Delay Final Payments

When Beta opened the office door, she was surprised to see Ashley and Katalia sitting side by side on the sofa, huddled together around a fashion magazine, discussing something in hushed tones.

It's unclear when exactly, but these two women stopped being at odds and instead became as close as sisters.

Hearing the door open, Ashley looked up, her pearl earring swaying gently with her movement: "How did the talks go?"

Beta sank into his leather office chair, rubbing his temples wearily: "The CIA's stance is very clear: they hope to put the matter of my attack behind them."

"That's it?" Ashley raised an eyebrow slightly.

“Otherwise?” Beta laughed, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Should I kill that agent on the spot? And then start a full-scale war with the CIA in New York?”

He spun his chair to face the floor-to-ceiling window, the neon lights of New York flashing in his eyes: "This isn't a video game, and I'm not an invincible protagonist going head-to-head with the CIA on American soil."

He turned to look at the two women, his voice turning somber: "We will both die a horrible death."

Katalia casually placed the magazine she was holding on the sofa, got up and walked behind Beta's office chair, gently cupping his cheeks in her hands.

With a slight pull, she pressed Beta's head against her soft abdomen, the skin beneath her black silk shirt undulating warmly. Katalia's fingers slipped into Beta's thick, light blonde hair, her fingertips, scented with lavender essential oil, pressing against his temples.

Beta closed his eyes and let out a sigh.

Ashley was clearly taken aback by this intimate gesture, and she stared blankly at Katalia's actions. The illusion of sisterly affection she had just felt vanished, and now she found the woman particularly displeasing again.

Katalia's fingers ran through Beta's hair, each press a provocation to Ashley. The brief warmth that had arisen while sharing the magazine froze, replaced by a sour, jealous feeling in her throat.

She stared intently at Katalia's lowered neck, but the other was completely absorbed in the action. Katalia even deliberately leaned down, whispering something in Beta's ear, her curly black hair falling in front of Beta's face.

Through the gaps in her hair, Ashley could clearly see Beta's relaxed smile.

Katalia's palm slid slowly down Beta's head, her fingertips kneading the muscles in his neck and shoulders. As she leaned forward, her body brushed against the back of Beta's head, the silk fabric rustling softly against his hair.

The movement was so deliberate that it made the normal massage seem increasingly strange.

Katalia completely ignored Ashley's cold gaze and focused on massaging Beta's tense shoulders and neck.

Just as Ashley's pearlescent lipstick lips twitched, about to erupt, there was a soft knock on the office door.

"Come in," Ashley said irritably.

A member of the Antonio family entered. He wore the family crest on his collar: "Mr. Wick, four visitors are here to see you. The gentleman in the lead identifies himself as Sterling."

Beta gently grasped Katalia's wrist, removing his hand from her temple: "Take them to the meeting room."

Beta deliberately waited in the office for about fifteen minutes before leisurely walking towards the conference room.

Before even opening the door, Fulton's loud shouts could be heard coming from inside, penetrating the well-insulated door panel.

"What the hell is this fruit?!" Fulton shouted, his mouth stuffed full, bits of fruit flying from the corners of his mouth. "I've never had anything this good since I was a kid on a farm. Hey, McCree! Catch this orange!"

McCree's voice, barely containing his anger, rang out: "Can't you fucking shut up? This fruit platter is for the guests!"

The glass fruit plate clattered as it was pushed, and glistening grapes rolled around in it: "What if someone sees us?"

As Beta pushed open the door, he saw Fulton stuffing the third segment of an orange into his mouth, its bright orange juice dripping down his stubble-covered chin and staining the expensive tablecloth with a dark sheen. McCree, his face ashen, tried to snatch the fruit plate away. Fuldy awkwardly fidgeted with his headphone cord, his gaze darting between the ceiling lights. Only Sterling sat calmly at the head of the table.

Fulton reluctantly put down the fruit plate, stuffed all the remaining orange segments into his bulging cheeks, and chewed like a hamster hoarding food before slowly sitting back down.

With a sullen face, McCree put the fruit plate back in its place. The crystal base collided with the marble tabletop with a crisp sound. The fruit tart that had been carefully arranged on the plate had collapsed halfway, leaving only a few apples with fingerprints standing alone.

Sterling said, "We're here to collect the final payment."

Beta took out his phone: "Transfer the money now."

He skillfully operated the banking app: "I never delay paying the final balance, especially yours."

Fulton swallowed the orange gulp down, the pulp causing his Adam's apple to bob violently.

He grinned, revealing teeth speckled with orange peel: "Hey Mr. Wick! Those CIA bastards haven't given you any trouble, have they?"

His fingers rubbed together excitedly: "What if we need after-sales service?"

McCree's elbow pressed against Fulton's ribs: "Shut up."

Beta turned his phone screen towards the crowd, the green checkmark indicating the transfer was complete standing out against the black screen: "Not needed for now."

Sterling pushed up his glasses: "By the way, do you know that two-meter-tall giant from last time?"

Beta raised an eyebrow: "Blue? What happened to him?"

Sterling adjusted his glasses: "Could you introduce us to this gentleman? We might need his professional assistance."

Beta pondered for a moment, then tapped lightly on his phone screen: "It can be arranged."

He looked up at the four of them: "Bruce is indeed exceptionally capable."
-
New York, Brooklyn.

Blue, standing two meters tall, leaned against the truck. When his phone rang, he answered it without even looking at the caller ID: "Good evening, Mr. Sterling."

Sterling froze on the other end of the phone: "What happened?"

“Your encryption protocol is ingenious, but not complex enough for me.” He gazed at the Brooklyn street scene. “Need my help? Otherwise, you wouldn’t have contacted me.”

Sterling's voice was filled with disbelief: "Why don't you wait a minute, let's not talk about this now."

He lowered his voice: "There are indeed FBI agents investigating me and my team. I'm wondering if it's possible to find the person in charge of this investigation?"

Blue asked, "And then what? Take care of that agent, and trigger a massive backlash from the entire FBI? You'll be like you've stirred up a hornet's nest; the number of investigators will only increase."

Sterling paused for a moment: "Then how about faking our deaths to escape?"

"It's possible. But only if you don't leave any biological samples with the FBI. A single hair, a drop of blood, or even a dander could turn a fake death into a real one."

Sterling said, "That's obviously not the case."

(End of this chapter)