The Honest Folk Like Worthington Are Meant to Be Deceived

Under the watchful eyes of a large crowd of mutant protesters, police officers, and National Guard soldiers, James boarded the ferry to Alcatraz Island alongside the accompanying staff from the U.S. branch of Wude Group.

Due to the martial law order, the aerial routes here had been sealed off, and the only maritime passage remaining was a small ferry owned by Worthington Industries.

After hanging up on Nick Fury, other calls finally began to flood in: from political circles, from the business world, and among them were quite a few who were "unaware of the facts"—or at least, pretending to be—merely expressing concern for James's safety.

James brushed them off with a few perfunctory words, maintaining an attitude that barely met the baseline of social etiquette, only speaking with genuine sincerity when he received calls from the White House Chief of Staff and the Secretary of Defense.

A news notification suddenly popped up on his wristband, catching James's attention.

The wristband was a smart device James had designed himself. Its information processing system was configured with strict search and alert criteria to filter through the chaotic, unreliable flood of online news; unless it was truly urgent, the wristband would not sound an alert.

"<FDA to Fast-Track Emergency Approval for Mutant Serum>" James stared at the headline, which condensed the core of the report, a cold sneer tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Adding fuel to the fire, James thought with a touch of malice. The official regulatory body is stepping in to endorse the serum's efficacy. Is someone so eager to see Worthington Industries meet its end?

No, their target isn't just Worthington Industries. Whoever is pushing this is afraid that the U.S. government and the military will monopolize all the benefits.

Worthington II had taken the initiative to seek cooperation with the U.S. government, giving the government and the military the upper hand in seizing the profits from the serum. If the other factions that had fallen behind didn't want to end up empty-handed, they had to muddy the waters to create an opportunity to fish in troubled ones.

James evaluated the chaotic situation from the most utilitarian perspective. The fruit isn't even ripe yet, and they're already fighting over the seats. As expected, the capitalist world is never a monolith.

James gazed toward Alcatraz Island, now within arm's reach. On the pier, people stood in small groups to welcome them, and among them, the gray-haired old white man was none other than the protagonist of this storm: Worthington II.

There were no military personnel to be seen. Presumably, General Ross wanted to make his stance clear: as a dignified Lieutenant General of the U.S. Air Force, he could be forced to accept orders through political maneuvering by the Department of Defense, but he would never willingly run up to a businessman to bow and scrape.

"Welcome, James." The old white man's enthusiastic embrace showed no trace of the heated argument the two had engaged in over the phone only a dozen hours earlier. "I have good news for you."

James wore a fake smile. "Your serum is ready for the market?"

"You heard? Your sources are truly fast; the official announcement won't be out for another half hour." Worthington II could barely hide his excitement. "It's our serum—it can be launched immediately."

"News on the internet always travels fast."

James shook hands with the other greeters casually before walking side-by-side with Worthington II toward the main building on the island. The accompanying staff from both companies followed behind, exchanging pleasantries in small groups and leaving the space to the two big shots.

As he walked, James scanned his surroundings. Compared to the past, the island's environment had undergone massive changes. The most obvious was that the path from the pier to the main building was now filled with military fortifications, and the former helipad was piled high with waterproof-covered supplies that were clearly military combat gear.

"Is General Ross's command post inside the building?" James asked casually.

Worthington II seemed unaccustomed to being in such close proximity to the military, his voice sounding somewhat unnatural. "Yes, the Air Force, the Marines—the White House places great importance on the security of the laboratory. There are also some security agencies—I can't even tell which departments they belong to—who concluded that Alcatraz might be subject to a kinetic assault. You saw it when you came over; the California National Guard is on the other side of the bay. It's truly making a mountain out of a molehill!"

"That's hard to say, Mr. Warren." James stopped not far from the entrance to the main building. "The number of radical mutants gathering in the city and along the coast is growing; reports say it might reach tens of thousands. You've lived in California for a long time, surely you remember what happened in Los Angeles in '92?"

Worthington II was dismissive, but he knew that James's biggest concern regarding the cooperation between the two companies stemmed from security issues—at least, that was the impression James's words and actions had left him with.

"Don't worry, James; we're on an island. Even if those protesters do something out of control, they can't get across."

"You know nothing of the true power of mutants." James muttered under his breath, as if complaining to Worthington II or perhaps talking to himself. Without waiting for a response, he started walking inside again. Worthington II, feeling a bit bewildered, had no choice but to quicken his pace to catch up.

The buildings on Alcatraz were originally constructed to the standards of a military fortress and later converted into a prison; neither type of architecture was known for being spacious or comfortable. The corridors inside were narrow and deep, and the many soldiers moving in and out were constructing temporary defenses, causing even more crowding and chaos.

"A bit paranoid, isn't it?" Worthington II chuckled, trying to restart the conversation. "I don't think the situation will deteriorate further. Although many mutants have a radical attitude, there are also many who welcome our serum."

James was noncommittal. "Is that so?"

"Of course." Worthington II's mood rose again. "After the press conference, we began officially accepting appointment requests for the mutant serum. Do you know how many requests we've received in the last 24 hours?"

Worthington II shouted excitedly, "Over 120,000! Can you imagine? 120,000."

When it came to population figures, James really didn't want to provoke these sheltered Americans.

In the 48 hours since the news of the mutant serum was officially made public, the petition on the Wude Group's official website, "Request for Early Release of Mutant Serum," had already garnered nearly a million votes.

"The prospects are encouraging!" James praised without a hint of emotion.

Worthington II didn't notice James's perfunctory attitude, remaining immersed in his own beautiful vision.

"My friends in the White House told me that the President intends to issue a temporary medical relief bill to provide special medical loans to all mutants in financial difficulty, giving them the opportunity to obtain the mutant serum. James, do you know what this means?"

"Of course, I understand perfectly; it means the high cost of the mutant serum is no longer an obstacle to market penetration." A flicker of emotion finally appeared in James's tone, but it wasn't the excitement for a bright market future that Worthington II felt—it was a silent mourning for Worthington Industries.

The White House's actions were, in fact, accelerating the destruction of Worthington Industries. He didn't know if that President was acting intentionally or unintentionally, or whose interests he represented. Regardless, James absolutely did not believe that American politicians would ever genuinely consider the welfare of mutants.

First, the FDA allowed the serum to hit the market early, and then the White House signaled it would help with large-scale promotion. These were clearly one death warrant after another, urging radical mutants, including the Brotherhood of Mutants, to take action immediately.

Worthington II had no awareness of being a victim; he was currently concerned with something else. "James, cost is no longer the biggest problem for market promotion. Now there is only one issue left..."

"I know, I know." James interrupted with a smile. "The technology for large-scale production. You need my Extraction Catalysis Technology to help you achieve mass production."

Worthington II looked tense. "Yes, we need your help. The laboratory's speed in producing the serum is too slow to meet market demand. Imagine, once we achieve mass production, our output will grow tenfold, a hundredfold. Worthington Industries' stock price will soar repeatedly, and the entire stock market will go crazy because of us!"

"I thought you developed this serum for poor little Warren." James suddenly straightened his face and jabbed.

Worthington II was nearly choked by the comment. Of course I'm doing this to help my son, but can I say that to you profit-driven shareholders? Isn't the only thing you understand money, money, money? Isn't your constant talk about 'investment safety' just fear that your own money will go down the drain?

James looked at the bewildered old white man and suddenly burst into a wide laugh. "Alright, Mr. Worthington, that was just a little joke of mine. Don't take it to heart. As long as I confirm that my investment is safe, our cooperation agreement will be reached very soon."

"But before that, I still need to see a few people and conduct some assessments." James's face shifted into a formulaic, professional smile. "You have done the absolute best you could on the business side, and I have no complaints, but security is not your area of expertise."

Worthington II gave a dry laugh, barely managing to accept the olive branch James offered, and followed the topic. "Of course, General Ross is waiting for you in the command post."

"That Lieutenant General has quite the ego." James looked at the conference room not far away, which bore military markings and was clearly the command center, and suddenly stopped in his tracks, his tone turning noticeably unpleasant.

As if to spite General Ross, James deliberately brought up another matter just outside the command post's door. "By the way, what about our 'wealth code,' Jimmy—can I go see that child first?"

Worthington II hesitated for less than two seconds. "Of course, you should see him. He is also an unfortunate child, born with a curse..."

Facing the upcoming cooperation negotiations, this was the critical moment for Worthington II to maintain a good relationship with James, especially since James wasn't making an unreasonable request.

He just wants to stand the General up for a moment to slight him.

Having seen the two arguing over the phone with his own eyes, Worthington II thought he had seen through James's intentions.