John had to handle some paperwork for Ivan, including matters concerning his contract.
It had to be said that, when dealing with an outlaw, a contract essentially came down to trust.
He held the letter Ivan had torn to pieces after reading it.
The letter, which should have been scrap paper, now lay perfectly intact in his hand.
Staring at the threat his uncle Andrei had written himself, he felt that Ivan's reliability probably wouldn't be a problem.
Their only problem at the moment was that a police car had pulled them over.
Ivan and John sat in the police station, Ivan's face full of disbelief.
"You never told me you didn't have a driver's license."
"Ahem." John awkwardly turned his head away and pursed his lips. "None of this would've happened if you hadn't flipped off the police car."
"Don't give me that bullshit. Those bastards love hassling people in luxury cars," Ivan said in Russian.
As for not having a license, John hadn't run into trouble the last time he drove without one.
He blamed it on Ivan being far too cocky in the passenger seat.
That ability to draw hostility inevitably reminded him of a certain platinum-haired old acquaintance.
Now there were two of them: one without a license, the other a wanted criminal who was officially dead.
Once they entered the police station, even a little checking could net them a hefty fine and a prison sentence starting at twenty years.
John had already made preparations for that.
Matt returned to the law firm with his first payment that could actually be called a normal fee.
His good friend Fudge was delighted, as though that money had already shown him a bright future.
He was so excited that he wanted to take Matt out and splurge.
Little did he know that Matt could have earned at least a million.
"I told you that guy had to be loaded," Fudge rambled to Matt at the bar. "Rich kids like that get into legal trouble more easily than anyone. They can be a headache, but their fathers are very willing to pay big money."
He and Matt had both graduated from Columbia Law School, and both had interned at a major law firm.
But they hadn't liked the atmosphere there. They believed in justice.
That was often something major firms didn't value. During one case, Matt had known perfectly well that the defendant was actually the victim.
But the firm's lawyers hadn't cared about justice. All they wanted was whoever offered the higher fee.
So they had struck out on their own and established the Nelson Murdock Law Firm.
The name combined their surnames.
It also represented their starting point.
To fight for justice for more of the vulnerable.
If they could earn a little commission while fighting for justice, all the better.
As Fudge talked and Matt listened, Matt's phone vibrated.
He took out his phone and answered.
"What?" The news on the other end made Matt frown, as though something serious had happened.
"All right, I understand. I'll be right there."
After hanging up, Matt let out a deep sigh.
"What happened?" Fudge's heart rose into his throat.
Could there be a problem with the firm's license?
Or taxes?
A difficult case?
All sorts of possibilities ran through his mind.
"It's that rich kid from last time." Matt's expression was grave.
Fudge's heart sank. Surely it couldn't be such a coincidence that something had happened right after he'd said that?
Matt pinched the bridge of his nose. "He got arrested for driving without a license."
Fudge was speechless. I almost thought he'd killed someone.
Such a trivial thing.
Still, in the United States, where even high school students had driver's licenses, someone was actually driving without one?
Fudge couldn't help marveling at how different rich kids were.
Matt's heart had lurched the moment he heard John's name.
He had thought something major had happened, like having to take on another gang.
Instead, it was driving without a license.
Matt worked quickly.
Fudge drove him to the police station in New York.
Before he even went inside, he heard John and Ivan huddled in a corner, trading jabs in Russian.
He introduced himself as John's lawyer, and the police allowed him into the holding cell.
Even without looking into Matt's mind, John knew how speechless he must be.
After paying the fine, John and Ivan prepared to leave.
Just then, someone stopped them.
"Sorry, you can't leave."
The man flashed his FBI credentials, his gaze settling on John and Ivan.
"We meet again, Mr. Wick, and..."
The Agent stared closely at Ivan. His face seemed familiar.
But Ivan had changed his hairstyle, and his face was slightly different too, so the Agent didn't recognize him.
"I don't believe you have the authority to detain them," Matt said calmly, holding his Cane in both hands. "They've already paid the fine."
"Yes, that's true of the driving offense," the Agent named Joe said coolly. "But they're also connected to several major cases, and we need their assistance with the investigation."
Matt listened to his heartbeat. He wasn't lying.
He "glanced" at John. This was probably the trouble John had mentioned.
"All right, but you'll need to speak with my lawyer." John patted the shoulder of Fudge, who had come with Matt. "This is Fudge, my lawyer."
He whispered in Fudge's ear, "I have something important to do today. Take care of this problem for me. Same fee as before."
Fudge's eyes lit up. Straightening his tie, he declared solemnly, "Happy to do my duty."
John looked up at Agent Joe's sour expression and chuckled. "I'll be leaving, then."
Agent Joe tried to say something else, but Fudge stopped him.
Even with the FBI's considerable authority, dealing with people who fought with words was a major headache when they lacked sufficient evidence.
Matt silently turned his head. The man beside John seemed to be the real problem.
Walking out of the police station, John took out his newly purchased phone and made a call.
After a dozen or so seconds, someone answered.
"If you want to be a competent driver, you should know better than to keep your boss waiting."
John sounded annoyed. If his driver hadn't failed to show up for work today, he wouldn't have had to drive himself.
Ferdinand was stunned on the other end. "I wasn't fired?" he asked in surprise.
After glass had pierced the sports car, Ferdinand had assumed he was fired.
John had left using Apparition yesterday without telling Ferdinand anything, leaving him waiting anxiously until late at night before he finally left.
"Bring your pickup and get me at the café outside the police station."
After giving Ferdinand his instructions, John glanced at the impounded Ferrari.
"Could Dad's cars be unlucky?"
He fell into deep doubt. He had only driven three of them, and not one had met a good end.
If he hadn't confirmed that there was no magic on them, he might even have suspected his father had cursed the cars.
As for being some kind of vehicle killer...
No way. These cars had to be unlucky!
Ferdinand arrived in his battered pickup and immediately apologized as he got out.
"I'm sorry, boss. That car was damaged, so I had it towed away." Ferdinand was terrified that John might make him pay with his life.
"Oh." John and Ivan climbed into the pickup. Without any change in expression, John said, "Take us to Taran Industries."
"Huh?" Ferdinand had braced himself for a thorough scolding, so John's calm expression caught him off guard.
"Get driving."
Ivan had lost patience.
The back of this battered truck wasn't exactly spacious.
Ferdinand first took a look at Ivan's face, then at the tattoos covering his muscular body.
He immediately backed down.
He floored the accelerator and sent the pickup tearing through bustling Manhattan.
Taran Industries was a company known for manufacturing handguns and automatic rifles.
Most of its equipment was intended for civilian use. Its weapons were finely crafted, lightweight, and powerful, making them popular with mercenaries and hitmen.
But Taran Industries wasn't in competition with Stark Industries.
Its main focus was firearms, while Stark specialized in heavy firepower and weapons of mass destruction.
The pickup stopped outside Taran Industries.
John got out and headed inside.
Ivan studied the company building. It was rectangular, clad entirely in black glass that lent it an air of mystery.
Ferdinand looked nervous after getting out. Seeing the two head inside, he hurried after them.
Beyond the entrance, people came and went through a company filled with professionals at work.
The patrolling guards spotted the three men and radioed in a report of suspicious individuals.
A member of the Security Department approached, muscular, broad-shouldered, and narrow-waisted, dressed in black and wearing a beret.
"Sir, please show me your identification."
The man stopped the three of them. Ivan looked at John with interest, curious to see how he would handle it.
Ferdinand noticed that the people around them weren't to be trifled with.
"I thought you'd recognize me." John calmly took a purple card from his small bag. "Then you should recognize this."
At the sight of the card, the Security Department chief's expression changed. "Welcome," he said respectfully.
"Mr. Wick."
"Take me to my father's office." The purple card turned in John's hand as he spoke coolly. "And call a meeting of the management team."
"Yes, Mr. Wick." The Security Department chief hesitated. "But as for Mr. Orlov..."
"Have him come too."
John said casually, "Hopefully he isn't off playing golf somewhere."
The Security Department chief became even more certain of John's identity.
John's arrival put all of Taran Industries on edge.
After all, they had always taken their orders from Mr. Orlov, but today someone representing another major shareholder had arrived.
A bloody battle for control?
A storm was brewing.
The people at Taran Industries were extremely nervous.
Ferdinand, however, was thrilled.
He had always known John was rich. After all, he discarded cars without a second thought and lived in the most expensive part of Manhattan.
But he had never imagined that this enormous company, Taran Industries, actually belonged to John's family.
As a street thug, what he encountered most wasn't Stark's fancy missiles or Hammer Industries' heavy firepower, but Taran Industries' handguns.
They were practically essential tools for murder, robbery, and making bodies disappear.
Working for a big shot like this, Ferdinand swore he would give it his all.
Ivan sat in a swivel chair with a toothpick between his lips, his unkempt appearance standing out in the conference room.
John stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down as a stretch Lincoln stopped below.
A man with a heavily receding hairline stepped out and headed toward the company building.
A smile curled John's lips as he glanced around the empty conference room.
It seemed everyone was waiting.
Fine. They all worked for Dad anyway.
As they waited unhurriedly for everyone to arrive, Ivan gave a wicked grin. "Looks like your father has a very difficult business partner."
"No one turns down a chance to make money." John rubbed his Silver Ring.
"Let me see who it is, my dear Wick."
The conference room door opened, and the man with the receding hairline walked in, laughing heartily.
Behind him came the managers who had been waiting to see how things unfolded.
It seemed they had already chosen their side.
Before you continue