After a long day of work, Robert Downs returned to his dilapidated apartment building.
He poured half a glass of red wine, sank into the sofa, and sipped it slowly. The rich aroma spread through his mouth, and time seemed to stand still.
Robert particularly loved red wine. When he was the boss, he used to pour two glasses of Romanée-Conti every evening; the feeling was unforgettable.
A moment later, the sound of the door opening came from behind him. Warren Austin walked into the room, glanced at the empty wine bottles in the corner, and sighed.
"One case of wine, gone in a few days. Looks like I need to call the boss and have him send a few more."
Robert held up his glass. "Want a drink?"
Warren shook his head. "I prefer whiskey to red wine."
"Whiskey is too strong; you get drunk easily."
Warren shrugged and changed the subject. "How is the financing progressing?"
Robert swirled the wine in his glass and said casually,
"Luke Shaw has given me full authority to handle the financing."
Oh!
Warren raised an eyebrow, a little surprised.
"I don't recall you joining ShowMe very long ago, yet he entrusted you with such important work."
"He has no one else."
The simple words contained immense confidence. Warren offered a polite smile, but a hint of derision flashed in his eyes.
He had initially admired the ShowMe boss—developing a startup to millions of users in just two months was no ordinary feat. But now, it seemed he was just a lucky idiot.
Poor judgment of character and bad hiring choices—does a person like this think they can succeed?
"It seems ShowMe's financial power is now in your hands."
Robert nodded. "ShowMe has a major shortfall in its capital chain and urgently needs cash flow. This afternoon, Luke Shaw gave me a hard deadline: the financing deal must be finalized before next Friday, with a bottom line of $35 million."
"What about the shares?"
"20%."
"That's too little. The boss requires 67% or more—he needs absolute control."
"That will be difficult. Luke Shaw won't agree."
Warren smirked and said carelessly, "He's just a seventeen-year-old kid; what ability does he have? If he doesn't agree, we'll let him see the adult world."
Robert glanced at his old friend, lowering his eyelids and gazing vacantly ahead, lost in thought.
"Redwood Group's investment department will contact you tomorrow morning. The rest is up to you."
"I know what to do."
Warren patted his shoulder, smiled broadly, and left.
The door closed, and the dim room returned to silence.
Time ticked by. When the clock crossed the nine o'clock mark, Robert put on his jacket and walked out, passing through the dirty, water-logged alleyways until he stopped at a streetside restaurant.
He bought a coffee and two sandwiches, found an empty table and chair, and started eating, bite by bite.
A short while later, a white middle-aged man in his forties walked into the restaurant. The man was tall and muscular, stretching his suit taut. A gold chain hung below his collar, and a gold watch adorned his wrist—the attire of a successful man. But his heavily jowled face was enough to deter anyone.
He swaggered to the chair opposite Robert and sat down, saying coldly,
"You made me wait ten minutes, old man."
Robert quickly put down his sandwich, glanced around to ensure no one was paying attention, and said in a slightly resentful tone,
"Mr. Rhodes, couldn't this wait for a phone call? You know my position; I can't attract attention."
"Who cares about you!"
Alexander Rhodes grinned, making no effort to hide the sarcasm in his face. He slammed the table, beckoning the startled waitress over, ordered a black beer, and continued, "I wouldn't come to this dump, Metropolis, unless the boss told me to! Listen up..."
He reached out and grabbed Robert's neck, threatening him word by word.
"The boss is very unhappy with your work and told me to rough you up a bit! You know what 'rough up' means, right?"
Robert struggled. "My injuries haven't healed yet. If I get hurt again, I won't be able to go to work."
Alexander Rhodes rubbed his chin, pondering for a moment. Under Robert's nervous gaze, he casually pushed him back into the chair.
"We'll save that beating for later. Let's talk about Batman."
Batman!
Robert rubbed his neck, looking confused.
Alexander ground his teeth and said, "I don't care how you do it, but you have to get Batman's identity information within two days. This is the boss's final test for you. If you fail, you know the consequences."
Hearing this, Robert felt utterly hopeless.
"Batman didn't register with his real name, so it's impossible to track down his personal information. Besides, according to the technical department, Batman is likely in the Arctic. You can't seriously expect me to go to the Arctic to look for him. I don't have that capability!"
"The Arctic!"
Alexander erupted in rage. "That rotten bat was in Gotham last night, and now he's run off to the Arctic? FUCK! Are you lying to me?"
The roar startled the café's customers, who all looked over.
Robert frantically waved his hands, both nervous and terrified. "I didn't say he's in the Arctic. The IP address shows the registrant is in the Arctic, which means he most likely built a base there."
Alexander thought about it and decided the man made some sense. If he were Batman, he wouldn't use his real name either.
"I've passed on the boss's message. Whether you can do it is none of my business. You have two days. Figure it out yourself!"
Finished, he took his beer glass, casually pinched the waitress's sizable backside, which earned him a glare. Alexander didn't care and even whistled proudly.
Robert's face was bitter. He wanted to argue but didn't know how, sitting there like a beaten man. After a while, he lowered his voice.
"I believe it's impossible to find Batman's identity in such a short time, given the current situation, unless the boss sends someone to the Arctic."
He paused, looked up, and saw Alexander still flirting with the waitress, then continued,
"However, there is a great opportunity right now for long-term tracking of Batman, and that is ShowMe. If we control the ShowMe database, we can potentially find his real location based on his IP address. Additionally, we can manipulate his account to post or delete inappropriate comments, such as supporting racism or terrorism..."
"Mr. Rhodes, are you listening?"
Alexander chugged the entire glass of black beer, let out a satisfied burp, and said,
"I'm not interested in your talk about IP addresses or social media accounts. Cut to the chase. What do you want to do?"
"The original plan: acquire ShowMe and firmly put the social media platform in our hands. Boss, I sincerely beg you, let me meet with Sidney. I will persuade him."
At ten o'clock that night, after watching Alexander drive away with the waitress, Robert instinctively pulled his jacket tighter. He couldn't remember how long it had been since he had been with a woman.
Fighting the cold night wind, Robert returned to his run-down apartment.
The light flickered on, revealing a familiar yet strange figure sitting on the sofa, staring straight at him with indifferent eyes.
It was Roger Consius of the FBI!
Robert was shocked.
"You... how are you here?"
Roger Consius crossed his legs and said with a half-smile,
"Alexander Rhodes, Falcone's trusted henchman. If I tell Luke Shaw that you've been colluding with him to sell out ShowMe, what do you think he'll do to you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Consius. I seriously warn you, trespassing is against the law."
Robert swallowed hard, his eyes darting around the room.
"Don't bother looking. The others are outside. It's just you and me in here."
Roger Consius stood up and walked closer to Robert. He played a recording near Robert's ear. After listening, Robert collapsed to the ground like a fish with its bones removed.
Roger Consius patted his cheek and chuckled softly.
"Mr. Downs, from now on, you belong to me."
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