Bella sounded skeptical. "As for the government here, I don't believe they're unaware. The buyers in this chain are likely big shots right here in France. The Albanians are just low-level thugs; they lack the capital to grease these kinds of wheels."
Victoria Hand was silent for a moment on the other end of the line. "If you want to blow this up, you need concrete evidence. And given your gender—and mine—it's best if neither of us shows our face."
She was very clear, and Bella understood the implication immediately.
Society might be open, but being willing and being coerced were two different things. Once Bella and the others were linked to this mess, their reputations would be stained—permanently.
How did you know about this? What was your role in it?
When those questions started flying, it would be indefensible. Compared to the little bit of fame gained, the loss would be far greater. It simply wasn't worth it.
"I understand. Thanks for the reminder."
Victoria gave her the number for the head of the Office of Global Women's Issues, a department directly under the Under Secretary of State, dealing specifically with discrimination and domestic violence.
Bella didn't use her own identity to make the call. Like Victoria said, she couldn't show her face. It was bad optics. You killed thirty Albanians by yourself? The public wouldn't believe it without proof, and if they did, they'd fear her.
Instead, she called New York, reaching out to the attorney, Jeri Hogarth, to take the lead.
The lawyer was a rising star and a fierce feminist crusader. As an ambitious attorney, she thrived on publicity. Good fame, bad fame—it didn't matter, as long as it was fame. And these days, was there anything better for a budding reputation than suing a foreign government in a landmark human rights case?
With the added weight of saving lives, winning inside the courtroom would be easy. The challenge was outside the court.
Hogarth was thrilled. She agreed immediately, seeing the massive potential to make a name for herself, and promised to bring her team to Paris as soon as possible.
Bella also handed the liaison task with the US government over to the lawyer. Finally, she called Tony Stark's... bodyguard, Happy Hogan.
Bella didn't trust the US Ambassador much—she didn't know if they were compromised. For her, relying on people she knew the roots of was safer.
The call was quickly transferred to Stark.
Current Stark might still be a playboy, but his moral baseline was intact. Human trafficking on this scale was intolerable to him.
"I'll have the Stark Relief Foundation contact the branch in Paris. We can take the girls there. Stark's legal team and media contacts will be at your disposal."
Bella didn't know how much influence Tony currently had over the board, but she thanked him politely and hung up.
Fifteen minutes later, she watched Stark Industries personnel settle the girls. Sensing no malice, she finally left.
When she found Bryan and Natasha, they had just finished their interrogation.
"The Organization won't let you go! You're all dead!"
As Bella entered, a bearded man missing four fingers was shouting threats.
"Organization? Like a Mafia family? Where are they located?"
Bella prepared to force the address out of him, but Natasha grabbed a dagger from the table and jammed it directly into the bearded man's heart.
"This guy is the Albanian head in Paris. If that gang cares about him, they'll come to collect the body, and we can track them then. If they don't care, then it matters even less."
Natasha's analysis was cold and efficient. Bella couldn't find any fault with it.
During the interrogation, they got a name. Several girls, including Kim, had been taken by a French businessman named Patrice Saint-Clair.
The old agent knew nothing about this name, but fortunately, Natasha had S.H.I.E.L.D. behind her. She quickly pulled up Saint-Clair's file.
He was a professional broker. His business covered everything, and currently, he was a key link in the human trafficking network. He connected buyers and coordinated sellers, ensuring the two never met. All information passed through him.
This eliminated many risks for the big shots. And as the middleman providing the intel and the venue, the broker made a killing.
"There's a transaction tonight. We have to stop him." This was the little beauty, now an agent, still holding onto her sense of justice.
"I'm going to save my daughter!" For Bryan, even if the US President died in front of him right now, it wouldn't be as important as Kim.
"I need to collect some evidence." This was Bella, looking to stir up trouble.
The three exchanged information and decided to crash the broker's gala. No matter what, they had to save those girls.
Knowing Bella intended to blow the situation up, Bryan worried about his daughter's future reputation and potential retaliation.
He wasn't afraid for himself—dying didn't matter. Compared to his CIA colleagues who died in foreign lands without even their bodies being recovered, being able to retire was already enough. But his daughter was different. She was young; she had a whole life ahead of her.
Many people in France knew the old agent—either spies or dignitaries. The Albanian hideout had no cameras, so he could go loud there. But a gala for French high society would definitely have surveillance. The cost of him showing his face publicly was much higher than for nobodies like Bella and Natasha.
"Here's the plan. Natasha and I will attend the auction and look for a chance to rescue the girls. Uncle Bryan, you investigate from the shadows. If we run into trouble, you provide backup," Bella said.
They discussed a few details. With no objections, they split up immediately.
They were all currently covered in blood. Each went back to change, agreeing to meet at the broker's gala at the scheduled time.
Patrice Saint-Clair was hosting a gala tonight on the surface, but in the shadows, it was a human trafficking auction. High society had gathered.
Big shots were engaging in dirty business. To mask their transactions, the gala was magnificent. Men and women in formal wear chatted happily, completely oblivious—or perhaps willfully ignorant—that deep within this mansion, a transaction ugly and vile was taking place.
Attending the gala required formal attire. Masked faces and body armor wouldn't get them in.
Bryan's disguise was relatively simple. He dyed his hair black, altered his facial contours slightly, put on a suit, tucked a gun into his waistband, and flashed an NSA ID to mix in.
Bella and Natasha's makeover was more troublesome. They showered, put on perfume, changed clothes, styled their hair, and applied heavy makeup to alter their appearances. Hiding pistols in their clutches, they finally walked into the gala with elegant steps.