In the next second, the originally cold and hard expressions on their faces melted at a speed visible to the naked eye.
In its place was a look of fawning even more exaggerated than that of the thugs, as if they were seeing the true Master of this building.
"Yes... yes! You are right! We were so rude!" One security guard actually slapped himself across the face, then immediately bent over, running ahead to lead the way with a face full of smiles: "Welcome to the Fisk Group! Distinguished lady! Please forgive our stupidity!"
The other security guard, as if competing for favor, rushed to the elevator entrance and pressed the button frantically, fearing he might be a second late.
"The elevator is this way! Please! Please step inside!"
A green light all the way.
No conflict, no bloodshed.
Everyone in the lobby, including the receptionist at the front desk, joined this "welcoming party" without exception the moment they came into contact with Makima's gaze.
Ding.
The elevator doors opened.
Makima stepped inside and turned elegantly to face the lobby.
The elevator doors slowly closed, shutting out those eerie faces filled with adoration and worship.
Watching this scene, Sumire couldn't help but shudder.
It was no wonder Makima viewed human life as completely expendable.
Accompanied by the soothing classical music in the elevator... the top floor, the Chairman's office.
This was the place with the best view in all of Hells Kitchen; through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, one could overlook the lights of thousands of homes in this fallen city.
The atmosphere in the office was not murderous; instead, it exuded an elegant business ambiance.
"Regarding the redevelopment plan for the West Side Docks, the union side has been handled," Wesley said, pushing the gold-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose as he handed a document to the man behind the desk. "That union leader was stubborn, but after we showed him photos of his granddaughter leaving school, he became much more reasonable."
"Well done, Wesley."
Wilson Fisk, who would become the underworld emperor Kingpin years later, was sitting behind that massive mahogany desk.
His physique was like a massive mountain of flesh, but his behavior was the exact opposite of his giant frame; he was elegantly holding a knife and fork that were far too miniature for his thick fingers, leisurely enjoying a medium-rare steak.
Kingpin
"This city needs order, and we are the maintainers of that order."
Knock, knock, knock.
Suddenly, a soft and rhythmic knocking interrupted the conversation between Master and servant.
Wesley frowned.
No appointment, and security hadn't reported anything.
Who was so ignorant of the rules?
"Come in."
Fisk said in a deep voice. It was clear he wasn't happy about his dinner being interrupted, and he simultaneously gave Wesley a look.
Wesley understood and discreetly reached for the silenced pistol in his coat.
The door opened.
The person who walked in was neither a fully armed assassin nor a panicked subordinate.
Rather, it was a young woman wearing a black Public Safety trench coat with her red hair in a braid.
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