Two days later.
All the Stratton executives attended the funeral. The deceased was "Rugrat," who had died in a so-called religious incident. Standing before the tombstone, Jordan silently opened a bag of flour and scattered it over the grave like falling snow. The black-and-white photo on the headstone showed him grinning broadly.
"Dude, I hope you're having a hell of a time up in heaven."
After saying that, Jordan let out a heavy sigh.
This was the second senior executive in the company to be murdered. The first had been shot dead while walking down Times Square; the second died in an even more gruesome way—his throat slit, bleeding out.
Jordan felt a chill every time he thought about it.
At one point, he even suspected Luca. After all, Luca had worked as a hitman at the Continental Hotel and certainly had the skill. But both previous cases had resulted in the arrest of the supposed perpetrators, and Luca had no direct connection to either.
Jordan was puzzled.
The bigger issue was that Luca somehow seemed to know so many of the company's secrets. Had his late brother leaked them? Damn it. For a split second, Jordan felt the urge to kick over the tombstone.
After paying his respects, Jordan turned and walked out of the crowd.
Luca, dressed in a black suit, passed by him, approached the grave, and politely laid down a bouquet of flowers.
He had come to see the fallen rare card.
What a mess.
One rare card killed another rare card—and now both were gone. Worse still, the killer and the victim hadn't even belonged to the same storyline.
What was the point of it all?
It made Luca realize that in this chaotic world, there might be strange and unseen "connections" linking each character.
Outside the crowd.
When Jordan spotted that infuriating, smug face, he cursed "fuck you" a hundred times in his head. If it weren't for his friend's funeral, he would have said it out loud.
The FBI was here.
"Denham, listen. Today is my best friend's funeral. Show some respect for the dead and watch yourself. I'm not here to put up with your damn, pointless investigation!"
Faced with Jordan's stream of profanity and flying spit, the FBI agent, Denham, remained calm.
"I don't have time to investigate you every single day. I'm here for Rugrat's funeral. I've investigated him so many times, I practically knew the guy. I'm sorry it ended like this."
"Oh yeah? What are you going to do—summon his spirit?" Jordan sneered. "Pull his soul down from heaven and tell him heaven's under FBI jurisdiction? That he's still a suspect and can't enjoy a damn angel massage until he's cleared?"
Jordan's words were venomous enough to draw snickers from several employees nearby.
Agent Denham chuckled briefly, then his face turned serious.
"Heaven may not fall under FBI jurisdiction. But if you're heading to hell, the FBI can definitely help you skip the line."
Denham turned and made his way through the crowd toward Luca, who was paying his respects at the grave.
Luca—the dove of peace. A "kind-hearted citizen."
As an FBI agent, Denham understood better than anyone present just how dangerous Luca was. If Baba Yaga rated five stars for danger, then Luca was at least four and the half.
And unlike Baba Yaga, this man was a master of disguise. He had actually convinced half of Little Italy that he was peace-loving.
Denham didn't buy it.
The idea that the Mafia loves peace was as ridiculous as Jordan helping clients pick solid stocks for honest profits, the DEA truly wiping out drugs, or the United States never initiating wars to plunder other people's gold and oil.
A man who appeared gentle but operated ruthlessly beneath the surface—that kind of person was far more dangerous than a financial fraudster like Jordan.
Sensing the gaze on him, Luca turned and locked eyes with Denham.
__________________________________________________________________________
[Character Card Discovered: Patrick Denham (Unlocked)]
Rank: B
[Source: The Wolf of Wall Street]
[Skill: Upright and Unyielding]
[Bond: Attention]
__________________________________________________________________________
Luca's expression shifted slightly in surprise.
So he came to the funeral too?
He knew perfectly well that Denham was the FBI agent who eventually brought Jordan down in the original storyline. From the beginning, Denham had refused Jordan's bribes, focused solely on putting him behind bars.
The man was almost painfully honest.
Jordan once mocked him for riding the subway his entire life. Denham didn't flinch. He never took the money.
Too upright. Too clean.
From a distance, Luca offered him a friendly smile.
Denham paused, momentarily taken aback, feeling an inexplicable sense of familiarity.
Strange.
---
The following days were uneventful.
Steve's shoes company experienced no immediate issues.
Donnie, the second-in-command, quietly tested Steve's intentions. They had been high school classmates and longtime friends, and on a subconscious level, Donnie found it hard to believe Steve would betray him.
But what did high school loyalty matter when real money was on the table?
Even someone who shares your bed can betray you.
Following Luca's advice, Donnie and Jordan decided to bait the trap.
"Steve, Donnie and I are heading overseas for a while. We'll be laying low and won't be back for some time."
In his office, Jordan spoke earnestly.
"You know the FBI is sniffing around. Those bastards are like mosquitoes—buzzing all day. The moment you relax, they swarm and suck you dry. Fuck the FBI. I'm sick of it."
Donnie chimed in with his own complaints, then added reassuringly to the sheepishly smiling Steve:
"Don't worry about the company. We can manage everything remotely."
"Won't the FBI trace this back to me?" Steve asked nervously.
Jordan waved him off. "Come on. You sell women's shoes. The FBI isn't interested in your ugly inventory, and their wives sure as hell don't care about your fashion sense. Just focus on selling shoes."
Steve smiled weakly. But his eyes flickered—calculating.
There is no loyalty on Wall Street. It's a jungle full of wolves. Show weakness, and you get eaten.
Jordan and Donnie suddenly "disappeared," supposedly on vacation. Regular employees had no idea where their bosses had gone. Daily operations continued under middle managers.
The staff was used to it. Wasn't it normal for the boss not to show up? As long as the beasts of burden came in, that was enough.
Meanwhile, inside the SSR Club in the Bronx—
Jordan, accompanied by Luca, was touring the property Luca had already acquired. Renovations were underway.
The club occupied a standalone building, styled like a boutique resort. Inside were bars, restaurants, guest rooms, cigar lounges, conference rooms, and even an underground nightclub.
"Belfort, you've been to plenty of clubs. What do you think of this one?" Luca asked casually. "I've already bought it. Planning to relaunch it. Could use your advice."
"Not good at all," Jordan said bluntly, barely disguising his disdain. "The old members are gone. No brand value. It's just an empty shell. You think you'll make money off this? Dream on."
Jordan's so-called "trip" was really him hiding out in Little Italy, where the FBI would have a harder time operating.
He had also figured out that Luca wasn't just connected to the Continental Hotel—he was a made member of the Lucchese crime family.
That was not something a small investment bank could go up against.
"I don't need the old members. I'm changing the name," Luca replied.
"So who's your target clientele?" Jordan asked. "Middle class? Or wealthy elites and political dynasties?"
"Wealth isn't the only standard. I care about ability—what they can do now, and what they could become."
He turned to Jordan.
"Belford, interested in joining the SSR Club?"
"SSR?"
"It stands for 'Super Super Rare,'" Luca said with a smile. "We solve problems clients can't solve themselves. We maintain order. Create an environment where peace is valued. For example—if you're under FBI investigation, SSR can help."
"Any problem can be solved?"
"As long as you can afford it. If the Americas sink, I'll still get you aboard Noah's Ark."
Jordan whistled softly. "Sounds like politics. Quid pro quo?"
He still didn't fully trust Luca—but he knew the Lucchese crime family had influence. New York real estate was practically carved up among Mafia families.
"But your price is insane," Jordan complained. "Five million? For one favor? The high-end clubs I know don't charge that!"
Luca chuckled. "You're rich. You scam other people. If I don't scam you, who should I scam?"
He extended his hand.
"This is our first partnership. What I value more is friendship and trust. Once we're friends, I can help you without charging."
Jordan didn't buy it—but he shook Luca's hand anyway.
"Then give me a discount."
"Of course," Luca replied.
Jordan grinned.
"Five million is already the discount."
Jordan: "…"
Shady bastards.
Luca handed him an envelope.
"Trust me. It's worth more than the price."
"What is this?" Jordan asked.
"Dirt on Steve Shoes. Things you may need. Be careful with him. On Wall Street, only profit is eternal."
"Dirt, huh?"
It couldn't prove betrayal—but it gave leverage.
After Jordan left, Luca called Jimmy over and handed him funding.
"Keep an eye on Steve Shoes. Inside information says his company's heading for a major crisis. Stock's going to tank. Find a chance to short it."
Jimmy's eyes widened.
"Holy shit. You even know that kind of inside info? As expected of the dove of peace."
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Thanks for Rocky Stagg for becoming my P Knight, i would buy my cats some fish in the market with it.
And for others, you could use $3 for 15 Advance Chapters and help my Cats got more fish to eat.
As Always on: P Site/OrbisTranslate