Faced with the question Butcher threw at him, Edgar gave no reply.
Because he knew Butcher was right. It simply hadn't happened yet.
"Speak. What do you want?" Edgar's voice was low and heavy.
"But you just said I'm a terrorist wanted by Vought, an enemy of Vought. So tell me, how does someone negotiate a deal with an enemy?"
The moment Edgar showed willingness to cooperate, Butcher knew his guess had been completely correct. He'd bet right.
At the table Edgar expressionlessly picked up the gold-rimmed glasses and put them on.
"Yesterday you were Vought's enemies. Today you can become Vought's friends. It only depends on whether we share enough common interest. As long as the interest is tempting enough, anyone can switch sides at any time. Like you sitting across from me, and me sitting across from you." Edgar's voice was steady and solid, as if he were stating an eternal truth.
"Let my wife return to me, and get Homelander the fuck off the top." Butcher laid out his conditions. When the topic touched his wife his tone inevitably sharpened.
Edgar rejected them both.
"First, Ryan cannot leave his mother. Someone has to raise him. Second, even as CEO of Vought I have no authority to kick Homelander out of The Seven. The consequences of that move are more than you can bear, more than I can bear, more than anyone at Vought can bear."
"That's your problem to figure out, not mine! Fuck you! You can find him whatever new mom you want, but my wife comes back to me. As for that fucking Homelander, at the very least get him off the team leader seat. That's my bottom line!" Butcher suddenly stood, tapped one corner of his phone against the table.
"Think it over. When you've decided, contact me with this phone. Once I see my wife I'll send you Ryan's location."
"Remember, no tricks, and don't even think about taking without giving. I've already reached my limit with you pieces of shit. No result in three days and you can prepare to have Homelander collect his son's corpse on the streets of New York!" Butcher slammed the phone onto the table and left the restaurant with open fury on his face.
Watching his back as he walked away, a trace of suspicion appeared in Edgar's eyes.
What did those last words mean? Was there already someone inside Vought who had cooperated with Butcher before? Unfortunately, while Edgar was still thinking, Butcher had already walked out of the restaurant, leaving no chance to ask.
Edgar was busy today. A-Train's sudden death meant another empty seat in The Seven.
He wanted to find a suitable person to break the fragile balance currently holding The Seven together.
In truth, the scene that morning in his office had left him with a faint sense of threat. The Seven needed disorder. It needed mutual scheming and backstabbing, not the current harmonious atmosphere.
Edgar hated the feeling that everything was starting to slip out of his control.
What he needed to do was break the balance and restore things to their original state.
...
"Mr. Edgar, we've arrived." In a black Rolls-Royce the security driver softly woke Edgar, who had been resting with his eyes closed in the back seat.
The car stopped in front of a building that looked like a medieval castle. Although the architectural style leaned toward the old centuries, the overall environment was unusually clean.
On the surrounding wall hung a black sign with gold lettering that read "Church of the Collective Members Gathering Center." In reality it was the residence of the Church's leader, Alastair.
"Careful now."
The moment he saw Edgar open his eyes, the security driver in the front seat quickly got out and opened the rear door for him.
Once out of the car, Edgar followed the Church staff through a small garden and into the castle.
"Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to come in person, Mr. Edgar. I specially invited a well-known chef from Italy to prepare tonight's dinner for us. You absolutely must try his cooking. I hear his cherry foie gras is excellent. Plenty of royal families have invited him to cook private dinners."
Alastair's mouth was full of welcome, yet he remained seated and made no move to stand and greet him.
"If I wanted, I could make him my private chef."
Edgar pulled out a chair, his expression already sour, and sat down.
"Let's talk business."
He looked at Alastair. "You called me here saying you had an excellent candidate for The Seven. Where is he?"
"No rush. Would you like some orange soda?"
"No, thank you. Drinking that stuff just makes me think of dish soap. Hard to believe anyone would invent a beverage that tastes that bad."
Alastair took a sip of the soda in his glass, unfazed by the blunt rejection.
"Actually, the one who asked me to invite you this time wasn't me. It's the supe who wants to meet you. You might even know her." Alastair set the glass down.
"Stop playing games with me. If her powers aren't as strong as you described over the phone, I'll terminate every business dealing between Vought and the Church of the Collective."
Edgar had no patience for Alastair's circling. His mood was already foul and he still had a mountain of problems waiting for him.
The Church of the Collective had existed since the founding of Vought. Even though it had faded into the background now, as its leader Alastair still wasn't afraid of the widely feared Vought CEO. He held an unimaginable amount of blackmail material on various supes. Leaking even a little of it would be enough to give Vought serious trouble.
Take Stormfront of The Seven for example. The Church of the Collective still had every photo of her Nazi origins. So Alastair didn't care about Edgar's threats at all.
"We've known each other this long. Would I really deceive you? Your words hurt me. I finally managed to find you a supe who is powerful, has a clean background, and is easy to control. You have no idea how much effort, money, and resources I poured into this. Just talking about it makes my wallet ache."
Edgar cut the rambling Alastair off coldly.
"How much commission does the Church want this time? Fifty percent? Sixty? As long as the person you recommend satisfies me, none of that is a problem."
"I want seventy percent!" Alastair saw how urgent Edgar was and went straight for the lion's share.
Hearing seventy percent made Edgar's face even uglier. When he looked at Alastair again his eyes were as cold as if he were staring at a dead man.
"Heh. Big appetite. Aren't you afraid of choking on it?"
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[]~(￣▽￣)~*
Read 12 Advance Chapters—P@t- Captain69