Chapter 105: Stay Alive
By the time Ethan reached the entrance of Rayne Clinic, he suddenly realized something—
there were no cupcakes from Max today.
Compared to everything that had happened that morning, he found himself oddly unsure—
did he like Max more… or her cupcakes?
Inside the clinic, Helen had already arrived early. A few patients were seated in the waiting area.
"Morning, Helen."
"Morning, doctor." She glanced at him, then casually looked at the empty front desk. "Oh? No cupcakes today? Want to call and check?"
"No need," Ethan said. "She had a fever last night. But she's fine now. Cupcake supply resumes tomorrow."
"OK." Helen nodded—then paused. "Wait… how do you know that so clearly?"
She raised an eyebrow, her tone instantly turning playful. "Wow. So you and her last night…"
"Uh… yeah."
"Nice." Helen gave him a thumbs-up.
Then she handed him a stack of files. "These are the current patients—basic info and symptoms."
She pushed a cup of coffee toward him. "Coffee's ready. I'll start sending patients in five minutes. Sound good?"
"Perfect. Thank you, Helen." Ethan took the coffee, sincerity in his voice. "I'm really starting to feel like I can't do this without you."
Helen replied casually, "Yeah, so what are you going to do when I get married someday?"
"???"
Did you consider John's feelings when you said that?
Seeing his frozen expression, Helen sighed. "Yep. Still zero sense of humor."
"…Right." Ethan forced a couple of laughs. "Haha."
He turned and headed toward the consultation room, preparing to start the day.
"Oh, right, doctor," Helen called after him.
He turned back.
"Saturday dinner with Axe—just you and Bobby Axelrod." She added, "I won't be there. Neither will his assistant. Something came up."
"???" Ethan blinked. "You're not going either?"
"No." Helen nodded. "It's better this way. Two men talking alone—more direct."
Ethan frowned slightly. "What am I supposed to do? You know I don't like him."
"Just be yourself," Helen said calmly. "You don't have to like him."
She paused, then added,
"If he can't change your mind, that's his problem. You can choose never to see him again."
"…Alright." Ethan nodded.
—
Axe Capital Tower.
Bobby Axelrod sat behind his wide, luxurious desk, leaning back slightly, his gaze drifting past the floor-to-ceiling windows toward the city skyline.
Wendy had just informed him that the weekend dinner with Ethan Rayne would be just the two of them—neither she nor Helen Wick would attend.
"Why?" Bobby asked.
Wendy shrugged. "Her idea."
"She thinks two men dining alone makes it easier to build a real friendship."
She paused. "I think she's right."
Bobby didn't respond immediately.
"Just be yourself," Wendy continued. "Treat it like making a normal friend. Be sincere."
She looked at him, as if checking whether he was actually listening.
Then added one more thing:
"When you're with that doctor—whatever you're thinking, say it. Don't hold back."
That wasn't Bobby's style.
In his world, "not holding back" usually meant exposing your hand.
He leaned back in his chair, seriously considering the upcoming dinner.
Not a deal.
Not a negotiation.
Not a game.
Just two people, sitting across from each other.
A ridiculous but very real question crossed his mind—
What do young people even talk about these days?
Just then, his phone buzzed.
No caller ID.
Just a short message:
—Call me.
Bobby glanced at it once and immediately knew who it was.
He stood up, retrieved another phone from the safe, left his office, walked through a private corridor, and pushed open the door to the rooftop.
The wind was strong up there, creating a constant layer of ambient noise.
This was where he took private calls—wide open visibility, no blind spots.
If anyone approached, he'd see them instantly.
The call connected almost immediately.
"My contact in Washington," Hall's voice came through—no greetings, straight to the point. "Something's wrong."
Bobby didn't ask how serious.
He just listened.
"I don't know exactly what happened," Hall continued. "But this is the last message he managed to send."
"Someone asked him to pass something on to you."
"First," Hall said, "everything you've recently learned—where you've been, who you've met—treat it as if it never existed."
Bobby frowned slightly. He knew exactly what that referred to.
"Second," Hall continued, "they want you to do two things."
"What things?"
"Use what you're best at. Financial methods."
"Take out the person who gave you that information."
Take out.
Bobby processed the word.
Not suppress.
Not warn.
Not silence.
But remove him from the game entirely.
The earlier $120 million play didn't even come close to this level.
This was eradication.
"And the second thing?" Bobby asked.
There was a brief pause on the other end.
"You cannot allow anyone under you to go to that place for treatment."
This time, Bobby didn't respond immediately.
The wind tugged at his coat, but his expression remained calm.
"And what's the return?" he finally asked.
"The return is this," Hall said.
"Once you complete both tasks—they'll acknowledge something."
"You'll be allowed to go there."
"For yourself. Or your family."
Bobby fell silent for a long time.
Then he asked one question.
"Hall… what's your advice?"
The line went quiet.
After a few seconds, Hall spoke slowly.
"You already know the answer to what you asked me last time, don't you?"
"Yes," Bobby said without hesitation.
"This situation," Hall continued, "is related to that information?"
"Yes."
Another brief silence.
Then Hall said,
"I don't need to know what that information is."
"For me… not knowing is safer."
Hall paused, his tone dropping—lower, sharper.
"You asked for my advice."
"So here it is—"
"Don't think about how to win."
"Think about how to stay alive."
Stay alive.
Bobby didn't interrupt. He kept his gaze fixed on the distant skyline, listening in silence.
"First," Hall said, "that man has to disappear."
"In that circle right now, there are only three possible outcomes."
A. They accept both you and the one who leaked the information.
B. They eliminate both you and the leaker.
C. They accept you—and eliminate the leaker.
"Option A is already off the table."
"As for B—it's too crude. Too loud. It would expose their existence and the fact that they're clearing the field."
"C is the cleanest. Lowest cost. Most aligned with their interests."
"So this—" Hall said, "is your ticket to stay at the table."
The corner of Bobby's mouth twitched. It wasn't a smile.
"Second," Hall continued, "that place you've been looking into—treat it as if it doesn't exist."
"Not blockade. Not severance."
"Just… don't approach it."
"Don't probe. Don't confirm. Don't leave any trace that you're searching for it."
"If he comes to you, fine. But until they give the nod—you do not go to him."
Bobby's brow tightened slightly.
"And the third?" he asked.
There was a brief silence.
When Hall spoke again, his voice dropped even lower.
"The third—and most important thing."
"You need to accept one fact."
"What fact?" Bobby asked.
"What you're facing right now… isn't an opponent."
"Not regulators either."
"It's a group of people who've already decided how the world runs."
"They don't need to beat you."
"They just need to decide… whether you get to continue existing."
"What you can do is not confront them head-on."
"It's this—"
"In the places they're not watching… protect the one variable that doesn't belong to them."
Bobby knew exactly who Hall meant.
"So you're saying," Bobby asked quietly, "I should bow my head?"
"No," Hall replied almost instantly.
"You should—lower your head first."
"Let them think you've accepted the rules."
"Let them relax their judgment."
"And then decide when to raise it again."
"You need allies."
"A lot of them."
"And more importantly—people who aren't part of their circle."
Silence hung on the line for a few seconds.
Then Bobby spoke again.
"What if I don't want to agree?"
Hall let out a faint chuckle—soft, but without any humor.
"That's also a strategy."
"In fact," he said, "surrendering too quickly is a statement in itself."
"To them, someone who nods immediately—either has no cards… or no courage."
"Both are low-value profiles."
"Let them show a little force."
"Let them feel like you need to be 'convinced.'"
"You can resist—just a little."
"Not flipping the table. Not tearing everything apart."
"But—show that you're still calculating."
"That makes you look less like prey…"
"And more like something they need to handle carefully."
Bobby didn't answer right away.
He aligned each piece of information in his mind, one by one.
And finally, he understood—
This wasn't about whether to compromise.
It was about when, how, and at what cost.
"So," Bobby said slowly, "you're suggesting I… test their limits?"
"Yes," Hall replied.
"See how far they're willing to go."
"And also—how much they're willing to pay for you."
Before hanging up, Hall added one last line:
"Remember this, Bobby."
"The ones who raise a white flag too early… get used as cannon fodder."
"The ones who resist to the end… get made into examples."
"What you need to do is balance between the power players—"
"Make them see that you have value they can't ignore…"
"And a threat that won't disrupt the whole game."
The line went dead.
Bobby lowered the phone.
From the rooftop, the entire city stretched out before him—vast, cold, like a massive chessboard.
For a long time, he didn't move.
He just stood there… watching.