Alexandra’s Collection

The other areas were not greatly affected, given how far away they were.

Neither the Beast’s residual power nor the clash between S.H.I.E.L.D. and The Hand could reach that far.

But for the people of Hell’s Kitchen, it was destined to be a sleepless night.

The Beast’s residual power—the scattered soul energy and mental fluctuations—carried the stench of sin and desire. To kind-hearted people with strong wills, it was nothing much, perhaps not even as tempting or crime-inducing as five million dollars laid out before them.

But Hell’s Kitchen was different.

This was the stronghold of gangsters, the place with the worst public security in all of New York, the filthiest and most chaotic place, where sin was everywhere.

Now, those sins had been amplified by the Beast’s residual power. Desires that had once been suppressed were released, and all kinds of crimes sprang up one after another.

There were gang shootouts, along with petty thugs robbing and stealing.

Even ordinary civilians began committing crimes.

Maintaining public order was the police’s responsibility.

However, just as S.H.I.E.L.D. had become a Hydra branch, the New York Police Department had long become a branch of Wilson Fisk’s—Kingpin’s—power. The sinful desires buried in those officers’ hearts were no less than those of gangsters.

Once they started committing crimes as well, who would maintain public order?

Who would enforce the law?

The only fortunate thing was that heroes still existed in the night.

That night in Hell’s Kitchen, many people saw heroes with their faces concealed—or rather, vigilantes.

A thin old man leaning on a Guiding Cane,

A tall woman wielding two short swords,

A burly man carrying two tactical batons,

Ghost Rider on a motorcycle he had conveniently stolen,

And, of course, a certain slightly chubby fellow.

The gangs were furious and fearful at the sudden appearance of these vigilantes. Most ordinary people welcomed them, but there was certainly no shortage of people who were jealous, resentful, or even cursed them. The human heart was the hardest thing to fathom, and the hardest thing to control.

Regardless, from that night onward, legends of Immortal Iron Fist, Ghost Rider, Daredevil, Black Sky, and Stick began spreading through Hell’s Kitchen and even all of New York.

And not just them.

There were plenty of criminals in this world, but heroes were never lacking either.

Whenever people saw evil, someone would always step forward.

For example, a private female detective with superhuman strength who liked black clothes, loved drinking, and could fly; a bald Black man impervious to blades and bullets; and a former United States Marine Corps soldier who claimed, "As long as you’re guilty, you have to die."

Of course, Old Wang did not care about any of that.

Though he had played vigilante for a while, he was not particularly interested.

This sort of thing could be left entirely to others. Whether it was Robbie or Matt, they would be more than happy to do it. Even the Kingpin who controlled the New York Police Department was merely a minor character, just right for Matt to practice on.

When raiding a dungeon and fighting a boss, naturally one had to consider the loot.

Old Wang had no interest in looting corpses. After all, the five most important and valuable corpses had already been tossed into the Heart of Azeroth.

But without question, such a massive organization that had existed for a thousand years was bound to possess an enormous industrial network, financial reserves, and a great many hidden treasures.

Madame Gao’s base was in China, Murakami’s was in Japan, Sowande’s was in Africa, and Bokuto’s was in Europe. They were beyond Old Wang’s reach, but Alexandra’s base was in New York, and all her treasures were hidden there as well.

They were his for the taking.

By using facial recognition and hacking into the New York Police Department and traffic surveillance systems, Skye quickly found several places Alexandra frequently visited, including several companies she controlled and the villa where she had lived the longest.

Under cover of night, Old Wang paid a personal visit.

His eyes immediately lit up.

Throughout history, no matter how many faces or identities Alexandra had changed, she had always been a Western noblewoman. She had crossed paths with many historical celebrities, such as Mozart and Beethoven, Galileo and Newton.

As a noblewoman, she naturally had the manners and tastes of one.

She had dedicated rooms for collecting antiques—large rooms, more than one of them—filled with fine things.

Beethoven’s manuscripts, a Stradivarius violin, Van Gogh’s famous paintings, authentic works by Wang Xizhi…

Beyond those were fine wines aged in cellars for years, limited-supply premium teas, rare flowers, evening gowns and underwear worth millions, old records and films.

It was difficult to assess the value of these things.

Old Wang, who had lived at the bottom of society in both his previous life and this one, could only be certain of one thing: they were worth a lot of money.

There were many people in this world who were not particularly conspicuous, who were not on the Forbes Rich List and did not own many companies or stocks, but that did not mean they were truly poor. Their wealth simply existed in other forms.

If one truly wanted to assess wealth, Tony Stark was nothing special, and Black Panther might not even be the richest person on Marvel Earth.

To say nothing else.

The artifacts of Kamar-Taj and the three Sanctums could never be traded for, even if all of Wakanda’s Vibranium were brought out.

Alexandra was that kind of person too.

Her wealth certainly extended beyond this, but her bank accounts, safe-deposit boxes, stocks, and holding companies would not be so easy to obtain.

Old Wang had a complete plan for all of that,

But it all had to wait until the Darkhold Laboratory achieved some results, such as brain-mapping technology and memory-uploading technology.

"With Fitz and Simmons joining, progress should speed up quite a bit?"

Thinking of those two extraordinarily talented young scientists, Old Wang felt that the Darkhold Laboratory had a bright future ahead.

He directly tossed everything into the Heart of Azeroth. With a flick of his sleeve, Old Wang left without taking a single cloud.

S.H.I.E.L.D. Triskelion Headquarters, Director’s Office.

The long meeting finally ended. Egghead rubbed his eyes and yawned.

Meetings like this were truly boring. The lofty council members did not understand S.H.I.E.L.D.’s actual operations at all. Their decisions were mixed with far too many political factors and conflicting interests, having long since strayed from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s original purpose. Egghead considered himself a veteran of the political arena, yet even he was growing tired of dealing with those people.

"Luckily, I still have Pierce to help me."

Thinking of the superior who had personally promoted him, Egghead sincerely hoped Pierce was not Hydra. Otherwise, things would truly become troublesome.

Because that would mean S.H.I.E.L.D. was not Hydra at all. There was no such thing as "Hydra extremists infiltrating S.H.I.E.L.D." Instead, it would be "a brave Black man infiltrates Hydra and successfully recruits a group of subordinates"—a proper cops-and-robbers undercover movie.

That was too awful.

The phone rang. It was Black Widow.

Egghead took a deep breath and lowered his voice into a deep, magnetic tone. "Speak."

"Immortal Iron Fist killed the Beast and the Four Fingers. The Hand has collapsed, and the New York Police Department has taken over. We have successfully withdrawn. This operation resulted in twenty-four deaths and forty-two seriously injured." Black Widow reported.

"I’ll send people to negotiate with the New York Police Department and take over the matter in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s name."

Egghead thought briefly before saying, "The seriously injured are to withdraw. You and Agent Barton take people to several locations and bring back the things there."

He hung up and sent several addresses over.

They had been difficult to uncover. Some were secret bases of The Hand, while others were Alexandra’s villas, all of them containing many valuable things.

For example, the Resurrection Coffin and Dragon Bone Immortal Iron Fist had promised, as well as Alexandra’s private collection.

S.H.I.E.L.D. received several billion dollars in anonymous donations every year. That was enough.

But from the day he became director, he had constantly been cultivating secret agents and building secret bases.

All of that required money—vast amounts of it. Even as director, it was difficult for him to divert S.H.I.E.L.D.’s funds without leaving traces. Hydra might already have a crystal-clear grasp of it all.

Once S.H.I.E.L.D. took over, it would be able to obtain a great deal of wealth from The Hand, but that would not belong to him.

He hoped Alexandra’s collection would give him a pleasant surprise.

Based on the intelligence available, if those items were put up for auction, they should be worth no less than…

Five hundred million?

The thought of five hundred million arriving in his account soon instantly put Egghead in a much better mood.

Thanks to "Liquor Scorches Lips" for the 500 reward.