Chapter 66: A Name Reverberating Like Thunder

Today marked the absolute lowest point in Elsa’s life, without exception. Not in decades past—not for herself, her mother, or even her grandfather—had any of them ever experienced the humiliation of having a glass of wine thrown in their face.

Yet, the more dire the situation became, the more cautious Elsa grew, even sensing an ominous premonition: the Dark Lord was not far away.

This left Elsa bewildered and at a loss, unsure whether she ought to seek him out or avoid him at all costs. Few truly understood the extent of the Dark Lord’s power, but Elsa was certainly among them. If what Old Huo said was true, then the burning of her mother’s small fortune had been a warning. Unwilling to believe in such threats, she had come here in a grand, conspicuous manner to get involved. If he truly was nearby—perhaps even on this very ship—he might well decide to set the Poseidon ablaze, or perhaps he would simply smile nonchalantly and let it pass as if nothing had happened.

That was who he was. In truth, no one ever knew what he would do. Over the years, he had always seemed omnipresent, utterly unpredictable.

At events like these, there was always an auction. It was a way for the hosts to profit, and the attendees to “donate”—a ritual bolstered by fame, glory, and the presence of handsome men and beautiful women. The items up for auction were genuine, but never a good bargain.

Of course, it was never as exaggerated as those brainless TV dramas—no item worth two million would ever fetch twenty million.

The auction was a middling feature of the evening, but Elsa was in no mood to wait for it now. She just wanted to leave this place of trouble. She suspected that the Dark Lord might well be here, and it was best not to encounter him if possible, for no one knew what to do or say in his presence. It would be unbearably awkward.

With her mind made up, Elsa turned to her assistant. “Prepare the speedboat. We’re leaving now.”

The assistant glanced at her schedule on a tablet and whispered, “Are you sure? The auction isn’t important, but you do have an appointment with an important guest here today.”

Elsa paused. “Who? I don’t recall making any appointments.”

“The British Home Secretary, Julia. It was arranged at the start of the Pacific Ring tour. She’s currently on the Americans’ Burke-class destroyer, not far away. She should be arriving by helicopter.” The assistant confirmed the appointment with slow, deliberate care.

Elsa shook her head without hesitation. “No, prepare for me to leave. I don’t want to get involved in her sensitive affairs. That woman is playing a dangerous game, and the person who’s been protecting her these years is odd—almost entirely hands-off. Now, with Julia on the Americans’ destroyer and planning to come here, that person is likely nearby as well. Who knows what mischief is afoot. I won’t wait. Let’s go.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the assistant replied, putting away the tablet to make arrangements.

Elsa’s schedule was still packed, but the assistant was clever enough to realize that if Elsa could cancel on the British Home Secretary, she could certainly cancel everything else as well.

But before they could leave, another assistant entered. “Miss Ma, Mike Travis has arrived. Should I let him in?”

Elsa hesitated for a moment, then nodded slightly and returned to sit in “that chair.”

A moment later, a nondescript man in his forties entered.

Mike Travis—an American producer, the godfather of Hollywood entertainment, and a regular feature at the top of the Oscars over the past five years. His connection to Elsa was business-related. While not essential, he was very much an insider. Theron had come at his invitation, acting as the Poseidon’s “brand ambassador,” as well as the face of the evening’s auction.

Travis proceeded to report on certain business matters to Elsa.

The reason Elsa received him but not Julia wasn’t that he was more important; rather, she trusted Travis more than any politician. This was the credibility and honor she so often prized.

At certain times, the entertainment industry would suddenly produce a spate of films critical of the CIA, which always signaled that Elsa was having a difficult month. Always keen for a fight with the CIA, she would retaliate with projects of her own. Whenever the CIA needed to be challenged, it meant they were pushing for new legislation to expand their powers—something that would impact Elsa’s business considerably.

Of course, Travis wasn’t Elsa’s only card; she had many like him in all fields.

Elsa’s choice to meet with Travis and not Julia led her staff to sense that something significant was unfolding. After all, Julia, the British Home Secretary, was no pushover. At this time, she was working with the Americans to push a “new homeland security bill” that skirted basic human rights. The British had no ships in the Pacific, but Julia’s presence on an American destroyer was no coincidence; perhaps she had come to meet one of Elsa’s greatest adversaries.

Their business concluded, Travis produced a tablet from his briefcase and handed it over. “Miss Ma, here’s the script for Bourne 6. Would you like to take a look?”

Elsa skimmed through it at lightning speed.

She flipped the pages as she read. “You’ve managed to take the CIA’s portrayal to a whole new low, and the Brits don’t come off much better. If this film takes off, and Julia and her cronies manage to get their new homeland security bill passed, I’ll eat my hat. I love the script, but I still don’t recommend investing in Bourne 6…”

Seeing Travis’s awkward expression, Elsa continued, “It’s not about investment or returns, but the poor reputation of the previous films has weakened the Bourne series’ impact and visibility. Kicking off a new Bourne project would only draw early scrutiny from those bastards, who’d start a preemptive media campaign, ruining the effect. Let’s find a different angle.”

Travis nodded respectfully and stood up. “Understood. I’ll look for some other scripts.”

As the unremarkable Travis left, Elsa extended two fingers and her assistant hurried to fit a cigarette into her ivory holder.

She lit it, took a deep drag, and stubbed it out. As she rose, she muttered, “Julia, that utter troublemaker… Who did she meet on the Americans’ destroyer?”

The assistants exchanged glances. She had mentioned Julia while lighting her cigarette; what could that mean?

Earlier, Liu Yuan had said she would introduce someone to Feng Chenchen, and that someone was none other than the famous Theron.

With so many matters unfolding in parallel, the three strikingly different beauties were now gathered together, chatting for some time.

During this, Liu Yuan played the role of matchmaker, preening proudly before Feng Chenchen.

This left Feng Chenchen feeling awkward, because Liu Yuan had introduced her as a “rookie hoping to break into the industry.” In truth, she was exactly that—a newcomer hoping to switch careers. But to have her first conversation as a newcomer with such an A-list celebrity was daunting; she worried about making a fool of herself, and frankly, there wasn’t much she could contribute to the conversation.

To make matters worse, her spoken English wasn’t very fluent, which made her scalp tingle with anxiety—but there was no backing out now.