209: Chapter 209 Who is the real victim?

The air in the underground secret room had solidified.

Julian DuPont's patience was completely exhausted. He did not have the composure of an old fox like his grandfather, and seeing Weber still haggling, a cruel sneer curled the corner of his mouth.

He reached inside his suit and pulled out a custom sterling silver M1911.

"Click."

The sound of the bullet chambering tore through the dead silence of the room.

The cold muzzle was pressed firmly against Weber's temple. The chill of the metal made him shiver uncontrollably.

"Old man, did you take the wrong medicine?"

Julian looked down at him from above, his eyes filled with undisguised murderous intent.

This time, it was not an act.

Cold sweat suddenly broke out on Weber's forehead and slid down the wrinkles of his cheeks.

The heirs raised by these European old-money families were a bunch of lunatics who truly did not value human life.

Weber's throat went dry; he stared fixedly at the agreement on the table, not even daring to blink.

His hands gripped the silver dragon head of his cane so tightly that his nails almost embedded themselves into the wood.

He was waiting.

He used all his strength to suppress the urge to glance to his back left.

Hurry up.

Give the signal.

If the signal did not come soon, this body he had just regained at age fifty would really be done for today.

Just then.

Los Angeles, Umbrella Headquarters underground War Room.

Sarah stared at the main control screen, her fingers hitting the final Enter key on the virtual keyboard.

In the center of the screen, a green prompt box popped up: [Target Information Matrix Construction Complete].

"Chen."

Sarah turned to Chen Feng, who was sitting in the commander's seat.

"Facial features, voiceprint spectrum, and iris sequence—the biological data of all three core targets have been captured and encrypted, then uploaded to the 'Hive' server."

Chen Feng picked up his iced Americano, took a sip, and his eyes turned cold.

He pressed the intercom on the table.

"Mission accomplished."

"Elena, let him sign."

...

Scotland castle, underground secret room.

Chen Feng's voice sounded in Elena's mind.

She still maintained that submissive, inconspicuous assistant's posture.

Just at the moment Weber's psychological defenses were about to collapse.

Elena raised her right hand.

Her fingers pinched the lapel of her tweed jacket and tugged it downward, naturally smoothing out a wrinkle that did not exist.

The movement was minimal.

But in the corner of Weber's vision, this signal was as clear as thunder.

Information collection complete.

These old foxes who thought they were gods had already had their trump cards exposed.

The heavy stone hanging in Weber's heart crashed to the ground.

The muscles on his face twitched violently twice, and then his mouth cracked into an extremely ugly arc.

"Bang!"

Weber slapped the mahogany table hard, the force so great that the whiskey glass on the table jumped.

"Deal!"

He raised his head, his eyes bloodshot, staring fixedly at Old Morgan and Old Rockefeller opposite him; the greed, madness, and humiliation in his eyes were intertwined, fully displayed.

"Seven percent it is!"

"Who does that yellow-skinned monkey Chen Feng think he is!"

Weber gritted his teeth, his saliva flying in his excitement.

"He treats me like a dog! He made four hundred and fifty billion and only threw me a few bones!"

"This time, I want it all back, with interest!"

This display of ugliness instantly dispelled the tension in the secret room.

Julian gave a mocking sneer, put away his pistol, and even deliberately wiped the barrel on the back of Weber's suit, a gesture of extreme insult.

The three old men opposite exchanged glances, a flash of expected disdain appearing in their cloudy old eyes.

This is what a human is like.

Greedy, fearful, willing to betray everything for profit.

They had been playing this trick for hundreds of years and had never failed.

"A wise choice, Mr. Weber."

Old Morgan leaned back in his chair, pulled a diamond-encrusted Parker pen from his pocket, and threw it onto the agreement.

"Sign it. After sunrise tomorrow, all pharmaceutical distribution channels in North America will be open to you."

Old Rockefeller added in his raspy voice.

"What you are getting is not just money, but a ticket to sit at the table."

Weber did not hesitate at all; he grabbed the pen, flipped to the last page, and signed his name with a flourish.

After signing, he roughly tore the agreement in two, pushed the part belonging to the others to the center of the table, and clutched the other part to his chest like a stray dog guarding its food.

"It is done."

The DuPont family head, who had been silent all along, that gaunt old man, finally showed a smile.

"The rest is up to Mr. Weber's methods."

"Rest assured."

Weber carefully tucked the agreement into his shirt's inner pocket, right against his chest.

"The highest-level access password for Umbrella's core laboratory—I will get it for you within three days."

With the business concluded, the atmosphere relaxed completely.

"The banquet is not over yet."

Old Morgan stood up, adjusted his tuxedo, and put back on the white gloves that symbolized his 'butler' identity.

"Let us go have a drink and celebrate the addition of our new ally."

The few old men stood up one after another and walked toward the door.

Weber also grabbed his cane and stood up.

Elena dutifully stepped forward to smooth out the wrinkles on his suit.

In the instant their eyes met, Weber saw a flash of golden-red flame deep in the girl's pupils.

These high-and-mighty 'gods' had no idea that what they had just signed was not an agreement to divide a hundred-billion-dollar empire.

It was their own death warrant.

The door of the secret room was pushed open from the outside by bodyguards.

The melodious sound of violins mixed with the melody of the piano flooded back into their ears.

The hall was brightly lit, with hundreds of candles illuminating everything like daylight.

Seeing the three old men emerge, followed closely by Weber, the sharp-minded people in the hall immediately understood the result.

Lord Harrington, holding a glass of red wine, walked up with a face full of smiles.

His scalded right hand was still bandaged, but this did not stop him from greedily and unscrupulously sweeping his gaze over Elena once again.

The colder this woman was, the more the evil fire in his heart burned.

"Is it settled?"

Harrington's gaze shifted between Weber and Julian.

Julian, with one hand in his pocket, walked to the steps in the center of the hall and gently tapped his wine glass with a small silver spoon.

"Ding—"

The hall instantly went quiet.

"Ladies and gentlemen."

Julian was beaming, his voice loud and clear.

"Just a moment ago, Mr. Weber fully accepted our cooperation proposal!"

"Tomorrow, the joint strangulation of Umbrella Corporation will officially begin!"

"Those four hundred and fifty billion US dollars, those maddening technologies of immortality—soon, they will return to their true owners—our pockets!"

As his voice fell, the hall erupted in thunderous applause and cheers.

Men raised their glasses to celebrate, women smiled like flowers.

Old Morgan and Old Rockefeller stood at the edge of the crowd, holding champagne, enjoying the worshipful and fanatical gazes of the young people.

This was the ruling power of the old gods.

Without moving a single soldier, in the midst of laughter and conversation, they had dismembered a rising hundred-billion-dollar empire.

They were celebrating a victory that was already in their hands.

But was the victory really in their hands?