This I Can't Resist
The Lincoln sedan slipped out of Times Square and came to a stop on a quiet stretch of road beneath the East River pier—the agreed meeting place.
Before long the door opened and the Boss climbed into the back seat with the ease of long habit.
"You're looking especially glad to see me today."
An unexpected welcome from Donovan's usually unflappable mouth. The Boss's thick eyebrows twitched, just barely.
"…Something must have happened. Something dangerous?"
"Nah. Just some really exhausting clients showed up."
When Donovan scratched the back of his head with an awkward little laugh, a strange glint flickered through the Boss's eyes.
He could never have imagined that the "exhausting clients" who'd worked Donovan into a cold sweat were nothing more than a pack of teenage TikTokers—but the Boss didn't dig any deeper.
"So."
Donovan steered the conversation elsewhere with easy naturalness.
"About that contract extension we talked about on the phone—did you get it sorted?"
"Yeah. Locked in a one-year deal with Kingsley for six million dollars."
The Boss drew a tablet from his coat and tapped it lightly as he continued.
"Terms are simple: once a month, exactly, you perform a 'reading' on whoever Kingsley brings in. If they go over that once-a-month limit, or if they need any special additional requests, we bill extra per case. Already negotiated."
"So six million for one reading a month for a year, extras separate?"
An irrepressible grin spread across Donovan's face.
One quick look at a face once a month, and an annual salary of six million dollars was locked in. And that was on top of the multi-purpose membership card he was already putting to excellent use.
"Damn, you handle things beautifully. And the deposit's already in, right?"
"Of course. Ran it through my shell corporation, taxes handled perfectly, then straight into your account."
The Boss added, face still calm:
"Oh—and I put it in the contract that they don't just drop by unannounced. They won't be bothering you."
Donovan's eyes lit up.
He'd only just escaped those exhausting little clients moments ago.
The money was great, but more than anything he loved how carefully the Boss had protected his peaceful daily life.
"Enough about the money—let's get to the real business. This request is weird and the scale doesn't match, so I was going to turn it down. But you said you needed work urgently, so I held onto it."
"You were going to turn it down?"
Donovan took the document envelope with open interest.
"The client is none other than the independent candidate for mayor of New York—Robert Sterling."
"A mayoral candidate?"
Donovan nodded as he studied the photo stamped on the first page and the densely packed résumé beneath it.
A New York native who'd clawed his way up from the bottom, taking down back-alley crooks, rotten corporate types, and corrupt politicians without discrimination until he rose to star prosecutor. Now he was a heavyweight aiming for the mayor's seat.
Donovan tapped the papers lightly with one finger and asked, casual:
"So, what kind of guy is he?"
"He's no wide-eyed innocent. Came up from the bottom, so he knows better than anyone how filthy this game is."
The Boss continued in a low, settled voice.
"But he doesn't compromise. When rotten businessmen or politicians shove bribes at him and ask him to look the other way, he answers by bringing the riot squad."
A peculiar admiration flickered in the Boss's eyes.
"Law and principle. That's all he upholds. Whether they push bribes or threats, he just faces them down by the book, by the rules—no cheap tricks."
Finished speaking, the Boss stared hard at the man in the documents.
"In this rotten city, the trust that comes from holding onto that one obvious principle to the end—that's why the public goes crazy for him."
Donovan propped his chin on his hand and tapped the photo.
"And a guy like that is making a request to a back-alley information broker?"
"He asked me to tell him how to raise his approval ratings."
"Approval ratings?"
"At first I thought he wanted dirt on his opponent. He's trailing by twenty points, so I figured he'd resorted to last resorts."
The Boss clicked his tongue softly, as if still incredulous.
"But no. He wanted me to find a way to boost his own support and flip that twenty-point gap."
"He knows this business, right? Isn't that a little naive? What kind of scruples is he having at a time like this?"
The Boss shook his head.
"It's not that. It's because of who the opponent is."
Donovan's eyebrows twitched with interest.
"Who's the opponent?"
"Richard Vance. The crown prince of this rotten mainstream political machine, backed to the hilt by Wall Street billionaires and the major media conglomerates."
The Boss's voice sank even heavier and colder.
"That bastard is a god of mudslinging. On the surface he plays the elegant aristocrat, but underneath he's filthier and blacker than the mafiosos Sterling used to lock up."
The Boss let out a hollow laugh of pure disbelief.
"Negatives? Digging up dirt? Of all the reporters and private detectives who went after his weak spots, not a single one is still breathing free and clear. He either buries them under a mountain of perfectly legal lawsuits until they're bankrupt and living on the street, or he makes them 'accidents' that leave them vegetables—quiet as a mouse."
"…So he's a monster who has the entire media and capital in his grip."
"Exactly. If Sterling's side carelessly plays a dirty card and tries to stab at the opponent's secrets, Vance's media will turn Sterling into 'a third-rate thug obsessed with conspiracy theories' in a single day. Sterling knows that."
"Ah—so that's why he asked to raise his own approval ratings."
"Right. He knows that's the most realistic move in the current situation."
Donovan nodded and opened his mouth.
"So, the most important part—the fee? How much is he offering?"
"He said he'd decide it in a face-to-face meeting."
"A meeting? He didn't put it in the request form?"
A faint smile touched the Boss's lips.
"Probably planning to offer compensation he doesn't want left on paper. Like I said—he's no naive innocent who doesn't know how the world works."
"Ha."
Donovan quietly looked down at Sterling's photo in the documents.
A monster who controlled media and capital wholesale, and a reckless man trying to climb that solid wall with nothing but his own approval ratings.
What secret reward would this mayoral candidate—who'd reached all the way into the back alleys to flip this twenty-point abyss—pull out that he couldn't even put on paper? Donovan was more than a little curious.
"Okay."
Donovan snapped the stack of documents shut with a crisp sound and stood up.
"I'll go meet him. Set it up for me."
Outside Manhattan, a sleek black Lincoln sedan glided to a stop in front of a shabby commercial building thick with the marks of time.
This was Robert Sterling's campaign headquarters.
The car door opened and Donovan stepped out. The burly bodyguards at the entrance immediately blocked his path.
A black silk mask covering half his face, pitch-black sunglasses.
It was a suspicious look that wouldn't have been strange to report to the police on the spot—but the bodyguards didn't dare lay hands on him.
The top-tier suit Donovan was wearing was itself a guarantee of status.
"I have an appointment. Tell them I'm here about the request—they'll know."
At the confident demand, the head of security whispered a few words into his radio. A short instruction came back, and his attitude became noticeably more respectful.
"…This way, please. Right this way."
Guided inside, the camp was, as the Boss had said, a long way from glamorous. Peeling paint on furniture and crude fixtures everywhere.
But the heat inside was on another level entirely.
Dozens of volunteers and staff were constantly making calls, exchanging opinions, moving with frantic energy.
It was hard to believe this was a camp trailing by twenty points, deep in the red.
Donovan swept his Color Reading energy over them through the sunglasses.
Ha. This is seriously something else.
A deep smile settled on Donovan's lips.
In a political camp, you'd expect the black desires for "my rice bowl" or "power" to be vibrating everywhere. He saw none of that.
Instead, what filled the space was a pure, blazing hope so blind it was almost naive.
The absolute conviction that if Sterling just got elected, he'd change this rotten New York.
Savoring the pleasant heat, Donovan passed down the worn hallway and soon stood before the candidate's office at the very back of the camp.
"This is it."
The door opened, and Donovan stepped boldly inside.
In the center of the wide, rough office, a massive man with his shirt sleeves rolled up, looking over documents, jerked his head up.
Robert Sterling.
He rose from his seat and strode over.
"Thank you for accepting such an unreasonable request."
A thick, hearty welcome with not a shred of authority-consciousness. Donovan lightly clasped the rough hand the giant bulldozer offered and smirked.
"Ah, I haven't accepted it yet. Still thinking it over."
"Hmm, a cautious friend, are you? Is that why you're wearing the mask? If you're covering a scar on your face, I apologize for the rudeness."
A polite, straightforward apology.
Donovan shrugged and answered easily.
"Nah, nothing like that. Just—when you're too good at what you do, the world gets dangerous and tiring in all sorts of ways, you know?"
"Huh. Looks like I've gotten very lucky."
Sterling broke into a good-natured smile and a hearty laugh. Then, as if something had just occurred to him, his eyes sparkled and he spoke.
"You wouldn't happen to be… that miracle fixer who solved Vincent's request, would you?"
"…What?"
Donovan's eyebrows twitched.
Sterling continued with a gentle smile.
"The reason I put in the request in the first place is because I heard a very interesting story from Vincent."
Donovan gazed steadily at Sterling through the sunglasses and spoke quietly.
"Can I take the Fifth on that?"
At that, Sterling curled one corner of his mouth up cleanly and answered slyly.
"I didn't hear a thing."
At the witty reply, Donovan let out a short laugh.
Honest, passionate, and still overflowing with ease.
Donovan sat on the sofa opposite and began properly examining Sterling's physiognomy.
The first thing that caught his eye was the forehead—the Career Palace.
Huh?
Donovan's eyes narrowed.
For a politician, that place should be open and shining—and it was stretching out with flawless, perfect momentum.
A broad forehead and clear complexion. The perfect ruler's face, destined to lead countless people to the highest seat.
This wasn't a face that would stop at mayor.
It was a physiognomy that would climb far higher.
In short—a face that could move a nation.
With this face he's trailing by twenty points? In a mayoral race? A guy who could go all the way to president?
Donovan clicked his tongue inwardly.
With career fortune that open, he should be crushing whoever the opponent was under overwhelming approval ratings. That was the natural order.
The fact that he was trailing this badly at all defied common sense.
Donovan's gaze moved to Sterling's thick lips and jaw as solid as rock.
A face that, once it decided "this is my person," would walk with them to the ends of hell. A face of fierce loyalty that always repaid kindness many times over.
This is starting to look like something worth helping with.
Donovan opened his mouth leisurely.
"So, what kind of compensation is it that you had to meet me in person? Something so big you couldn't even put it on paper?"
Sterling smiled faintly and leaned deep into the backrest.
"Compensation? Ah, that. That was just an excuse, actually. Or rather—a gamble, more like."
"What?"
"I've been looking for you. Honestly speaking, without a miracle, there's no way to flip this right now."
Donovan let out a hollow laugh of disbelief.
"Just what did Vincent tell you to make you act like this?"
"Whatever you're imagining, it's more than that. Vincent's eyes were half rolled back."
"What if I was lying?"
He smirked as he spoke.
"I used to be a prosecutor. A pretty damn good one."
He was certain.
That Donovan was the fixer who had solved Vincent's case.
He immediately played the best card he could offer.
"If I become mayor, I'll give you anything. As long as it's within the law and principles."
Hearing that, Donovan grinned and said:
"Not that. How about being friends?"
A face that could move a nation?
This I can't resist.