Urban God of Rebate: Infinite Returns Of Women And Powers

By the time she finished they were parked outside a hotel near the city centre, nothing flashy, clean and anonymous and exactly right for someone who needed to not be findable for a night.

Sean texted Max while Mia was still talking.

Something came up. Criminal operation. Girls in debt. I need you to start building a picture of a modeling agency front. I’ll have a name for you within the hour.

Max’s response came back in three minutes.

I just got Amara settled for the evening. What do you need.

Everything, Sean typed back. Same as always.

He put his phone away.

Mia had gone quiet, the forty minutes finished, and she was sitting with the specific exhaustion of someone who had just put down something they’d been carrying alone.

”The agency name,” said Sean.

She told him.

He sent it to Max.

Then he looked at her. ”Tonight you stay here. Tomorrow we talk more. I need everything you can remember, names, locations, how the money moves, anything any of the other girls have told you about the people above the woman who runs the front.”

”And Soo-Jin,” said Mia.

”Soo-Jin first,” said Sean. ”I told you that.”

She looked at him steadily. ”You keep doing that.”

”What,” said Sean.

”Saying the thing I need to hear before I’ve finished being afraid you won’t say it,” said Mia.

Sean looked at her for a moment. ”Get some sleep,” he said. ”You look like you need it.”

He paid for two nights at the front desk without being asked what name to put the room under and came back to where Mia was standing in the lobby with her hands in the pockets of her jacket looking like someone who had spent so long in a situation she couldn’t control that being in a situation someone else was managing felt genuinely foreign.

He handed her the key card.

She took it.

Looked at it.

”Sean,” she said.

”Yeah.”

”Why does your driver take the long way to check for tails,” she said. ”That’s not a normal thing for a driver to know how to do.”

”James has a very specific skill set,” said Sean.

”Right,” said Mia slowly. She looked at him with the evaluating attention she’d had since the road. ”You’re not just some rich kid with a nice car.”

”No,” said Sean simply.

She held his gaze for a moment. Then she looked at the key card in her hand.

”Okay,” she said. The same word Makima used. The same word Olivia used. The specific single syllable of someone deciding to trust something they couldn’t fully verify yet because the alternative was standing on the pavement alone.

”I’ll be here tomorrow morning,” said Sean. ”Eight o’clock. We go through everything.”

”Eight o’clock,” said Mia.

She turned and walked toward the elevator.

At the doors she paused and looked back.

”The other five girls,” she said. ”Not just Soo-Jin. All of them.”

Sean held her gaze.

”All of them,” he said.

The elevator opened.

She got in.

The doors closed.

Sean stood in the hotel lobby for a moment and then walked back out to where James was waiting at the curb and got in the back of the Rolls Royce.

”Home, sir,” said James. Not a question.

”Home,” said Sean. ”And James.”

”Sir.”

”The sedan from earlier,” said Sean. ”If you see it again anywhere near the building or anywhere near this hotel. Tell me immediately.”

”Of course, sir,” said James.

The car pulled out into the Sunday evening city.

Sean pulled out his phone.

Max had already texted back.

Agency name is registered as Lumière Talent Management. Four years old. Clean surface, legitimate filing, two industry awards listed on their website. I’m going three layers under the surface now. Give me two hours.

Take three if you need it, Sean typed back.

He looked out the window at the city.

Somewhere in this city a sixteen year old named Soo-Jin was studying for a Wednesday test in a shared house on Meridian Street with an eleven thousand dollar debt she’d been told she owed.

He looked at his balance.

[$24,394,597]

He put his phone away.

Tomorrow morning. Eight o’clock.

Everything starts then.

—---------

Makima opened the door before he knocked.

She’d heard the elevator, which meant she’d been listening for it, which was the kind of thing she’d never admit to and he’d never point out because pointing it out would ruin the specific warmth of it.

She looked at him.

Then past him briefly at the empty hallway.

”You look like you’ve had more than just a flight home,” she said.

”Can I come in first,” said Sean.

”You’re already in,” she said, stepping back.

The apartment smelled like food. Real food, the specific warmth of something slow-cooked that had been going for a while before he arrived. The table was set, candles, wine already poured, the particular care of someone who had been looking forward to a specific evening and had prepared for it properly.

Sean sat down at the kitchen table and looked at the candles and thought about the fact that twenty minutes ago he’d been in a hotel lobby handing a key card to a girl who stood in front of cars to pay off a debt she’d been tricked into.

Makima sat across from him with her wine and looked at his face.

”Tell me,” she said.

”Over dinner,” he said. ”You cooked. We should eat it properly.”

She looked at him for another moment. Then she stood and brought the food over and they ate, and it was exactly as good as it smelled, and Sean ate with the genuine appreciation of someone whose body had made the trip from Paris to a hotel lobby to here in the space of a few hours and had strong opinions about the food now that it was available.

”Paris,” said Makima, when they’d been eating for a few minutes.

”Paris was good,” said Sean. ”The collection landed well. Better than expected given what happened.”