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The coffee shop wasn't crowded.
Vivian chose a booth further inside.
Hawke walked over with two lattes and pushed one of them in front of her.
"Thank you." Vivian didn't touch the coffee cup, leaning back slightly at a 490-degree angle, her arms crossed, adopting a subtle defensive posture.
"What do you want to discuss? Extreme risks? Or... something else?"
Hawke leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, closing the distance between them; his aggression was undisguised.
"Let's discuss how an actuary assesses the risk of the 'hunter' being turned on by the 'prey'?"
Vivian chuckled softly, her breath sweet as orchids:
"Actuaries only assess quantifiable risks. As for the hunter and the prey?"
Her grey-blue eyes stared directly into Hawke's, their depths revealing a penetrating light. "Role positioning sometimes depends on who can hold their breath longer, Mr. Hawke. In your eyes, what am I? A secret agent? A teacher? Or just a beautiful woman who happens to pose a challenge to you?"
Hawke's coffee cup, which he was holding, froze, and he choked.
This woman doesn't play by the rules; she reveals a corner of her hand.
“She’s undeniably beautiful,” Hawke readily admitted. “The challenge… it feels stronger and stronger now. As for her status? Who cares? I’m only interested in the immediate attraction.”
He tapped his fingertips unconsciously on the table. "Let me guess... the FBI? Or the Department of Homeland Security? Or some mysterious agency? It can't be a financial agent from the SEC, can it?"
Vivian didn't answer, but simply picked up her coffee cup and took a small sip. "My dorm isn't far from here, and some materials might be helpful to you." She put down her cup, stood up, and the hem of her trench coat billowed in an elegant arc. "Want to take a look? It's in the faculty apartment building."
This invitation, ostensibly for researching academic materials, was fraught with a dangerous ambiguity.
Hawke's eyes lit up: "It would be my honor."
Vivian's dormitory was small, but excessively tidy. Books were neatly arranged, and there were no unnecessary decorations, making it more like a temporary safe house.
The door closed gently, shutting out the sounds from the hallway.
The space instantly became private and full of tension.
Hawke no longer concealed his gaze, staring intently at Vivian.
Vivian turned her back to him, took off her trench coat and hung it up, revealing her slender waist outlined by her shirt.
She turned around and met Hawke's gaze without flinching.
The next second, Hawke's hand was already around her waist, pulling her closer to him, his breath hot as he lowered his head.
However, Vivian's hand pressed against his chest, the force not strong, but unusually firm.
She neither struggled nor yielded; her gray-blue eyes were clear and bright, carrying a subtle sense of control.
“Hawk,” her (agei) voice was calm and even slightly amused, “the most important lesson in actuarial science is: risk is always present, but returns are not always immediate. Sometimes it takes a longer period… and patience.”
Hawke froze.
He looked down at the mysterious woman in his arms. There was no trace of passion in her eyes; instead, she seemed to be appreciating his impulse.
"Are you kidding me, teacher?" Hawke's voice lowered a few decibels.
"Is that what you think?" Vivian's fingertips lightly traced Hawke's Adam's apple, sending a slight shiver through him, before she quickly withdrew them.
“I’m more used to being in control than being ignited.” Her smile deepened, carrying a victor’s slyness. “That’s enough for today. The coffee was good, thank you.”
She gracefully stepped back from Hawke's arms, creating some distance.
Hawke looked at her, a hint of disbelief in his eyes.
For the first time in this hunting ground for women, I experienced what it meant to be "manipulated".
This feeling... is unexpectedly fresh and exciting, but also a bit frustrating.
He licked his slightly dry lips and looked at Vivian's composed and confident demeanor. Far from being frustrated, the interest in his eyes burned even brighter, like a flame doused with oil.
“Very good, Ms. Vivian,” Hawke said with a wild and conquering smile. “I look forward to the next class.”
His gaze swept over the cigarette case Vivian had placed on the table, and he seemed to inadvertently notice the edge of the metal device protruding from inside.
Vivian followed his gaze and glanced at him, then quietly closed the cigarette case.
Hawke turned and left, the dormitory door closing softly behind him.
Vivian stood still, the composed smile on her face slowly fading.
She walked to the window and watched Hawke's tall figure disappear down the tree-lined path below, his grey-blue eyes unfathomable.
She took the slender cigarette from the elegant cigarette case and gently stroked the cold metal device embedded inside the case with her fingertips.
The vibration of the phone broke the silence of the room. An encrypted message popped up on the screen:
[Target vigilance continues to rise. Contact risk assessment: moderate to high risk, but unstable. It is recommended to postpone deep involvement and continue observation.]
Hawke Lane, this prey, is far more troublesome than she anticipated.
Vivian stubbed out her cigarette, which she had just lit. In the swirling smoke, her profile appeared somewhat hard, and she felt a surge of annoyance.
If the other party were an ordinary person, they would have arrested them long ago. Why would she, a CIA chief, need to personally intervene?
I initially thought the other party was just a rich kid with some talent, but I didn't expect them to be so difficult!
71. We'll meet again soon. [Please subscribe]
Hawke Lane has returned to the Lane Corporation headquarters building, to his private safe house.
He was never one to passively wait for prey to come to him.
His fingers flew across the keyboard in front of several screens.
The firewall protecting Columbia University's internal employee database was nothing more than a laughable veil in his eyes.
“Vivian Daly…”
The name flashed in the center of the screen.
His resume is so impressive it's like a printed product: a top-ranked undergraduate in mathematics from Princeton, a PhD from Wharton Business School, experience as an actuarial consultant for several top financial institutions, and numerous industry-shaking papers published...
Work experience:
July 1999 – June 2003: Goldman Sachs, Senior Risk Analyst (details of job duties are confidential).
July 2003 – August 2005: Freelancer/Academic Research Period (specific research direction and collaborating institutions not disclosed).
September 2005 – November 2007: Research Fellow, Institute for Advanced Study, Princeton.
December 2007 – present: Distinguished Associate Professor, Columbia Business School, Columbia University.
Hawke rubbed the bridge of his nose. Relying solely on intuition and fragmented information wouldn't suffice. For professional matters, one had to find an "expert" who was both professional and pleasant to be around.
He picked up the uniquely designed encrypted satellite phone and skillfully dialed a number etched into his mind.
After a few rings, a highly recognizable, languid female voice came through, with a slightly husky, electric quality:
“Again? Your Majesty, it hasn’t been long, and you’re calling me again? It seems either the international financial market has collapsed again, or… you’ve gotten into some 'trouble' you shouldn’t have gotten into?” Cipher’s voice was like a honey-coated hook, gently tickling Hawke’s eardrums.
Hawke chuckled softly: "Couldn't it be that I miss you? Cipher, your voice is still so invigorating."
"Oh? Excited?" Cipher stretched lazily on the other end of the phone. "I thought you were surrounded by Columbia's ladies' nightclub right now. Tell me, busy man, who's your target this time? Which fool dared to block Ryan's path again?"
“A ‘teacher’.” Hawke leaned back in his chair, his gaze sweeping across Vivian’s stunning photo on the screen. “Vivian Daly, the new actuarial professor at Columbia University.”
“Tsk tsk,” Seifer’s tone immediately took on a strong gossipy tone, “Young Master Hawke’s taste…when did it become so academic? Uniform fetish? Or…is there some special knowledge about this teacher that fascinates you, his ‘student,’ so much that you need to call in outside help for in-depth research?”
Hawke ignored her teasing and cut straight to the point: "I need you to help me find out her true identity."
After saying that, he passed the information he had found to Cipher.
As he watched, Cipher said, "Tell me your intuition, what kind of deity do you think she is?"
Hawke leaned back in his chair, his voice languid: "The FBI is too petty, and those audit dogs at the SEC don't have that kind of taste... CIA? MI6? Or some mysterious organization? Or some private agency lurking in the shadows? There are too many possibilities. But her eyes..." He recalled Vivian's confident, knowing sarcasm in the coffee shop and his dorm, "...definitely of a high level. She approached me with a strong purpose."
"Purpose? For your money? For your... beauty?" Cipher chuckled, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Or both? Or... something more dangerous?"
Her implication was self-evident.
Hawke smirked: "Beauty? If it's just about beauty, then it doesn't matter."
“There’s a two-year gap in the process…” Cipher pondered thoughtfully. “It sounds like a delicious cheesecake suddenly missing a big bite, which is incredibly frustrating. This level of ‘information repair’ will definitely take up a lot of my ‘brain cells’ and ‘computing power’.”
She deliberately dragged out the tone, carrying a clear implication.
Hawke understood: "Same as always, price is negotiable. It depends on your investigation time and the final quality of the material you dig up. If it's a big fish, you know, my payment always satisfies you."
“That’s more like it.” Cipher smiled with satisfaction. “Young Master Hawke’s generosity is always hard to refuse. A brilliant ‘in-depth character analysis report’ will guarantee that she will be ‘completely naked’ in front of you… uh, I mean on an informational level.”
0 ······Requesting flowers···· ········
She added slyly, "Oh, by the way, I have a little surprise for you."
"Oh?" Hawke picked up the coffee next to him and took a sip.
“I’m almost done with what I’m doing here,” Cipher said, a hint of barely perceptible excitement in his voice. “My plan is… to go to New York.”
Hawke paused slightly, nearly choking on his coffee: "You? You're coming to New York?"
"What? Not welcome?" Cipher's voice was laced with amusement. "Or are you afraid I'll disturb your tutoring session with that Ms. Vivian?"
"Welcome!" Hawke put down his coffee cup. "It's just a bit of a surprise. When should I pick you up, my distinguished guest?"
..... 0 ....
He had already quickly sifted through New York's most exclusive and discreet accommodations in his mind.
"As for the specific time..." Cipher's voice suddenly lowered, carrying a mysterious allure, "It's a secret for now. But believe me, it won't be long before we meet."
Hawke was about to ask for more details when the phone went dead with a "beep...beep..." dial tone.
As always, when he most wanted to know the crucial information, Cipher hung up the phone decisively.
Hawke looked at the encrypted phone in his hand, which was emitting a busy tone, and chuckled to himself.
This Cipher always manages to pique his curiosity to a great degree, and then gracefully turn away.
Hawke leaned back in his chair, picked up the expensive whiskey on the table, poured himself a glass, and gently swirled the amber liquid in the glass.
night.
Emilia drove Hawke to a dinner hosted by Midtown Financial.