Back at the small corner café, Rex quietly flipped through the last few pages of the Whitmore family dossier. The documents were dense with historical data—birth records, financial accounts, investment patterns, suspicious foundations, and alliances that stretched across countries and decades. He wasn't trying to memorize every detail, just getting a feel. A general understanding. Enough to connect names to faces, motives to movements.
And more importantly, kind of getting an understanding of how the real wealthy operate and stuff like that—because he was a small rich man too, and with the system, he'd eventually have to face things like that.
Outside the large window, the afternoon sun streamed through the glass, glinting off the surface of his untouched latte. The coffee had gone cold, but the aroma still lingered, blending with the café's warm cinnamon-sugar atmosphere. Indie music played faintly in the background, calming yet upbeat.
