Once she was safely out of danger, Yelena immediately called Queenie to let her know what had happened.
"John saved me," she said, her voice still shaken.
On the other end of the line, Queenie let out a breath of relief. "Thank goodness you're alright. Don't worry about the formula—it's not important. I'm giving you a half-month leave. Take it. Rest. Don't think about the company for now."
"But Boss, I'm really okay. With 'BEAUTY' launching soon, I—"
"This is an order," Queenie interrupted firmly.
She didn't wait for Yelena's protests. Her tone left no room for argument.
Later, when John returned, Queenie couldn't suppress her curiosity any longer.
"John," she asked, "did those people kidnap Yelena for the facial mask formula? Did you find out who they were?"
She hadn't dared to ask Yelena directly, afraid of reopening emotional wounds. But now, facing John, she needed answers. Who would dare to go this far?
"We'll know soon enough," John said calmly. "But for now, I suggest postponing the launch of 'BEAUTY.'"
Queenie frowned. "Why? We've prepared everything."
"Because someone's going to make a move very soon. Let them act first."
He didn't elaborate. He didn't need to.
The next day, John reached out to Lester, the man who had once been his friend at the welfare house.
"Let's meet," John said.
They set a time and place. A quiet restaurant near the city center.
From inside the glass window, Lester watched John approach on a bicycle. His heart filled with complicated emotions.
The last time they spoke, he had casually invited John to dinner. It was nothing more than polite small talk—the kind of meaningless "let's grab lunch sometime" you say to distant acquaintances on the street.
But John had taken it seriously. He had not only reached out—he had come.
This guy must really be struggling, Lester thought. He probably counts every meal.
When John walked in, Lester waved him over. John smiled and greeted him.
"Hey, Lester. I actually wanted to ask you something, so today's meal is on me."
Lester chuckled and shook his head. "Let's eat first. We'll argue over who pays later."
Why is he still pretending to be polite? Lester wondered. Just eat—I'll cover the bill.
John didn't push it. Instead, he got straight to the point.
"Lester, the Damon Group… that belongs to the Branton family, right?"
The moment Lester heard the question, he understood why John had reached out.
He's looking for a job, Lester concluded.
"Yes," he replied aloud. "It's one of our family's companies. My wife's brother, Carlos Branton, is in charge of it now."
"Carlos Branton," John repeated to himself, committing the name to memory.
Lester saw the hesitation in John's face and assumed it was embarrassment. He gave a sympathetic smile.
"Hey, don't be shy about it. I get it—times are tough. We grew up in the same place. I'll talk to Carlos and see if he can get you a position."
It wouldn't be a great job, he knew, but it'd at least put food on the table. Judging by the fact that John rode a bike to dinner, his life wasn't exactly glamorous.
But John looked a little awkward and said, "Actually, I'm not here for a job—"
Lester waved him off. "Don't explain. I know. I've been there too. You don't have to say anything. I'll help you."
John glanced at him, realizing it wasn't the right time to clarify. So he silently focused on the food, waiting for a better moment.
Just then, the restaurant's front doors slammed open.
A well-dressed but stern-faced woman stormed in, carrying a young boy in her arms. The boy was crying uncontrollably.
"Lester! Are you seriously sitting here having dinner? Look at your son—he's been crying non-stop!" she snapped.
It was Sara, Lester's wife. Thick eyebrows. Sharp eyes. A formidable presence.
John turned to look at the boy—and his brow furrowed.
Inborn astral vision.
That was rare.
Children born with this ability could see things others could not—spirits, energy, auras. Most would lose this vision as they grew older, their minds suppressing the "imaginary" things they couldn't explain. But while it lasted, it could be terrifying.
The boy's wailing was proof enough—he had seen something.
But Sara and Lester, unaware of such a phenomenon, were baffled. Hospitals had found nothing wrong. Still, the child cried endlessly, inconsolably.
And Sara had reached the end of her patience.
"Are you made of wood? Stop staring and do something!" she barked. "We're going to New York! Find Dr. Holbrook—he studied under some famous genius doctor, didn't he? I don't care what it costs. We're getting answers!"
Lester could only bow his head and comply. "John, I'm so sorry. I need to take them to New York. Please, finish eating—I'll cover the bill."
But John stood up and said calmly, "Actually, I'm a doctor too. Maybe I can help your son."