Old Lady Lin's mouth opened and closed soundlessly. She looked at her son, then at the iron syndicate plaque, and finally down at the impossible fortune of silver in her arms. A twenty percent stake in a business backed by the Crimson Lotus? She would make more silver in a single month than she had made in twenty years of boiling bitter bark for dockworkers.
Up on the ceiling beams, the System wiped a fake tear from its eye. "She's back. The ruthless capitalist warlord is finally back. Oh, Host, I missed this toxic grindset so much."
"You..." Old Lady Lin swallowed hard, her fierce street-tough facade completely crumbling under the sheer weight of the financial leverage. "...You want us to move in with you?"
"I want you to work for me," Heena corrected sharply. "Ren, bind my shoulder. Mother Lin, pack the mortar and the alcohol. We have a factory to build."
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