Russell had hoped to gauge Alfred's confidence from his expression, but he was mistaken.

  Alfred's face remained perpetually composed, revealing nothing of his inner thoughts.

  "Since you're confident, I'll leave this all to you... Now, let me introduce you to everyone."

  Under Russell's guidance, Alfred toured the Syndicate building and met everyone inside, including Killgrave who was still strapped to the operating table.

  When Russell introduced Alfred as his butler, Allen and the others didn't react with surprise.

  To them, Russell was already a man of many mysteries. One more inexplicable British butler wasn't going to raise eyebrows.

  With Russell's permission, Alfred left Syndicate building with two soldiers in tow.

  In his words: "I'll handle the most pressing issues for you, sir."

  He didn't know what Alfred pnned to do, but he wasn't worried about any unexpected actions.

  Though their time together had been brief, Russell already sensed something in Alfred... reliability...

  By nightfall, Alfred returned and handed him an exquisitely wrapped gift box.

  "What's inside?" Russell asked curiously.

  "A 1953 Patek Philippe vintage dies' watch. Market price: seven million dolrs."

  Russell froze mid-step, "You bought a seven-million-dolr antique watch… as an apology gift?"

  "Indeed, sir. It's a well-preserved piece. Time has only enhanced its charm. A most suitable gift for making amends."

  At this point, Russell began to suspect that Alfred had retained some of his 'Wayne family butler' habits, like treating seven million dolrs as pocket change.

  "Ahem… Our financial situation isn't that great. Let's be more careful next time."

  Russell had to gently remind Alfred. At this rate, they'd burn through their funds in no time.

  "Rest assured, sir. I'm well aware of our limits. There's no need for concern."

  Though Russell didn't fully understand Alfred's spending philosophy, the value of the watch became clear the moment Heather opened the gift.

  Her face lit up with delight as she fastened the antique timepiece around her wrist. She might not have known its exact worth, but that didn't diminish her joy.

  All traces of her earlier anger vanished instantly.

  Watching her radiant smile, Russell decided the seven million hadn't been wasted.

  After resolving the Heather situation, Alfred proceeded to demonstrate what true professionalism looked like.

  When Russell heard Alfred's pns, his response was simple: "Do it. Exactly as you've proposed."

  .....

  Over the next two months, Russell watched in awe as Alfred performed one financial miracle after another.

  Through a series of business maneuvers he couldn't begin to comprehend, Alfred acquired three biotech research institutes and a vaccine production facility for Syndicate.

  But that was just the beginning...

  Under Alfred's masterful branding and operations, Syndicate Bio transformed into New York's most prominent emerging biotech firm.

  Companies flocked to 'Syndicate Bio' daily, seeking partnerships.

  Thanks to Alfred's reforms, the tower itself underwent a complete overhaul, becoming a new ndmark in Hell's Kitchen.

  Even the mayor of New York sent his secretary to hint that if 'Syndicate Bio' needed assistance, he could expedite permits and secure funding.

  Syndicate was no longer a small-scale operation with a handful of employees. It was now a thriving enterprise with over a thousand staff.

  As for products?

  At Alfred's suggestion, Dr. Wilson developed several groundbreaking drugs based on prior research, allowing Syndicate to carve out a significant market share.

  Ironically, they had the Purple Man to thank for this.

  By extracting and studying the mysterious virus from his body, Dr. Wilson created neurological and endocrine therapies with unprecedented efficacy.

  This breakthrough attracted multiple rounds of venture capital within months.

  As Alfred put it, "The best way to enter a circle is to demonstrate your value and offer the right incentives."

  Those "incentives" were, of course, profits.

  By strategically selling shares, Alfred brought several established investment firms aboard Syndicate's ship, catapulting the company into the spotlight of high finance.

  Beyond corporate maneuvering, Alfred's other major project was reinventing Russell's image.

  He didn't fabricate a new identity for him. In fact, he never eborated on Russell's background to outsiders.

  To the world, Alfred presented himself solely as "the steward of the Russell family," managing affairs on his employer's behalf.

  But about Russell himself? Not a word.

  All anyone knew was that Syndicate's true owner was a young Chinese-American man named Russell.

  His origins? Background? A complete mystery.

  In the U.S., the Chinese-American community didn't wield significant influence.

  Most people had little understanding of the ancient civilization across the Pacific, let alone the means to investigate Russell's supposed roots there.

  And even if they tried, they'd hit a wall.

  Russell was a transmigrator. That alone made his past untraceable.

  To further muddy the waters, Alfred trained him to embody the demeanor of old-money aristocracy; polished, enigmatic, and effortlessly authoritative.

  In short: Packaging Russell as a wealthy heir.

  Russell was initially reluctant, but Alfred's argument won him over, "A mysterious identity will spare you countless troubles and open doors you never expected..."