Seven days after the Battle of New York, Baishan Cemetery.
Compared with the grief-stricken Shamira, Luca looked much calmer.
Since his father, Herman, was half Chinese, Luca had ultimately chosen to bury him here, at Baishan Cemetery, which was said to have excellent feng shui and was the resting place of many famous Chinese people.
Guests came and went around him to pay their respects, but Luca simply stared at the gravestone in silence.
A heavy, mournful atmosphere hung over the cemetery.
Perhaps out of sympathy for the young man, even the guests who had known Luca's parents well chose not to disturb him. Every now and then, someone would nod to him while laying down flowers.
But Luca's thoughts weren't on the funeral.
Although no official death toll had been released for the Battle of New York, the actual number of dead was considerable. So even though this was already an upscale cemetery, many families were holding funerals here.
After all, the Chitauri's guns and cannons made no distinction between rich and poor.
A week had passed, and on the surface, everything seemed to have settled down.
But in reality, New York—or at least Manhattan, especially Midtown and the Upper City—was still in utter chaos.
Protests filled the streets. Politicians and public-service organizations held prayer vigils. Disinfection and reconstruction work continued in the disaster zones, along with treatment for the injured and burial of the dead. The many tasks arising from the Battle of New York were still underway.
Reality was nothing like the movies, where everything was fine as soon as the heroes drove off the enemy.
In fact, the most "ridiculous" thing these past few days had been the post-disaster rebuilding and compensation.
The central point of contention, which dominated television and media coverage, street demonstrations, and congressional hearings, was whether the incident should be classified as war damage, a natural disaster, or a terrorist attack.
That's right. Seven days had passed, and the debate was still stuck on the most basic question of definition.
The military was doing everything it could to define the Chitauri invasion as an "alien war." Its aim was to expand its influence under the Defense Production Act. The Department of Defense would have to shoulder some of the compensation costs, but under emergency response measures, the military would also gain full control over the alien technology wreckage.
Some of the financial interests, led by several insurance giants and bankers, wanted to classify the invasion as an "alien terrorist attack." After all, since 2001, terrorist attacks had been excluded from the coverage of every insurance company.
That would let them avoid paying compensation while also giving them a valid reason to reject the government's hoped-for low-interest loans to small businesses and individuals, steering the funds instead toward "sound lending" to larger companies.
The government's position was more complicated. Both the federal and state governments believed the incident should be classified as a "natural disaster," since that would help calm the public, win over voters, and secure international support.
But under the Stafford Act, the federal government had to cover 90 percent of the rebuilding costs for a national disaster, whereas for a state-level natural disaster, it only had to pay 75 percent. New York State and the federal government were both refusing to budge on the matter.
In short, Congress, the military, intelligence agents, financial interests, and even the news media were all involved.
Some wanted to shift the blame. Others wanted to build their reputations and earn public acclaim. Still others wanted to take control of the alien wreckage.
Whether or not they had anything to do with the Battle of New York, it seemed everyone wanted a piece of the action.
Aside from the initial relief efforts, the funds and supplies provided personally by Stark Industries, along with international aid, were the first to arrive.
As for everyone else, even individuals and small-time groups were turning their attention to smuggling alien weapons.
In fact, news reports had already begun to emerge these past few days of people using alien weapons to rob banks.
Well, Luca himself had secretly stashed away some Chitauri weapons.
Later, he might pass them along to the company's weapons development department and have them quietly study whether any of the technology could be put to use.
Every arms company was doing the same thing. As long as they didn't make it public or use the weapons in front of the public, even S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn't come looking for trouble.
The problem was that Herman had been in charge of the company's weapons development department. Without him, it was hard to say how capable the department still was.
Besides, Luca still didn't have enough standing in his own company to have a say. Everything would have to wait.
"Young Master Luca..."
Watching Luca stare blankly at the gravestone, Shamira hesitated several times before finally speaking softly to remind him.
Luca came back to himself and stepped forward, setting down the flowers he was holding.
His father's death might have stirred a little sorrow in him because of the somber setting, but in essence, Luca was more concerned about his own future.
Just as Luca put down the flowers and was about to stand up, a hoarse, breathless, unpleasant voice came from behind him, at the worst possible moment.
"Heh-heh! Luca! Such an important event as my brother-in-law's funeral, and you didn't even tell me. I'm really hurt, you know?"
Everyone, Luca included, turned at the sound.
A middle-aged man in a black suit, his hair slightly disheveled, was walking toward them.
The newcomer bore a slight resemblance to Luca's mother, Gina.
But unlike Gina's decisive, capable air, this man's frame was slightly hunched, his posture stiff, and his steps unsteady. Though he was clearly dressed with care, he still looked like a monkey in a man's clothes.
His pale, sickly face was especially striking. His eyes were sunken, his gaze unfocused yet greedy, like a rat that had gone hungry for too long in a sewer.
"Who is that?"
"I think he's Ms. Orange's younger brother. I've seen him at the company before."
"I've never even heard of him."
Most of the guests, who had begun to leave, stopped and whispered among themselves.
A few people close to the Orange Family wanted to step forward, but those around them held them back.
Of course, they weren't all standing by out of coldhearted curiosity.
The newcomer seemed hostile, but based on what the others were saying, this appeared to be an Orange Family matter. It wasn't something just anyone could step into.
As the middle-aged man in the suit approached, Luca's nostrils twitched, and a deep look of disgust flashed across his eyes.
He had seen far too many people like this in his previous life. He knew the type all too well.
Dragan Orange.
Gina's younger brother, and Luca's uncle.
A hopeless gambling addict!
Before you continue