It was Mitchell Carson.
He strolled in leisurely, went straight to the liquor cabinet without ceremony, and poured himself a glass of whiskey.
Darren took a quick breath, adjusted his facial muscles, and forced out a composed smile.
"Mr. Carson, you shouldn't have come in without knocking. I'm dealing with some trouble related to federal legislation."
"Mr. Cross, I heard things have gotten pretty heated outside." Carson raised his glass and swirled it beneath the light. "That old lunatic President Ellis is pushing some Ellis New Deal. I hear even your production lines have been shut down?"
Darren quietly eased the safe door shut, forcing a calm smile onto his face.
"It's just some bureaucratic red tape, Carson." Darren spread his hands and walked over to sit on the sofa. "You know how tense the federal government has been lately because of China. But don't worry. I've already pulled some strings in Washington. Pym Technologies will soon receive a special exemption, and production will proceed as planned."
"Relax, Darren. I'm not here to rush your shipment." Carson walked over to the sofa as well, sat beside him, and crossed one leg over the other.
"I just happened to be passing by, so I thought I'd bring you an interesting little piece of gossip."
"What gossip?" Darren asked warily.
Carson pulled out a cigar, held it beneath his nose, and spoke casually.
"Our people recently noticed something quite interesting while keeping an eye on San Francisco..."
"Your former boss, my former colleague—that stubborn old Hank Pym—and the beautiful Chairwoman Hope have both been very active lately."
Carson spoke lightly, as if he were merely sharing some irrelevant gossip.
"Near the abandoned warehouse district at 1818 Black Tide Road on the outskirts of San Francisco. Our agents discovered that every time Pym