Stark Industries headquarters, top-floor conference room.
Both sides of the long table were full, but the head seat remained empty. Pepper Potts sat beside it, a quarterly financial report spread out before her, answering the shareholders' questions one by one in a steady, clear, orderly voice.
"As for the revenue gap left by closing the weapons manufacturing division, R&D has already produced a commercialization timetable for our clean energy products. We expect to achieve an initial revenue balance within the next two to three quarters."
"Expect? What good does expecting do?"
Obadiah sat at the other end of the table, his hands folded over his stomach, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Two executives firmly in his camp sat beside him, one wearing gold-rimmed glasses and the other sporting a handlebar mustache. Both let out a snicker just loud enough to be heard.
"Ms. Pepper, it's not that I don't trust you." Obadiah sighed and spread his hands before continuing. "You started out as Tony's personal assistant and lack experience in running the company as a whole. That's a fact. Tony hasn't shown his face in days. He doesn't answer calls or emails. People are saying his kidnapping left him with serious aftereffects-heart problems, psychological trauma, mental instability. Some even say he's afraid to leave his bedroom now. The company's stock keeps falling. At a time like this, we need someone with authority and experience to take charge."
Gold-rimmed Glasses chimed in right on cue. "Mr. Obadiah is one of Stark Industries' founders. He worked alongside Howard Stark for decades. Having him serve as acting CEO to steady the ship is perfectly reasonable."
Handlebar Mustache piled on. "Otherwise, people might think Stark Industries has changed its name to the Potts Group. A company run by some little secretary-how are we supposed to explain that to Wall Street?"
Beneath the table, Pepper's fingers clenched, her nails digging into her palm. Just as she was about to argue back, the conference room door opened.
"Who said I don't answer calls?"
Everyone turned.
Tony Stark stood in the doorway wearing a bespoke dark blue suit, brown-tinted sunglasses perched on his nose. His beard was neatly trimmed, his hair impeccably styled. He looked full of confidence, without the slightest sign of "mental instability."
"Sorry, everyone. I've been busy with a major project lately. My phone was on Do Not Disturb." Tony strode inside, giving Pepper's shoulder a light squeeze as he passed.
Pepper looked up at him, and the tension in her eyes finally eased.
Tony stopped at the head of the table. Instead of sitting immediately, he took off his sunglasses and slowly wiped the lenses, his gaze passing over everyone present.
Obadiah's smile froze for an instant before his falsely affectionate expression returned. "Tony! It's wonderful to see you're all right. We were just worrying about you."
"Worrying about what? Another heart attack or a mental breakdown?" Tony pulled out his chair and sat, tossing his sunglasses onto the table with his trademark punchable grin.
"Mr. Obadiah, could you get a different editor? You use the same lines every time you open your mouth. Doesn't it get tiring?"
Someone in the conference room tried to suppress a laugh, failed, and snorted.
Obadiah's smile faded a little, though he maintained the air of an elder. "Tony, I understand you've been through a great deal lately. It's natural to be emotionally unstable. But in front of all these shareholders, I hope you can approach this serious meeting with some maturity. We're here to discuss the company's future, not trade barbs. If you're not feeling well, you can go back and rest. We'll hold another meeting once you've calmed down."
"I don't need to calm down." Tony leaned back and tapped the table twice. "Let's continue the meeting. But before we do, I have one small announcement."
He raised a hand, pointed toward Obadiah, and said casually, "You're fired."
The conference room fell silent for a few seconds, then erupted.
Obadiah's face darkened. Gold-rimmed Glasses shot to his feet beside him, his voice rising several pitches. "Mr. Stark, this is a shareholders' meeting, not your private party! Mr. Obadiah is the executive vice president and holds fifteen percent of the company. You can't just fire him on a whim! We need proper procedure and a convincing reason-"
Handlebar Mustache stood as well. "Exactly! This is an abuse of authority!"
The shareholders wore a range of expressions. Those close to Obadiah looked livid, while Tony's friends voiced their support. The rest leaned back with their hands folded over their stomachs, their eyes bouncing between Tony and Obadiah, their faces plainly saying, go ahead and fight; we'll just enjoy the show.
Tony swiveled his chair partway around to face the loudest protesters. Tilting his head, he waited until their voices gradually died down before speaking.
"You just said I couldn't fire a shareholder who owns fifteen percent." Tony rested a hand on the edge of the table. "Then let me ask you this: what if the majority shareholder with absolute control moves to remove that fifteen-percent shareholder?"
Handlebar Mustache scoffed. "Absolute control? Mr. Stark, you personally own forty-three percent. That's a lot, but it still isn't-"
"Those were last month's numbers." Tony snapped his fingers.
JARVIS's voice came from the ceiling speakers, as level as a weather report. "This morning, Mr. Stark increased his stake in Stark Industries to fifty-two percent through secondary-market purchases."
The conference room went completely silent.
Gold-rimmed Glasses' expression changed. Fifty-two percent. That wasn't merely a relative majority anymore. One man now had the final say.
Obadiah finally spoke, his voice filled with grief and indignation. "Tony. Increasing your stake to fifty-two percent does give you control. But think carefully. If you fire a veteran over a personal grudge today, everyone here will wonder who comes next tomorrow. Will anyone still dare work with you? Will anyone still dare work with Stark Industries?"
His words were not without reason. Several previously neutral shareholders exchanged glances, their brows furrowing slightly.
"You're right." Tony leaned back. "That's why I'm not just going to fire him-I'm going to let every person here see exactly why."
He turned toward the door and called in an even voice, "Happy."
The conference room door opened again. Happy Hogan strode in carrying a cardboard box. It was heavy, landing on the table with a dull thud. Inside lay a neatly arranged stack of documents, each envelope bearing a label: S.H.I.E.L.D. Intelligence Division, United States Army Criminal Investigation Command, Afghanistan Joint Operations Command.
Tony stood and pressed a hand onto the box. His gaze swept the room before settling on Obadiah's face, where a flash of fear appeared.
"Someone here asked what right I had to fire a founder holding fifteen percent of the company." Tony took the top envelope from the box, opened it, and spilled its contents onto the table with a rustle. "This."
Photographs. Printed emails. Shipping records. Bank transfer receipts. Every page bore stamps from different agencies, and dense text and data covered half the table. Several nearby shareholders craned their necks for a look, and their expressions changed on the spot.
"From March last year through June this year, Stark Industries' weapons manufacturing division shipped twenty-seven batches of heavy weapons to Afghanistan. Not one had Department of Defense approval. Every shipment went through underground channels to a terrorist organization called the Ten Rings." Tony picked up a shipping manifest and read the lines marked in bold red. "Container numbers, shipping dates, destination coordinates-it's all here. Every shipment was signed off by the same person."
He turned the manifest over. On the back was a bank transfer record. A dollar account, a Swiss bank, and an amount so large that those present drew sharp breaths.
"Mr. Stane, the money you made from the Ten Rings could fund several lifetimes of retirement." Tony slapped the paper onto the table and picked up another document. "But making money wasn't enough. You wanted more. So last year, you used an intermediary to hand the Ten Rings my complete itinerary for the weapons demonstration in Afghanistan, including the route, timing, and security arrangements. You knew which road they'd ambush me on. You knew when my convoy would pass through the mountain pass outside Bagram Base's east gate. Mr. Stane, I spent three months in that cave. Do you know what kept me going?"
The conference room was so quiet that only Pepper's heartbroken sobs could be heard. Everyone stared at Obadiah.
Obadiah's face visibly went from red to white, then from white to ashen. His lips moved, but nothing came out.
"Unfortunately, your plan ran into two little surprises." Tony held up two fingers. "First, I didn't die in that cave. Second, you didn't cover your tracks as well as you thought. S.H.I.E.L.D., the Army Intelligence Department, and the Afghanistan Joint Command-people from those three agencies spent all this time investigating. They dug up every encrypted email, every transfer, and every intermediary's testimony. These documents are just a summary. The Federal Bureau of Investigation has another entire box containing the complete chain of evidence. Want to take a look?"
Tony picked up an envelope and pushed it toward Obadiah. It slid across the smooth tabletop and stopped before him. His fingers touched its edge, then jerked back as though he had been burned.
"Enough." Obadiah's voice was so hoarse it barely sounded like his own. "Enough."
Tony slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and looked down at the man he had called "uncle" for more than thirty years. His expression held no anger, no mockery, not even a victor's satisfaction. Only calm, as though he were looking at someone who had nothing to do with him.
"This evidence is enough to put you in federal prison for several lifetimes." Tony's voice grew calm as well. "I'm still willing to call you uncle because my dad genuinely treated you like a brother when he was alive. I'm not showing you respect. I'm showing it to him. Now-will you walk out yourself, or do I need to call security?"
Obadiah stood where he was. His bloodshot eyes fixed on Tony, his lips trembling for a long moment before he finally forced out a few words. "Howard... is watching you from heaven."
"I know. He'll also be watching how his most trusted brother treated his child."
Obadiah turned, pushed his chair aside, and headed for the door. His steps faltered slightly, his shoulders stooped. Gold-rimmed Glasses and Handlebar Mustache tried to follow, but Happy blocked them with one arm.
The conference room door slowly closed behind Obadiah, and the room fell quiet.
Tony returned to the head seat, rubbed between his brows, and looked up. His expression had already shifted from its earlier cold hardness back to his usual relaxed manner.
"All right, the annoying part is over." He patted Pepper's shoulder. "Ms. Potts will chair the rest of this meeting. Actually, she'll be chairing all of them from now on. I propose formally appointing Pepper Potts as Stark Industries' new CEO. All in favor? Anyone against?"
No one objected. Even those who had spoken for Obadiah kept quiet. Gold-rimmed Glasses lowered his head and shuffled through documents, pretending he hadn't heard anything. Handlebar Mustache was wiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.
As Pepper stood, she asked quietly, "Are you okay?"
Tony smiled at her. "I'm Iron Man. I'm good on every front."
Pepper looked at him without speaking, then turned to face the shareholders.
"Then let's get down to business." Pepper placed a document on the table. "First item: the reassignment of all business divisions previously under Obadiah Stane following his dismissal. Second item: the fifteen-percent stake in Stane's name. Given Mr. Obadiah's actions, we have the right to reclaim his shares."
At the mention of shares, everyone's eyes lit up. Fifteen percent was worth tens of billions of dollars at market price alone, not to mention the voting rights and control it represented. Obadiah had fallen, but that juicy prize was still on the table, and everyone wanted a bite.
Pepper spread out a second document detailing the distribution of Stane's holdings and their corresponding voting rights. She was about to speak when Tony raised a hand for her to pause.
"Let me make this clear first." Tony pulled his chair forward and folded his hands on the table. "I won't take a single penny of Stane's fifteen-percent stake. He was my dad's old partner, after all. I don't want people thinking I'm taking advantage of his misfortune."
Those present exchanged glances. No one spoke, but the thoughts behind their eyes raced. If Tony didn't want it, that juicy prize really would land in their laps.
"But," Tony shifted gears, the corners of his mouth lifting, "that fifteen percent won't be handed out for free, either. I won't acquire his shares myself, but that doesn't mean I don't care whose hands they end up in. What I mean is, whoever here contributes the most to the company's upcoming transformation gets the largest share. As for the evaluation criteria, naturally, Ms. Potts and I will decide those."
The atmosphere in the conference room immediately heated up. The veteran shareholder who had been watching the show earlier was the first to stand, thumping his chest and saying he had resources for three new energy projects ready to connect at any time. Two more immediately voiced their positions, both claiming they had always supported Tony's reforms but had previously been unable to take a public stand out of consideration for Obadiah. Gold-rimmed Glasses and Handlebar Mustache sat silently in the corner, looking even worse than when Obadiah had still been there.
Pepper struck while the iron was hot, pushing through the business restructuring proposals one by one. The meeting continued for over an hour, with astonishing efficiency.
Once everyone had left one after another, Tony was alone in the conference room. Sitting at the head of the table, he took The Old Fox's Classic from his inner suit pocket.
Lin Xiao had "sold" him this book, claiming it distilled five thousand years of Dragon Country's business wisdom and could take Obadiah down in one stroke. Tony had been fully occupied developing the Mark II at the time and had no patience for Lin Xiao. He had hastily tossed him fifty thousand dollars and told him to go amuse himself elsewhere. Lin Xiao hadn't been annoyed. He had kissed the check, turned, and gone upstairs to keep plundering the red wine. Tony had only properly opened the book two days ago, and he really had learned quite a lot from it, which had come in handy today.
Tony felt deeply gratified that his dear boy had finally helped him out. But when he turned to the book's last page, he went numb. A line of small, neat Dragon Country script read:
Suggested retail price: 15 yuan. Limited-time special: 3.88 yuan.
He stared at that line for a long time, then closed the book, set it on the table, folded his hands, and took a deep breath. But he still couldn't hold it in.
"...Lin Xiao, fuck you."
Meanwhile, Obadiah stood in the basement of his villa. Before him was an enormous suit of armor reverse-engineered and modified from the Mark I, several sizes larger than Tony's, radiating a crude, ferocious presence of steel. The pale light of the emergency lamps fell across its surface, illuminating every weld with perfect clarity.
Obadiah pressed a hand against the armor's breastplate and patted it, producing a dull metallic echo. His eyes were bloodshot in the dim light, and his lips curled into a cruel smile.
"Tony, aren't you Iron Man? Then let's see whose metal shell is tougher. Today is the day you die."