New York, Southampton.
Sean, dressed in casual clothes, swung a golf club. From his stance, it was obvious that this New York genius was a complete novice, yet the result surprised the caddie beside him. The white golf ball traced a beautiful arc, bounced, and landed on the distant green.
"Wow, I can't believe this is your first time holding a club!" A hearty laugh came from behind him as Harry clapped his friend on the shoulder in praise.
"Just luck." Sean handed the club to the caddie and strolled across the open, emerald-green lawn.
This was American National Golf Links. So far, it had hosted only one major men's championship: the 1922 Walker Cup. Due to its elite status, the club had a rather high threshold and was generally not open to outsiders.
"When did you start liking this sport?" Sean glanced at the lively, restless Harry. Young Master Osborn had been in good spirits recently; apparently, he had escaped the awkward position of serving as a mascot on the Board of Directors.
Since Worthington's downfall, Osborn Industries had rapidly expanded its territory with Umbrella's two formulas, claiming a generous slice of the pharmaceutical market. In particular, the Crees Formula, which could regenerate severed limbs, had received a large number of military orders before it had even officially launched. The Department of Defense officers who had once treated Harry coldly now acted like entirely different people, fawning over him like ridiculous clowns on a stage.
"I'm just keeping those old men company." Harry shrugged and said with a grin, "It's not like I can take them to a nightclub to watch strippers!"
"Besides, I'm good at this sort of thing. When it comes to negotiating business with those old foxes, they might run circles around me. But when it