Washington D.C., Army Officer's Club.
Sean, dressed in a black suit, stepped inside with a deep black case in hand. The guest he had invited sat on a tall swivel chair, savoring a sweet, mellow rum. His crisp, impeccably pressed military uniform was adorned with gleaming gold stars, displaying just how eminent its owner was.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, General Ross." Sean strode to the bar and gestured for the bartender to bring him a whiskey. "I thought a brave soldier like you would prefer something stronger, like vodka."
Ross, drinking alone, laughed heartily before shaking his head. "That was true when I was young. I liked hard liquor and beautiful women. But I'm no longer a strong young man. My personal physician keeps telling me to stay away from tobacco and alcohol, saying those things will send me to meet god early..."
As he spoke, Ross accepted a premium cigar lit by the bartender, held it between his teeth, and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke.
The white-haired Army general glanced at Sean and got straight to the point. "You want me to wave the flag for Osborn? Young man, perhaps the power of capital drives this country forward, but not everyone can be bought with money—at least, neither you nor Osborn can afford my price for the time being."
Ross raised his head arrogantly, looking down at Sean from above. He had naturally heard of this genius who had become famous throughout New York.
The Army general had seen many geniuses over the course of his life. Tony Stark's father, Howard Stark, for instance—that shrewd, cunning arms dealer. Then there was Hank Pym, a stubborn man who refused to adapt to the times... Ross had long ceased to be surprised by creatures known as geniuses.
Human wisdom