Harry spent the next three days buried in his father's journals, and each page made him sicker than the last.
The first entry was dated twelve years ago, when Harry was eight. Norman had written about "the boy's weakness" and how disappointed he was that his son showed "no killer instinct." Harry remembered that day. He'd refused to finish a chess game after putting Norman in check, saying it wasn't fun anymore because his dad looked upset. Norman had called him soft then, and apparently wrote about it afterward like Harry was some kind of failed experiment.
But that was nothing compared to what came later.
Norman had detailed everything. Every weapons deal with terrorist organizations, every human experiment conducted on unwilling subjects, every life destroyed in pursuit of the "perfect enhancement formula." The Green Goblin hadn't been a recent development triggered by the alien invasion. It had been years in the making, a systematic descent into madness that Norman had documented with scientific precision.
Harry's hands shook as he read about the test subjects. Homeless people who'd disappeared from shelters. Prisoners who'd died in "accidents." Foreign civilians in countries where Oscorp had overseas operations. All of them used as guinea pigs for serums and procedures that Norman knew would probably kill them.
The worst part wasn't the clinical detachment with which Norman described their deaths. It was the pride. Norman Osborn had been proud of becoming a monster, proud of leaving behind what he called "human weakness" in pursuit of something greater.
Harry slammed the journal shut and ran for the bathroom, barely making it before throwing up everything he'd managed to eat that morning.
"Mr. Osborn?" Bernard's voice came from outside the laboratory's main door. "Sir, you've been down here for three days. Perhaps you should get some rest?"
Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at himself in the small mirror above the lab's emergency wash station. He looked like hell. Pale, hollow-eyed, like he'd aged a decade in seventy-two hours. Which maybe he had.
"Come in, Bernard."
The older man entered cautiously, taking in the scattered journals and Harry's obvious distress. Bernard had always been more than just an employee. He'd been the one to bandage Harry's scraped knees when Norman was too busy. The one who remembered Harry's birthday when Norman forgot. Looking at him now, Harry realized Bernard might be the only person left who genuinely cared whether he lived or died.
"How much did you know?" Harry asked quietly.
Bernard's face crumpled slightly. "Some of it. Not all. I suspected the weapons contracts weren't entirely legitimate, but I never imagined..." He gestured helplessly at the journals. "I thought he was just ruthless in business. I didn't know he was evil."
That word hung in the air between them. Evil. Such a simple word for something so complicated. Harry had grown up thinking evil was something clear-cut, obvious. Cartoon villains and movie monsters. Not fathers who tucked you in at night and then went downstairs to plan mass murder.
"What am I supposed to do with this?" Harry's voice cracked. "How do I live with knowing what he was? How do I run a company built on this?"
Bernard sat down in the chair across from Harry's desk. For the first time since Harry had known him, the man looked old. Tired. "You do what you've always done, Mr. Osborn. You choose to be better than your circumstances."
"But it's not just circumstances, is it? It's blood. It's genetics. What if I'm like him? What if this is just what Osborns become?"
"Then why haven't you already?" Bernard's voice was gentle but firm. "You've known about this for three days, and instead of embracing it or trying to profit from it, you've been down here making yourself sick with guilt over things you didn't do. That tells me everything I need to know about who you are."
Before Harry could respond, the laboratory's main door opened again. This time, it wasn't Bernard's careful entry. Three men in expensive suits strode in like they owned the place, which, Harry supposed, they thought they did.
The man leading them was Donald Menken, Oscorp's Chief Technology Officer and a board member since before Harry was born. He'd always made Harry uncomfortable, with his pale skin and thin smile that never reached his eyes. Now he looked positively predatory.
"Harry," Menken said, his voice dripping false sympathy. "So sorry to interrupt your grieving, but we have some urgent matters to discuss."
"This is a private laboratory, Mr. Menken. I don't recall inviting you."
Menken's smile widened. "Actually, according to the board's emergency protocols, I have every right to be here. Especially when company assets are being... mishandled."
The other two men fanned out slightly, and Harry recognized them as board members he'd met at various company functions over the years. Robert Cross and Wilson Burke, both longtime allies of Norman's. Both looking like they'd rather be anywhere else than confronting a grieving twenty-year-old.
"Mishandled how?" Harry stood up, and was surprised to find his voice steady.
"Well, for starters, you've been down here for three days without returning calls from major investors. Military contracts worth billions are hanging in the balance, and the CEO's son is playing detective instead of providing leadership."
"I'm not the CEO."
"No, but you're the majority shareholder as of your father's death. Which means these decisions fall to you now." Menken moved closer to the desk where the journals lay scattered. "The question is whether you're mature enough to make them."
Harry moved to block Menken's view of the journals. "What kind of decisions?"
"The kind that preserve your father's legacy instead of destroying it. Norman Osborn built something magnificent here, Harry. A company that pushes the boundaries of human potential, that doesn't let itself be constrained by the small thinking of lesser minds." Menken's eyes gleamed with something that reminded Harry uncomfortably of the expression he'd seen on Norman's face right before the attack. "We can't let that vision die with him."
"And what if that vision was wrong?"
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Cross and Burke exchanged glances, but Menken's smile never wavered.
"Wrong? Harry, your father was on the verge of revolutionizing human enhancement. The applications for his research are limitless. Military, medical, industrial. We're talking about the next step in human evolution."
"We're talking about murder." The words came out harder than Harry intended. "Human experimentation without consent. Weapons designed to kill civilians. Alliances with terrorist organizations."
Menken laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "Murder? Harry, you can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. Every great advancement in human history has required sacrifice. Your father understood that."
"My father was insane."
The laughter stopped. Menken's face went cold, and for a moment Harry saw something in the man's eyes that made his stomach turn. The same manic gleam that had been in Norman's eyes during their last conversation.
"Your father was a visionary. And if you're not capable of continuing his work, then perhaps the board needs to consider other options."
Bernard stepped forward. "Mr. Menken, I think you should leave. Mr. Osborn is still processing his father's death, and this is hardly the time for corporate politics."
"Corporate politics?" Menken rounded on Bernard with sudden fury. "This is about preserving everything Norman Osborn died to create. And if his weakling son can't appreciate that, then maybe he doesn't deserve to inherit it."
That's when Harry snapped.
Twenty years of being called weak, of being told he wasn't good enough, of watching his father's disappointment every time Harry showed compassion instead of ruthlessness. Twenty years of doubt and self-loathing and feeling like he was broken somehow for not wanting to hurt people.
And now this. Norman was dead, revealed as a monster who'd tortured innocent people for fun, and his business partners wanted Harry to continue the family tradition.
"Get out."
Menken blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I said get, the fuck, out." Harry's voice was quiet, but something in his tone made Cross and Burke take a step backward. "Get out of this lab, get out of this building, and get the hell out of my company."
"Your company?" Menken's voice rose. "Boy, you don't know the first thing about running a company, let alone Oscorp. You've been playing college student while real men did the hard work of building your father's empire. You think you can just waltz in here and—"
"I think I own fifty-eight percent of this company as of three days ago," Harry interrupted. "I think that makes me the boss. And I think my first executive decision is going to be firing anyone who thinks human experimentation is good corporate policy."
Menken's face went white, then red. "You have no idea what you're doing. No idea what forces you're playing with. Norman understood that power requires sacrifice, that progress demands vision beyond ordinary morality. If you think you can just dismantle everything he built—"
"Watch me."
For a long moment, nobody moved. Then Menken's expression shifted into something that was almost pitying.
"You know what your father's greatest disappointment was, Harry? That his son was born without a spine. He used to say you'd never amount to anything because you were too weak to make the hard choices." Menken leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "He was right."
The words hit like a physical blow, but Harry forced himself to stay upright. "Maybe. But at least I'm not a sociopathic piece of shit."
Menken straightened his tie and motioned to the other men. "This conversation isn't over, Harry. The board won't stand for this kind of... instability. Norman's vision will survive, with or without his disappointing son."
After they left, Harry sank back into his chair, adrenaline making his hands shake. Bernard closed the door and activated the lab's security locks.
"Well," the older man said mildly, "that went better than expected."
Harry laughed, a sound somewhere between humor and hysteria. "Better? I just declared war on my own board of directors."
"You stood up to them. Your father never would have done that."
"My father would have had them killed."
"Exactly my point."
Harry rubbed his face with both hands. "What happens now? Can they really remove me?"
"Not easily. The company charter requires a supermajority vote to remove a controlling shareholder, and you still have allies on the board. But they'll try other ways. Corporate sabotage, media campaigns, maybe even legal challenges to the will."
"Great. So on top of learning my father was a mass murderer, I now have to fight off a corporate coup." Harry looked around the lab at all the evidence of Norman's crimes. "Maybe they're right. Maybe I should just walk away from all this."
"And let them continue his work?"
The question hung in the air like a challenge. Harry thought about the test subjects in Norman's journals. The homeless man who'd died screaming. The foreign children who'd been used to test biological weapons. The civilians Norman had killed during the invasion, people who'd been running for their lives while Harry's father hunted them from the sky.
"No," he said quietly. "No, I can't let that happen."
That's when he decided to visit the suit.
Harry had avoided the deepest part of the laboratory complex, the reinforced chamber where Norman kept his most sensitive equipment. But now, with Menken's words echoing in his head and the full scope of his father's crimes fresh in his mind, he needed to see it all.
The Green Goblin suit hung in its display case like a metallic scarecrow, all sharp angles and predatory curves. Up close, Harry could see details that the news footage had missed. Scorch marks on the armor where energy weapons had hit. Dark stains that might have been blood. Scratches that looked like they'd come from human fingernails.
People had fought this thing. Tried to defend themselves against it. And Norman had laughed while he killed them.
The panic attack hit without warning.
One moment Harry was staring at the suit, the next he was on the floor, gasping for air that wouldn't come. His chest felt like it was being crushed, his vision tunneling down to a narrow point of light. Somewhere in the distance he could hear Bernard calling his name, but the sound seemed to be coming from underwater.
This was what his father had become. This was what the Osborn name meant now. Monster. Killer. The thing parents would use to scare their children at night.
When the attack finally passed, Harry found himself curled up on the cold laboratory floor with Bernard's coat draped over his shoulders. The older man was sitting beside him, patient and quiet.
"Better?"
Harry nodded, not trusting his voice.
"The first time I saw it, I threw up," Bernard said conversationally. "Couldn't sleep for a week afterward. Kept imagining all the people who'd seen that face as the last thing they ever saw."
"How did you stand it? Knowing what he was and still working for him?"
Bernard was quiet for a long time. "I told myself I was protecting you. That as long as I stayed, I could keep you away from the worst of it. Maybe that was just cowardice dressed up as virtue."
Harry sat up slowly, his head still spinning slightly. "I can't be him, Bernard. I won't be him."
"Then don't be."
"It's not that simple. Look around. This is what I inherited. A company built on torture and murder, employees who think human experimentation is just good business, and a board of directors who want to continue my father's work." Harry gestured at the suit. "How do I fight all this? How do I make any difference when I'm just one person against an entire system?"
Bernard helped him to his feet. "The same way anyone changes the world, Mr. Osborn. One choice at a time."
Harry looked at the Green Goblin suit one more time, then turned away. "Then I guess I'd better start making better choices than my father did."
As they left the laboratory, Harry made a silent promise to every person Norman Osborn had hurt. The Osborn name would mean something different from now on. It would mean protection instead of predation, justice instead of cruelty.
He had no idea how he was going to do it. But he was going to try.
Even if it killed him.