Tony's alarm blared at 4:30 a.m., yanking him out of sleep. His flight to Austin was at 7:00, so he dragged himself to the shower, letting the hot water wake him up. By 5:00, he was shaking Emilia awake. "Grandma, I need you to drive me to the airport."
Emilia yawned but nodded, grabbing her keys. They hit the road, and by 5:50, they pulled up to LaGuardia. Emilia leaned over, planting a kiss on his forehead. "Be safe, Tony. Call me when you land."
"Thanks, Grandma," he said, hopping out with his bag. Inside the airport, he joined the long, snaking line at the ticket counter—online boarding wasn't a thing in '91. After what felt like forever, he snagged his boarding pass and made it to the gate just in time. At exactly 6:40, he boarded the plane, and, to his surprise, it took off right at 7:00 a.m.
Four hours later, the plane touched down at Robert Mueller Municipal Airport in Austin. Tony didn't waste time. He grabbed a cab and headed straight to the University of Texas. At the reception desk, he leaned in with a grin. "Hey, I'm looking for Robert Rodriguez. Tell him his cousin's here."
The receptionist raised an eyebrow but made the call. Tony wasn't here to climb the corporate ladder like his last life. He wanted fame, the kind that turned heads and opened doors. Producing movies was his ticket to that world, and he knew El Mariachi—a low-budget flick with a massive return—was the perfect start. Robert Rodriguez, still a student, had just written the script and was so desperate for cash he was about to sign up for clinical drug trials. Tony wasn't about to let that happen.
In a lecture hall across campus, Robert was skimming the fine print of a drug trial contract when a student poked their head in. "Robert Rodriguez? You're wanted at the reception. Your cousin's looking for you."
Robert frowned, confused, but got up and headed to the front desk. When he arrived, no cousin was in sight. He turned to the receptionist. "Ma'am, I was told my cous—"
"Hey, you Robert Rodriguez?" a voice cut in. Tony, all confidence and sharp eyes, stepped forward. "I'm the one who said I was your cousin. Can we grab a coffee and talk?"
Robert blinked, thrown off. This kid—barely eighteen—knew his name? Curiosity got the better of him. "Uh, sure, okay."
Ten minutes later, they were seated at a campus café, steaming mugs in front of them. Tony got straight to the point. "Mr. Rodriguez, I'm Antony Stark. I heard from a friend you're looking for financing for your film. Mind telling me the story?"
Robert hesitated, thinking about the drug trials. This was probably a long shot, but what the hell. He launched into the plot of El Mariachi, pouring his heart into it over two more cups of coffee.
Tony listened, sipping his drink. When Robert finished, Tony paused, letting the silence hang just long enough to make Robert squirm. "The story's kinda ordinary," he said, setting down his mug.
Robert's face fell, his mind already shifting back to those clinical trials.
"But," Tony continued, a grin creeping in, "I love your passion. I'm in. I'll invest in your movie."
Robert's jaw dropped. "Seriously? Thank you, Mr. Stark! This film's gonna be huge in Mexico—every house with a TV will want the DVD."
"Nah, we're thinking bigger," Tony said, leaning forward. "Shoot it on 35mm film stock. I'll handle post-production. I'm giving you $30,000 for shooting and $7,000 as your director's fee. Deal?"
"Thank you, Mr. Stark!" Robert said, practically vibrating with excitement. "I'll make you a damn good movie."
They hopped in a cab to the Austin Film Society, where they hammered out a contract. By 5:00 p.m., everything was signed and sealed. Tony didn't stick around—he booked a return flight to New York and caught a cab home to Queens.
The next morning, Tony woke up at 8:00, exhausted from the whirlwind trip. He shuffled to the kitchen, rubbing his eyes, and spotted a note on the counter: Breakfast's on the table. If you wanna talk about the café plan, come to Brooklyn. —Grandma
Tony grinned. "Grandma always knows," he muttered, digging into the spread she'd left him. After scarfing down breakfast, he locked up the house, jumped into his Mustang, and hit the road.
Ten minutes into the drive, he spotted a stunning blonde with sapphire eyes standing by a Lotus Elan M100, thumb out for a ride. Tony slowed down, rolling down his window. "Need a lift?"
"Hey, yeah," she said, a little frantic. "Can you take me to Kings County Hospital?"
Tony recognized her instantly—Sophia, from the same high school. Back then, he was just the nerd who could barely string a sentence together. No way she'd remember him. "Sure, hop in," he said, keeping it cool.
The drive was painfully awkward. Sophia kept checking her watch, and Tony, still rusty at small talk, couldn't find a word to say. Twenty minutes later, they pulled up to the hospital. She jumped out, tossing a quick "Thanks!" over her shoulder before disappearing inside.
Tony shrugged it off and drove to Emilia's café in Brooklyn, ready to talk business.