"Now, how about letting me pick out a few paintings to take away?"
Tony Stark, remembering his original purpose for coming here, scanned the studio and began selecting a few pieces that caught his eye.
"Whatever you want, just pay for them," Jack Kadere replied casually. "But I should warn you—while the gallery is my workplace, I don't keep a huge stock here. You'd probably find more variety at the current art exhibition."
Tony smirked, conceding the point. "I'm just picking a few. I know your real good stuff is hidden away in the North Building."
"Just as long as you know," Jack said, giving him a look. "And make sure you don't go blabbing about it. Last thing I need is trouble."
From the refrigerator, Jack took out a chilled bottle of low-alcohol liquor. "Want a drink?"
"Of course," Tony said with a snap of his fingers. "Pour me one."
Jack lowered his eyelids in mock disinterest, placing the bottle and a clean glass on the table. "Pour it yourself."
"I'll do it," Happy Hogan offered, stepping forward. He filled a glass for Tony, handed it over, and poured one for himself. "Oh, this is good stuff."
"Yeah… really good," Tony agreed, eyeing a particular painting on the wall rather than drinking just yet.
It was a portrait of a strikingly beautiful woman.
"She's been here too? The date on the signature is earlier than mine. You're quite the busy man," Tony teased, recognizing the woman as a famous model he had dated before Afghanistan.
Jack took a sip from his glass, completely unfazed. "Don't get the wrong idea. I'm not like you. It's just a simple portrait."
Tony chuckled knowingly. "Right, right. I'm sure that's all it is." He set the painting back down—he knew Jack wouldn't sell a piece like that.
"There are three lovely girls behind me, by the way," Tony added with a grin.
Jack pulled Skye's hand off his shoulder. "Tony, you're not blind. Try keeping your comments to yourself."
"Okay, okay—I apologize." Tony raised his hands in mock surrender, sipping his drink as he strolled deeper into the studio.
Then he spotted something in the corner. "Well, well… look what I found."
He picked up a small picture frame lying carelessly among some supplies. The painting showed a figure in sleek, red-and-gold armor.
"You a fan of Iron Man?" Tony asked, brushing dust off the frame. "Not very polite leaving it here like this, but it's a damn fine painting."
Jack shrugged. "Just something I sketched on a whim. His armor design's pretty decent."
It had been nothing more than an idle doodle during a quiet moment, but now it was in the hands of Iron Man himself.
"That's the one!" Tony declared, handing the portrait straight to Happy.
Without hesitation, he pulled up Jack's bank details, made a large transfer, and waved. "Payment sent."
Jack didn't even glance at the notification. "Goodbye."
Tony paused mid-step. Goodbye? He hadn't even said he was leaving yet.
"Guess you'd rather spend your evening chatting with your girlfriends. Fine, I'll head out," Tony said. "Remember what I told you."
"Martial arts," Jack replied evenly.
.....
After Tony left, Jack didn't spend the evening raising his rapport with Skye and the others as they had expected.
"You three practice here for a while," he said instead. "I've got something to take care of."
Tony had resources, mobility, and now—thanks to his pride—an Iron Man painting under his arm. But Jack knew the man was still vulnerable. If Tony wasn't going to hand over the armor voluntarily, maybe it was time for Jack to intervene… under another identity.
...
When Tony got back to his Malibu home, he intended to gift the portrait to Pepper Potts. But the house was quiet—Pepper was nowhere to be found.
Drop—
His phone buzzed. It was Pepper. But before he could answer, his body seized up—his face turning pale as purple veins bulged across his skin.
From behind him emerged Obadiah Stane, longtime Stark Industries executive. In his hand was a small sonic device that paralyzed Tony instantly.
"I was going to show you my own Iron Man suit, Tony," Obadiah said with a mocking grin. "But unfortunately, you won't be around to see it."
He leaned down and yanked the glowing blue Arc Reactor straight from Tony's chest.
"Too bad you had to drag Pepper into this," Obadiah sneered. "I wanted to keep her alive."
Then his gaze fell upon the portrait Tony had left on the sofa. Picking it up, he laughed. "Iron Man? That's ridiculous! You think saving refugees pays the bills?"
He gripped the edge of the frame, ready to tear it apart—
"I don't know what you think is so ridiculous," came a calm, cold voice from the shadows, "but you'd better put that painting down."
Obadiah froze as a figure emerged from the dark—black-and-crimson armor gleaming under the dim light.
It was the Knight Spider.
Jack Kadere stepped forward, every movement deliberate, his gaze locked on Obadiah like a predator closing in on prey.
Obadiah froze, recognizing the vigilante from recent reports. Rumors had linked him to Tony Stark not long ago.
An unexpected variable.
Before Obadiah could react further, Jack reached him, patted his shoulder once, and in the same motion took both the painting and the Arc Reactor from his hands.
Obadiah didn't resist. He'd heard the stories—this wasn't one of those superheroes who avoided lethal force. This was the man who had crushed Norman Osborn, the Green Goblin, to death without hesitation.
Swallowing hard, Obadiah tried to play it cool. "Knight Spider, maybe we can… talk about this."
Jack ignored him completely, his gaze locking on Tony.
"Tony Stark," Jack said evenly, "I've saved your life twice… no, make that three times if we're counting that mess with Electro. You're not finished yet. Build what I need. And if I run into trouble, I'll be back for you."
Tony could only stare. His voice was gone, his body weak, his thoughts a frantic mess.
In his head, he wanted to shout—Hey, maybe save my life first before making business demands!
Obadiah, ever the opportunist, picked up on the hints in Jack's words and immediately jumped in.
"Knight Spider, whatever you want Stark to make for you, I can have it done—faster, better, and with fewer complications!"
He didn't even ask what Jack needed. Instead, he laid out a confident pitch, the kind that sold investors and crushed competitors.
Tony, still unable to speak, was panicking. This wasn't fair—he couldn't defend himself, couldn't counter Obadiah's offer. Jack didn't owe him loyalty; it was entirely possible Jack would take the deal and leave him to die.
Obadiah pressed on, voice dripping with promises. "All I ask is that you walk away from this, and in return, I'll give you more than Stark ever could—wealth, influence, power, women—name your price."
In his head, Tony was screaming—I can do all that too! Don't listen to him!
Obadiah finished his pitch with a self-satisfied smirk. "So… what do you say? I think we could be very good business partners."
Jack tilted his head. "You talk too much."
Before Obadiah could react, Jack's hand shot out, clamping around his throat like a steel vice.
"Ghh—!" Obadiah gasped, clawing at the hand holding him in the air, eyes wide with disbelief.
"You've made a mistake," Jack said flatly. "There's only one Tony Stark. Businessmen like you? They're a dime a dozen."
Jack's grip tightened. "You think you're important… but you're not."
As Obadiah's legs kicked helplessly, Jack ended it with his signature method—a sharp twist that snapped his cervical vertebrae.
Jack didn't kill him outright, but the damage was permanent.
Obadiah Stane would never walk again. Never speak again. Never manipulate or scheme his way into power.
Whether Tony chose to let him live in that state… that was up to Stark.