Ben and Norman's conversation dragged on for another hour, diving deep into the crazy profit numbers for the healing serum business. Ben had already seen most of these financial details through Eunice's reports, but he liked hearing Norman's take on the real-world problems they were dealing with.
The numbers were absolutely insane, even for the pharmaceutical world. Despite only being in business for a month, the massive military and government contracts had already made Primus one of the most profitable companies in North America. All the money went straight to Primus instead of being split with Oscorp, which meant Ben was now one of the youngest multimillionaires in New York—and he was still a teenager.
"Our production can't keep up with all the orders coming in," Norman warned, his voice carrying that urgent tone you get when you're watching money slip through your fingers. "You need to talk to Connors right away about speeding up the breeding program for those enhanced lizards."
Right now, Primus was running entirely on advance payments since they couldn't produce enough to actually keep stuff in stock. While this meant they got paid for everything they made, Norman was worried that the long delivery delays might eventually tick off customers and hurt their reputation.
Even though Norman wouldn't get a direct cut of Primus's profits, his investment in Ben's success went way deeper than just money. The kid had become like a second son to him, and Norman wanted to make sure early success didn't become a roadblock to long-term growth.
Their discussion slowly shifted to legal strategy for prosecuting Mendel Stromm. While Oscorp had connections with several high-end law firms, Ben specifically recommended Matt Murdock for handling the case—though he didn't mention that his choice was based on the lawyer's night job as Daredevil rather than his courtroom skills.
Once they had the Stromm situation sorted out, Ben asked about Harry's progress with the smartphone project.
"The phones are already hitting stores," Harry announced, his earlier sluggishness completely gone as he talked about his business wins.
Being Norman Osborn's son, Harry had zero trouble getting manufacturing partnerships and production line access. Smartphone tech, while pretty advanced for regular people, needed way less specialized knowledge than biotech research. This meant the first batches could hit the market within weeks of finalizing the designs.
The healing serum's media coverage had been perfect promotion for the smartphone launch, and customer response had beaten even their most optimistic predictions. While individual phone profits couldn't match pharmaceutical pricing, the huge market potential and scalable production promised serious total revenue.
Harry's monthly earnings report convinced Ben to rethink his previous reluctance about expanding into consumer electronics. Why ignore profitable opportunities when they needed almost no extra effort?
These lower-tech ventures could be handled entirely by Harry, giving him valuable business experience while generating significant cash flow. Harry was smart enough for effective management even if he lacked the creative genius for revolutionary innovations.
Ben left Osborn Manor carrying several prototype smartphones, already planning his next conversation with his parents about Primus's business activities.
"Now that the company is making real money, there's no reason to keep hiding it from them," he thought during the drive home.
His original secrecy had been motivated by concern for his adoptive parents' peace of mind. The Parker family had limited experience with business risks, and even though Ben knew failure was impossible, he hadn't wanted to cause unnecessary worry during the startup phase.
That caution wasn't needed anymore.
Ben Sr. drove home in a state of exhausted frustration, his aging sedan's broken air conditioning making the summer heat almost unbearable. Another day of job hunting had given him nothing but polite rejections and condescending explanations about "technological requirements" for positions that used to be considered entry-level work.
Modern jobs seemed to require familiarity with computers, cash registers, inventory systems, and countless other electronic devices that hadn't existed when he'd first entered the workforce. Even basic retail positions now demanded technical skills that felt impossibly foreign to someone his age.
"At least Peter's photography work has been bringing in some money," he told himself, though the thought provided little comfort.
The irony wasn't lost on him that his teenage nephew was contributing more to the family's financial stability than he was. Peter's Spider-Man photographs had been selling well to various newspapers, generating enough income to cover some household expenses and reduce the financial pressure a bit.
Still, Ben Sr. worried constantly about Peter's safety. The young man seemed to have an uncanny ability to photograph Spider-Man's most dangerous encounters, suggesting he was deliberately putting himself in harm's way for the sake of dramatic shots. What would happen if one of those supervillain battles resulted in injury to innocent bystanders?
"Maybe I should consider turning the car into a taxi," he mused, though the prospect held little appeal. "Installing a proper partition and getting the air conditioning fixed would cost money we don't have, but it might be the only option left."
His chronic back problems would make long driving shifts uncomfortable, but regular employment opportunities seemed increasingly scarce for someone with his limited technical skills.
As he turned onto their street, Ben Sr.'s thoughts shifted to his other nephew. "I wonder how Ben's research project is going..."
That train of thought was interrupted when he spotted two familiar figures standing outside their house.
Ben had arrived home to find the house empty—May was still at work, and Ben Sr. was obviously still job hunting. Instead of waiting alone, he had run into Mary Jane Watson, who had been watching for his return from her window across the street.
The red-haired girl had practically sprinted over when she spotted him, her face lighting up with joy that could have powered the entire neighborhood. After a month of wondering about his whereabouts, she was desperate to hear about his mysterious research activities.
Ben provided a carefully edited account of his work with Dr. Connors, sharing technical details about genetic modification and cellular regeneration that were impressive enough to sound authentic while remaining vague enough to avoid revealing anything truly sensitive.
Mary Jane listened with complete attention, clearly understanding very little of the scientific terminology but hanging on every word with the devotion of someone who found the speaker infinitely more interesting than the subject matter.
Their conversation was interrupted by the distinctive sound of Ben Sr.'s aging sedan, its engine making concerning noises that suggested expensive repairs in the near future.
"I should let you have your family reunion," Mary Jane said graciously, though her reluctance to leave was obvious. "I'll see you later?"
Ben Sr. emerged from his car looking tired and defeated, but his expression brightened considerably when he saw his son standing safely on their front porch.
"Did I interrupt something important?" he asked with a knowing smile as Mary Jane waved goodbye.
"Nothing that can't wait," Ben assured him. "Actually, Dad, I have something important to discuss with you."
They walked toward the house together, Ben Sr.'s curiosity evident in his expression.
"Is this about your research project?" he asked hopefully.
"No," Ben replied, taking a deep breath before making his announcement. "I started a company."
The dinner table conversation centered entirely around Ben's revelation, with Ben Sr. and May still struggling to process what their teenage nephew's entrepreneurial success actually meant.
"So we've suddenly become wealthy?" May asked carefully, as if speaking too loudly might make what seemed like an impossible dream disappear.
Ben nodded confidently, and the visible relief that washed over his adoptive parents was profound. Years of financial stress seemed to lift from their shoulders like a physical weight, the constant worry lines around their eyes finally beginning to soften.
May couldn't contain her emotional response, setting down her cooking utensils to embrace Ben with tears streaming down her face. "This is wonderful news! We won't have to worry about college tuition for you and Peter anymore."
Even in their moment of joy, their primary concern remained the welfare of their two boys rather than their own circumstances.
"Peter, you don't seem surprised by this news," Ben Sr. observed with mild reproach. "Have you known about this situation for a while?"
Peter shook his head honestly. "I'm just as shocked as you are."
In truth, Peter's lack of surprise came from having heard far more incredible news earlier that day. Compared to conquering an alien planet, starting a successful business seemed relatively normal.
"This isn't just about college expenses," Ben continued enthusiastically. "We can afford a much better lifestyle now. We could move out of Queens, buy a larger house in a safer neighborhood, and neither of you would need to work anymore."
But both Ben Sr. and May immediately shook their heads in rejection.
"Ben, we're incredibly proud of everything you've accomplished," Ben Sr. said earnestly. "Your success makes us happier than we can express. But we don't want you to think that having money means it should be spent carelessly."
Ben Sr.'s concern was genuine and based on painful experience. He had witnessed other young people who achieved early wealth only to develop destructive spending habits that eventually ruined their lives. Money could be as dangerous as it was beneficial if not managed responsibly.
"I understand your concerns, Dad," Ben replied. "I'm not talking about wasteful luxury—I want to improve our quality of life and eliminate the financial stress that's been weighing on this family."
Ben's primary motivation was relocating his family to a neighborhood with better security infrastructure, but he could see that direct pressure would be counterproductive.
"We've lived in this house for over thirty years," May explained gently. "This building is older than both you boys combined. We know everyone in the neighborhood—Mrs. Walls, Mrs. Lola, little Billy from two houses down..."
Her familiarity with their community was evident in how easily she recited names and relationships that had developed over decades of shared experiences.
"We've put down roots here," Ben Sr. added. "Asking us to suddenly relocate would leave us feeling lost and isolated. At our age, making new friends and adapting to unfamiliar surroundings becomes much more difficult."
Ben recognized the wisdom in their position. Elderly people often found dramatic changes more traumatic than beneficial, especially when those changes involved severing long-established social connections.
"I respect your decision," Ben said diplomatically. "But I'd like to make some security improvements to this neighborhood. I have access to advanced technology that could make the area much safer without requiring anyone to relocate."
Now that Primus was generating substantial profits, funding such projects would pose no financial difficulty.
As a gesture of goodwill, Ben distributed the prototype smartphones that Harry had given him, ensuring that his family would have access to the latest communication technology regardless of their housing preferences.
Elsewhere in Manhattan - Kingpin's Tower
The failure of the afternoon's assassination attempt had created ripple effects that extended far beyond the immediate battlefield. In a luxurious penthouse office that commanded panoramic views of Manhattan, Wilson Fisk stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his massive frame silhouetted against floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked his criminal empire.
For men like Kingpin, New York City represented the ultimate prize—a vast organism whose every vice and weakness could be exploited for profit and power. The intricate networks of corruption, intimidation, and violence that he had spent decades constructing formed the circulatory system that fed his organization's growth.
"You failed, Lester."
Fisk's voice carried the weight of absolute authority as he spoke without turning around, somehow aware of Bullseye's presence before the assassin could announce himself.
"This is... unusual."
The crime lord's tone remained level, but the underlying disappointment was unmistakable. Bullseye's reputation had been built on an almost supernatural record of successful eliminations, making today's failure a concerning deviation from established patterns.
Fisk turned slowly and settled his enormous bulk into a custom-reinforced chair that resembled a throne more than conventional office furniture. His arms crossed as he studied his most valuable employee with calculating eyes.
Under normal circumstances, failure of this magnitude would result in immediate and terminal consequences for any other subordinate. But Bullseye's unique skills and proven loyalty had earned him a degree of tolerance that Fisk extended to very few individuals.
Besides, the target had been Spider-Man—an adversary whose capabilities had already proven problematic for conventional criminal enterprises.
"So tell me, Lester," Fisk continued, his voice carrying the dangerous calm that his subordinates had learned to fear more than screaming rage, "what exactly went wrong? Spider-Man is fast, I'll grant you that. But you've never missed a target before. Not once."
Bullseye shifted uncomfortably, his usual cocky demeanor replaced by something approaching uncertainty. "It wasn't just Spider-Man, boss. There was someone else there. Someone new."
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