The summit was held in Geneva, but it might as well have been a battlefield.
Motorcades lined the streets, helicopters circled overhead, and the media swarmed like bees. Every major power had sent their strongest voices. Presidents, premiers, monarchs, ministers, generals they all came.
Inside the glass-and-steel conference hall, banners proclaimed: "Humanity's Shared Future."
But the air was anything but united.
Alex sat at the head of the main table, Tony at his right, Vision standing discreetly behind them like a quiet sentinel. To Alex's left sat representatives from the UN. Around the ring-shaped table sat the heavyweights of the world.
The President of the United States leaned in first, voice calm but tight. "Mr. Price. Mr. Stark. What you've achieved is historic. But it cannot remain private property. The orbital station, the elevator, the asteroid mines—they must be shared under international law."
Russia's Premier immediately snapped: "Shared? You mean American-controlled. You cannot dictate space. No nation has given you this right."
China's Chairman pounded the table. "Private corporations cannot own Mars, or the stars! This is reckless colonialism! We demand immediate international oversight!"
The room erupted. Shouting, accusations, fingers pointing. The French president called for compromise. The British Prime Minister demanded security guarantees. African Union leaders warned of exploitation.
Through it all, Alex remained silent. Watching. Listening. Calculating.
Finally, he rose. The room quieted.
"Let me make this very clear," Alex said, his tone razor-sharp. "No one owns space. Not me. Not Tony. Not any government. What we've built is infrastructure. A ladder to the stars. And right now, you all need me more than I need you. Earth is running out of resources. The space age is here, whether you like it or not."
Russia's Premier snarled: "You hold humanity hostage with your technology!"
Tony smirked, cutting in with his trademark arrogance. "No, no, no see, if we wanted to hold humanity hostage, we'd be charging you admission just to look at the elevator. You're welcome, by the way, for the free livestream."
Laughter rippled through the chamber, undercutting Russia's fury.
China's Chairman leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "We will not be excluded. If necessary, we will launch our own elevator. Our own mines. Compete directly."
Alex's eyes flicked to him, cold and unwavering. "Try. By the time you've finished your first prototype, we'll have stripped a dozen asteroids bare and built cities on Mars. Compete, if you dare. But you'll still come to me for alloys, because I can deliver now."
The room went silent again.
The backroom deals began almost immediately during recess.
The U.S. delegation pulled Tony aside, offering tax breaks, military protection, and "discreet Pentagon contracts" if Alex prioritized American industry.
The EU ministers approached Alex privately, suggesting joint research programs and access to European launch sites in exchange for discounted mineral shipments.
Wakanda's delegation, led by T'Challa and Shuri, quietly requested a private meeting with Alex. Shuri whispered excitedly about vibranium-alloy applications, while T'Challa spoke gravely: "Do not let them control you. Nations will strangle each other over what you hold. We offer partnership, not chains."
Meanwhile, Russia and China conspired in whispers. Spies exchanged notes. Their plan was simple: refuse to sign, rally developing nations, and paint Alex as a corporate tyrant.
But Tony anticipated this.
During the second day of talks, Stark unleashed his ace: a series of charts, projections, and videos of asteroid shipments already being refined in orbit. "Ladies and gentlemen," Tony announced, "here's the brutal truth. While we're sitting here arguing about legal semantics, Alex's operation has already produced more platinum in a week than your nations mine in a year. He's not asking permission he's offering partnership. That offer won't stay open forever."
The pressure was crushing. Developing nations began shifting, realizing access to cheap space-mined resources could transform their economies. Even traditional allies of Russia and China started to waver.
Russia's Premier slammed his hand on the table. "This is blackmail!"
Alex leaned forward, voice cold. "No. This is reality. You can join me or you can be left behind. The future does not wait for anyone."
By the summit's end, a framework agreement was signed.
Alex's consortium would sell minerals and alloys globally at standardized rates.
Nations could propose joint ventures, but control of the orbital station and elevator remained firmly in Alex's hands.
A new "Space Resources Council" would be created but with Alex as its permanent chair.
Russia and China, humiliated, signed last. They had no choice. Pressure from their allies, their own industries, and the overwhelming proof of Alex's dominance forced them to cave.
That night, in the quiet of his suite, Alex poured a glass of wine. Tony dropped onto the sofa, exhausted but grinning. "Well, Price, you did it. You stared down two of the biggest egos on the planet and walked away with the keys to the stars."
Vision, ever the realist, looked between them. "You've won the summit. But you've made enemies, powerful ones. Russia and China will not forgive this humiliation. They will bide their time."
Alex raised his glass, eyes hard. "Let them. I'm already building the future. And the future belongs to those who can reach it first."
The world had witnessed the birth of a new order. And every leader left Geneva knowing one truth: The age of nations was fading. The age of Alex Price had begun.