Obadiah trembled violently, his pupils dilated with fear as he stared at Henry. He felt like a mouse caught by a cat—his captor wasn't in a hurry to end his life but seemed intent on toying with him before the inevitable.
Instinct for survival overwhelmed all shock and resentment.
"No! Don't kill me! Henry!"
Tears streamed down his face; he had lost all semblance of the Stark Industries acting chairman and now resembled a gambler who had lost everything at the casino.
"Money! What do you want? Money? I have secret accounts in Swiss banks—billions! No, hundreds of billions! I can give you all of it! Also, shares! My shares in Stark Industries and all the companies under my name—I'll give them all to you! Just spare me!"
He babbled incoherently, desperately throwing out his assets, trying to bribe Henry with wealth.
"Please, Henry! I'm your uncle! I watched you and Tony grow up! Do you remember? I taught you to ride your first bike, and the limited edition Transformer for your fifth birthday—I ran all over New York to get it for you! We're family!"
He began playing the emotional card, attempting to awaken any lingering familial affection in Henry.
He believed he was justified—he had worked for Stark Industries for years; didn't he deserve to enjoy the fruits of his labor?
Henry listened quietly, his smile not only remaining but growing brighter.
He even exaggeratedly covered his mouth, feigning a moved expression.
"Wow, Uncle? Obie, did you hurt your head when you were kidnapped?"
He laughed so hard he nearly fell over, as if he'd heard the funniest joke of the century.
"The word 'family' coming from your mouth sounds so disgusting. I almost believed you. Honestly, your acting is far better than those Hollywood folks who've won Oscars."
Obadiah had the audacity to bring up the past.
Henry's hand suddenly slid down Obadiah's forehead and swiftly grabbed his thick arm.
Then, amidst Obadiah's terrified screams, Henry effortlessly lifted the over-200-pound man from the chair, his feet leaving the ground as if he were a turkey ready for slaughter.
"Ah!"
Obadiah screamed like a pig being slaughtered, feeling his arm bones might be crushed by that iron-like grip.
Damn Henry! Had he mutated?!
"Shh, quiet now. The guest of honor shouldn't be so noisy."
Henry brought him face to face, his usual playful eyes now filled with mockery.
"I always thought someone who could sit in your position should at least have some class. If you're going to die, you should do it like a villain—leave some harsh words or laugh maniacally while pressing the self-destruct button. Didn't expect you to be no different from those fools on Wall Street who cry and shout about jumping off buildings after losing all their money."
He shook his head, disappointment written all over his face.
So disappointed! He had hoped for a grand showdown with the Iron Overlord.
"Don't be so reckless in your next life; it's useless."
His voice was still light.
"Ambition is like a certain part of your body—it's not useful just being big; it needs to be hard too. And you clearly overestimated yourself and underestimated the Stark name."
With that, he casually tossed Obadiah back into the chair.
"Alright, the foreplay's over."
Henry clapped his hands as if he'd just done something trivial.
He walked to the center of the interrogation room, looked up at the inconspicuous surveillance camera, and snapped his fingers.
"Jarvis, are you there? I know you can hear me. Lights, sound, holograms—all set up? Let's give our dear Uncle Obie a spectacular farewell performance."
"Always here, Mr. Henry."
A mechanical male voice suddenly echoed throughout the interrogation room.
"The 'Goodbye, Obie' theme party is ready. The lighting system, surround sound, and holographic projection system have all passed self-checks and are ready to start."
Obadiah jerked his head up, incredulously staring at the camera.
Jarvis?! Stark's exclusive AI? How could he… How could he…
"Very good."
Henry nodded in satisfaction, looking like a host about to take the stage.
"Then, dear Uncle Obie, please take a seat. Stark Brothers Entertainment presents to you an immersive life experience drama—'The Final Act of a Traitor'—now begins!"
The next second, the entire interrogation room's walls instantly transformed into large high-definition holographic screens.
Majestic and sorrowful symphonic music played from all directions, carrying a sense of irony.
"First, let's enter the first act, the most tear-jerking part—family's collapse!"
Henry's voice was filled with passion, reminding Obadiah of a third-rate infomercial host.
"Jarvis, play the VCR!"
The screen lit up, showing Obadiah's luxurious mansion on Long Island, palace-like in its grandeur.
His wife, an elegant blonde woman, was gracefully sipping afternoon tea.
His daughter, a beautiful girl just accepted into Yale, was playing on the lawn with her golden retriever.
Everything seemed so perfect, so peaceful.
"Look, Obie, such a happy family."
Henry began narrating.
"A virtuous wife, a beautiful daughter. You must have sacrificed a lot for them, like betraying your best friend's son?"
Obadiah watched the screen, his wife's and daughter's faces showing a complex mix of emotions, perhaps guilt.
He loved them dearly, truly.
But soon, the scene changed abruptly.
The mansion's gates were violently broken open by a group of FBI agents in black suits.
His wife dropped her teacup in shock; his daughter, terrified, hugged her dog, at a loss.
"Obadiah Stane is formally arrested for treason, illegal arms dealing, and multiple murders!"
The cold announcement echoed through the mansion.
On the screen, his wife's face drained of color, collapsing to the ground.
His daughter screamed in despair.
Countless reporters surrounded the mansion, their flashbulbs like lightning, illuminating their pale, hopeless faces.
"Oh, look, they've become famous, Obie."
Henry smiled faintly.
"Tomorrow, they'll be on the front pages of newspapers worldwide. The family of a traitor—what a title. I bet your daughter's classmates at Yale will envy her. Maybe someone will even start a 'Support the Traitor's Daughter' club."
"No! Don't!"
Obadiah screamed, watching his wife and daughter's painful, helpless expressions on the screen.
"Don't worry, don't worry, this is just the appetizer."
Henry's voice echoed again.
"Next, let's enter the exciting second act—the empire's collapse! Also known as 'How to go from billionaire to bankrupt in ten minutes!'"
The screen changed again.
The New York Stock Exchange appeared, with Stark Industries' stock code followed by a steep green line plummeting.
"Jarvis, can we get a real-time data commentary?"
"Certainly, sir."
Jarvis's calm, mechanical voice filled the room.
"As of thirty seconds ago, Stark Industries' stock price has dropped by 78%, with a trading volume exceeding daily averages by 400%. Market analysts predict further declines unless immediate interventions occur."
Obadiah's face turned pale. His empire, built over decades, was collapsing in front of his eyes.
Henry leaned back in his chair, swirling an invisible glass of wine, his expression calm, almost casual.
"See, Uncle Obie, this is why relying solely on schemes and deceit isn't enough. Power without vigilance is meaningless."
He tapped the table lightly.
"And remember, this is only the appetizer. The main course is coming soon."
Obadiah sank into his chair, his mind racing, his heart pounding. All the wealth, all the schemes, all the planning—it had been rendered useless.
Henry stood, his towering silhouette framed by the holographic screens, and his voice was low, cold, and deliberate:
"Don't worry, Uncle Obie. When this is over, you'll rest peacefully. Or at least, that's the plan."