Natasha watched Coulson stride off, practically glowing. She parted her lips to warn him—
—but he was gone, already intoxicated by the brilliance of his brand-new infiltration plan, oblivious to the look on her face.
Opportunities vanish fast.
So she drew a small cross for him in her heart and let him go.
At dawn, a Quinjet ferried the S.H.I.E.L.D. party and Tony away from the Foundation outpost buried deep in the Middle Eastern sands.
Felix stood on the villa terrace and watched the jet dwindle to a dot.
He wasn't worried S.H.I.E.L.D. would hit this site.
To Nick Fury, this was just a forward picket. Until he found the Foundation's "nonexistent" headquarters, he wouldn't risk spooking the quarry.
Besides…
Felix was confident the Foundation wouldn't be taking cues from S.H.I.E.L.D. for long.
"Nice touch," he said later, lounging into the sofa as Natasha's thumbs worked a steady rhythm across his shoulders.
With Coulson and May dispatched to "lead the expendables," the villa held only Felix, Natasha, and the three "house-arrested" guests.
On the wall-filling TV, a news bombshell detonated across every network.
Tony Stark stood before a crush of reporters, radiant.
"…After careful consideration, I've decided that, effective immediately, Stark Industries will permanently shut down its weapons manufacturing division. We're ending all arms sales and committing our tech to building a better future."
Cut to the NYSE board, where Stark Industries' ticker plunged in a sheer green cliff.
The anchor's voice strained to report that tens of billions in market cap had evaporated within hours.
Felix didn't bat an eye.
He knew a few tens of billions on paper meant little to the man who actually controlled the Stark fortune.
The old butler approached with measured steps, offering a black satellite phone with both hands.
"Sir, your call."
Felix had Natasha pause and took it.
The line barely clicked before a rasping, irritable voice snarled through:
"It's me—Obadiah!"
"I don't care where you are! When's the money for the shipment you sold me? Your Ragnell family runners guaranteed it'd be in my Swiss account in two weeks!"
Obadiah Stane—Tony Stark's uncle, Stark Industries' number two… and the shadow behind the Ten Rings hit that nearly killed Tony. Felix's predecessor, the hapless rich kid, had cut a deal with him not long ago—using the family's smuggling lanes to fence a batch of "to-be-scrapped" micro-nuclear warheads stolen out of Stark Industries to a buyer in the Middle East.
"Mr. Stane," Felix said, voice level, as if to a stranger. "You might want to update your intel. The Ragnell outfit is out of the smuggling business."
Silence. Then a roar, twice as angry.
"What's that supposed to mean? You skimming my shipment?!"
"No, of course not," Felix drawled. "The funds aren't coming—but we can return the goods. Give me an address, and I'll have those warheads delivered back to you, factory-fresh. How's that?"
"Delivered—are you insane? If those are traced, we're finished!"
"That would be your problem," Felix replied, tone unruffled.
Stane finally realized he was being played.
"You little bastard—you're burning me!"
His voice curdled into something feral. "Three days!"
"Three days, or I come to your door, and I'll put your head where your backside is! Remember this—crushing you is as easy as stepping on an ant!"
Click.
The line went dead.
Felix stared at the beeping handset, and a thin, lethal smile uncoiled across his face.
An ant?
Perfect.
He'd been looking for a suitable test subject for his new abilities.
Behind him, Natasha had heard enough of the shouting to place the name.
Obadiah Stane.
Of course she knew it.
Stark Industries' iron-fisted executive, Tony's "uncle," a power broker from Wall Street to Washington.
What shocked her wasn't the man—it was that such a titan was doing nuclear side deals with Felix's former life.
A swell rose in her chest—part dread, part calculation.
Felix, meanwhile, had already fit the pieces together.
Obadiah. The first Iron Man's final puppet master.
And right now, why the frenzy over that ten-figure arms payout?
Simple.
Tony had just shuttered the weapons division. The stock tanked. The board would be a hornet's nest. Obadiah needed a massive cash infusion to steady the optics—or to make a play for control.
Shame he'd picked the wrong partner.
"Sir, the Stane family… we can't afford to provoke them," the old butler murmured, bloodless.
To him, the Ragnells had pull in gray markets, but compared to Obadiah Stane? Ants.
"Relax. It's simple," Felix said, patting his shoulder, eyes glinting winter-cold. "He won't have the chance to trouble us."
He already had the perfect plan.
A plan to return those warheads.
"Natasha, take a break," Felix added, dismissing her gently before heading to his room alone.
He needed absolute silence—for a task that concerned the future.
(End of Chapter)
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