Night fell over Chinatown, its streets glowing under neon lights, thick with the smell of dumplings, skewers, and fried dough.
Inside the Murdock Firm, Skye stood with arms crossed, glaring.
"Boss, I waited outside all afternoon."
Finnian scratched his cheek, half-smiling. Hard to explain spending the entire day upstairs with an old flame like Hill.
"Ahem. C'mon. Late-night snack. My treat."
Her irritation vanished instantly, replaced by a grin.
"Thanks, Boss."
On the walk, Skye chattered like a bird. "So, is that pretty lady upstairs your girlfriend?"
"Ex-girlfriend."
"You two… back together?"
Finnian shrugged. "Don't know."
Skye frowned. The adult world made no sense. "Then why isn't she coming to eat with us?"
"Kids shouldn't ask so many questions."
"Hmph. Then I'm gonna eat you out of house and home."
Finnian winced. He had barely nine grand lefts in his account—less than rent for the next quarter. Regular work wasn't going to cut it.
To live decently, buy supplies, and pay his new worker, he needed a rich sucker to bleed.
So, to celebrate Skye's "first day," Finnian took her to a cheap but filling Sichuan restaurant.
"Boss, Sichuan food?" Skye perked up.
"You know it?"
"I'm mixed-race. I know all kinds of food." She squinted at his features. "You look a little mixed yourself."
"Not purely," Finnian muttered. Reincarnated into the wrong body, but at least I pulled a Constantine look—white shirt, black trench coat, cigarette dangling, Keanu Reeves Hellblazer era.
The waiter came over, cheerful. "Hi Mr. Murdock, the usual?"
"Two here, one to go," Finnian said.
"Right away."
Skye leaned in. "You come here a lot?"
"Not authentic, but decent."
He explained, in his typical tangent: American Chinese food wasn't about authenticity. It was fried everything drowned in sweet-and-sour sauce. T
he kind that made old-school Americans obese but wildly happy.
Skye rolled her eyes, but he wasn't wrong.
And maybe that was why Finnian dated girls under twenty-five only. Between bad diets and climate, too many women lost their looks fast.
Even Elizabeth Olsen wasn't immune. Harsh truths.
Meanwhile, at Stark's seaside villa, Tony had returned from his press conference and was digging into Finnian's background with Jarvis.
"This guy only dates women under twenty-five?"
"Yes, sir," Jarvis replied smoothly. "Based on his history, women over twenty-five… breakups for strange reasons."
Tony smirked. "Kid sounds like me."
"Additional note: Finnian Murdock's brother, Matthew Murdock, is Daredevil, active in Hell's Kitchen."
Tony stroked his chin. "So, the whole families a circus act."
His eyes gleamed at the file on the Mark Armor. "Jarvis, think we can pull him in?"
"Sir, based on patterns, Mr. Murdock is most motivated by money."
Tony's grin widened. "Good thing I'm made of it. Call him. Private consultant."
Back at the Sichuan place, Finnian nearly dropped his chopsticks.
"One hundred million?"
He had been ready to haggle, but for that number? He was practically glowing.
"Mr. Stark, I'd walk through fire for you. Send me the address."
Call ended. Appetite gone.
"Skye, take the takeout back. I've got business."
Before she could protest, he ducked into an alley, donned the White Can Armor, and shot into the night sky.
Skye, stuck with the bill, glared at her wallet.
"Damned capitalist."
Tony's villa on the Hudson was obscene. Cliffside views, glass walls, infinity everything. Finnian stepped inside and instantly felt like two lifetimes of his own living had been a waste.
This is living. My place is a shoebox. Damned capitalist.
"Drink?" Tony offered.
"No thanks."
Finnian tapped the pendant at his chest, retracting the White Can Armor in a shimmer of light.
Tony's jaw dropped. "Nanotech? What the—did you time travel?!"
"Mr. Stark," Finnian said smoothly, "does this fall under the job description of consultant?"
The display was deliberate, and it worked.
Tony scratched his head. "Uh, sit tight. I'm calling Yinsen."
Finnian sprawled across the sofa. "You pay, you call the shots."
Minutes later, Tony returned. "I want to study your armor."
Finnian rubbed his fingers together. "Different price. Plus one condition—your results stay private. No one else touches them."
Tony considered, then nodded. "Agreed. Tech this advanced in the wrong hands… we'd be at war tomorrow."
"In that case, add another hundred million."
Tony grinned. "Deal."