"Deal! You said it yourself—the company's valued at a little over a hundred million. You give me fifty million, and the deal's done!"
Howard's face lit up like a man who'd just won the lottery. He could've kissed Chen Mo right there. Fifty million meant the anti-gravity research was back on track—and he'd have money to burn again.
Chen Mo's tone, however, was perfectly calm. "Fine. Eddie will handle the paperwork and payment."
He said it so casually that it was as if he were talking about buying groceries, not dropping tens of millions of dollars. Howard stared at him, curiosity gleaming in his eyes, and leaned in conspiratorially.
"Be honest with me," he whispered. "Just how much money do you have? Why don't I sell you the whole company while we're at it?"
"Sure," Chen Mo replied without hesitation. "Have your people talk to Eddie."
As the shadowy head of Hydra, Chen Mo had long stopped caring about money—it was just numbers. When he'd built his current identity, he'd made sure to appear every bit the mysterious wealthy exile, arriving in America with dozens of crates of gold and jewels. To the U.S. government, he was a phantom tycoon with limitless reserves.
Even Chen Mo himself didn't know his full net worth; Albert handled all his finances. And if somehow the accounts ever ran dry, the upstairs vault still held piles of gold bars and gemstones—more than enough to buy out Howard a dozen times over.
Howard's eyes widened, realizing Chen Mo was dead serious. He waved his hands frantically.
"No, no! I was kidding! I'm keeping it. Planning to leave the company to my future son."
"You don't even have a wife. What son?" Chen Mo gave him a look of disdain.
"I will! Eventually! Tell you what—why don't you be my son's godfather? That fifty percent can count as his future gift."
Chen Mo stared at him. "Howard, how did I never notice you were this shameless?"
Howard rolled his eyes. He'd thought Chen Mo's serious tone meant some big revelation was coming—but no, it was just another jab.
"I'll be your son's godfather," Chen Mo said at last, his voice calm but firm. "But the gift will come from me, not from your company. You can keep your shares—and work for me instead."
Howard blinked. "Wait… what?"
"I changed my mind," Chen Mo said evenly.
"You can't back out now!" Howard protested. "We already agreed—fifty million for half the shares! With the war in Europe raging, military contracts are flooding in. Buy now and you'll make a fortune!"
"And you have the nerve to talk about backing out?" Chen Mo gave him a withering look. Howard pretended not to hear it, smiling like a man completely innocent of any wrongdoing.
"I'll pay," Chen Mo said flatly, "but not fifty million."
"Hey, don't be stingy!" Howard grinned, still trying to turn it into a joke. "If you're really short on cash, just send me a souvenir—your sword, your shield—something like that."
Chen Mo's eyes flashed coldly. That look—predatory, dangerous—Howard recognized immediately. It was the look Chen Mo gave right before punching him. He snapped his mouth shut instantly, sitting ramrod straight.
Satisfied, Chen Mo continued, "I'm buying sixty percent of Stark Industries. Take it or leave it."
"Sixty?!" Howard's voice jumped an octave. "Then I'd be your employee! No way! It's my company—my name's on it! Fifty–fifty, maybe—but sixty? Forget it!"
"Then forget the deal," Chen Mo said, unconcerned.
He hadn't truly cared about the numbers anyway. This was more about teaching Howard a lesson in humility.
Howard panicked. "Wait—wait! Maybe we can… renegotiate?"
"No negotiation," Chen Mo said calmly. "Sell, or don't."
Howard looked torn, chewing his lip. On one side were the greedy, conniving investors of Wall Street; on the other, the fellow genius who treated money like loose change and shared his passion for advanced tech.
Finally, he groaned. "Fine. Sixty percent. But the company's name stays!"
He looked like a child forced to hand over his favorite toy. Chen Mo, meanwhile, felt entirely refreshed.
"Agreed," Chen Mo said. "So—what do you call me now?"
Howard's face twisted. Through clenched teeth, he muttered,
"Boss."
Inwardly, though, his mind screamed: Bandit! Thief! Bloody opportunist!
He slumped into the sofa, silently cursing himself. If he'd just accepted the original fifty–fifty deal, everything would've been fine. Now he had a boss—in his own company!
Chen Mo leaned back, satisfied, and tossed him a bone.
"I won't interfere in operations. You'll handle the business. All profits—use them for your research as you see fit."
Howard's eyes lit up instantly.
"And if you really do manage to have a son someday," Chen Mo added dryly, "then maybe this little company of yours can serve as an extra gift for my future godson."
Howard's expression flipped like a switch. "Boss, you're brilliant! Visionary! Truly the greatest!"
Chen Mo snorted, rolling his eyes.
"I swear," Howard said proudly, pounding his chest, "I'll give you a son, Boss!"
"Get out."
Chen Mo kicked him clean off the sofa.