Chapter 4: Meeting the Merchant of Death
POV: Clark
The Stark Industries lobby at 9 AM was a masterclass in controlled chaos. Executives strode across marble floors with the purposeful energy of people who made decisions that moved markets. Security guards in expensive suits watched everything with polite paranoia. And Clark Collins sat in a leather chair that probably cost more than his monthly rent, wearing a thrift store suit and trying not to look like an impostor.
The briefcase at his feet contained David Chen's rescue, stolen intelligence on Ten Rings operations, and one recently acquired C-tier artifact that hummed with the kind of power that made his teeth ache. The Echo Stone had been worth every moment of terror in that warehouse, every near-miss with guards, every second of watching David Chen work while guns pointed at his head.
But sitting here now, waiting to meet Tony Stark himself, Clark felt the familiar weight of deception pressing down on him like atmospheric pressure. How do you explain to a genius billionaire that you rescued his engineer using magical artifacts and knowledge of future events?
"You don't. You lie like a professional and hope he doesn't see through it."
The elevator chimed, and a massive man emerged, moving with the deceptive calm of someone who could break bones as easily as opening doors. Happy Hogan, according to Clark's research. Former boxer, current bodyguard, and Tony Stark's first line of defense against people exactly like Clark.
"Collins?" Happy's voice was gravel mixed with skepticism. "You're the PI?"
"That's me." Clark stood, extending a hand that Happy shook with enough force to test his sincerity.
"Boss wants to see you. Fair warning—he's in a mood."
They stepped into the elevator, and Clark felt the familiar sensation of rising through the tower's steel skeleton. But this time, something was different. The briefcase at his feet was getting warm. Not just warm—hot. Like the artifacts inside were responding to something nearby.
"Arc reactor technology. The artifacts are reacting to the arc reactor."
"Everything okay?" Happy was watching him with the professional paranoia of someone paid to notice unusual behavior. "You look a little green."
"Just elevator anxiety," Clark lied. "I prefer stairs."
"Yeah, well, forty-eight floors of stairs might kill you anyway. Don't try anything funny up there."
"All my funny happens naturally."
Happy's grunt might have been amusement or indigestion. The elevator continued its climb, and the artifacts continued their increasingly urgent vibration. By the time they reached the forty-eighth floor, Clark's briefcase felt like it was containing a small reactor of its own.
"What the hell is Tony building up here?"
The workshop was an answer to that question and a dozen others Clark hadn't thought to ask. It was part laboratory, part garage, part fever dream of someone who viewed the laws of physics as suggestions. Holographic displays showed weapon schematics that rotated in mid-air. Robotic arms worked on projects that seemed to bend reality. And in the center of it all, like a heart pumping electronic blood, was the arc reactor technology that made it all possible.
Tony Stark stood with his back to them, watching a holographic replay of what looked like missile test footage. He was younger than Clark expected, and somehow more real—less like a tabloid caricature and more like a person who'd learned to perform himself for the world's amusement.
"Mr. Stark," Happy announced. "This is Clark Collins, the PI."
Tony turned, and Clark felt the full weight of genius-level intellect focused on him like a searchlight. Tony's eyes were sharp, calculating, but also tired in a way that suggested recent sleepless nights.
"So you're the guy who found my missing engineer," Tony said, not offering to shake hands. "Happy tells me you rescued David from a warehouse full of guys with automatic weapons and somehow didn't get shot. Impressive."
"Careful. He's testing you already."
"I had help," Clark said. "Good intel, better luck, and the kind of poor decision-making that keeps my life interesting."
Tony's smile was sharp as a scalpel. "Right. Lucky. That's what everyone keeps calling you." He gestured toward a workbench covered with complex mechanical components. "See this?"
Clark approached the bench, his artifacts now practically singing with harmonic resonance. The components were beautiful in the way that precision engineering could be beautiful—perfect curves and angles that spoke of form following function.
"Looks like part of a propulsion system," Clark said, because it did. "High-efficiency thrust vectoring, probably for something that needs to change direction quickly in flight."
Tony's eyebrows rose slightly. "Most PIs would call it 'airplane parts.' You seem to know your engineering."
"I know enough to be dangerous. Or at least expensive."
"Expensive is good. Dangerous remains to be seen." Tony picked up one of the components, a curved piece of metal that gleamed like polished starlight. "This is part of a stabilization system. Something I've been working on since Afghanistan. The question is: what would you do with it?"
Clark studied the component, aware that this was another test. Tony Stark didn't ask casual questions. He probed, analyzed, and drew conclusions that could make or break people's careers.
"Think like an investigator. What would this be used for?"
"Personal flight system," Clark said. "Something man-portable, highly maneuverable. The kind of thing that would revolutionize individual mobility if it worked." He paused, considering. "Or warfare, if it was weaponized."
"And which would you prefer?"
"Loaded question. He's testing my moral compass along with my technical knowledge."
"Depends on who's wearing it," Clark said. "In the right hands, it's transportation. In the wrong hands, it's a flying weapon of mass destruction. The technology isn't good or evil—the person using it is."
Tony was quiet for a moment, studying Clark with the kind of intensity that made lesser people squirm. But Clark had learned to be comfortable under scrutiny. Being investigated was part of being an investigator.
"Impressive," Tony finally said. "Most PIs are just divorced cops with drinking problems."
"I'm not divorced."
"Yet." Tony grinned, and for a moment, he looked less like a weapons manufacturer and more like someone Clark's age who'd stumbled into more responsibility than he'd planned for. "Pepper says you think outside the box. Show me."
Before Clark could ask what he meant, Tony gestured toward a wall-mounted display showing what looked like a logic puzzle. Numbers, symbols, and connecting lines in a pattern that seemed deliberately confusing.
"Corporate espionage case," Tony explained. "Someone's been selling our technology. I've narrowed it down to five suspects, all with motive and opportunity. Standard investigators would check bank records, phone logs, email traces. What would you do differently?"
Clark studied the display, but his mind was working on multiple levels. This wasn't just about solving Tony's puzzle—it was about demonstrating the kind of thinking that would make him valuable to Stark Industries. And more importantly, it was about establishing himself as someone Tony could trust with bigger problems.
"Use the investigation skills the system taught me. But make it look like natural deductive ability."
"You're asking the wrong question," Clark said. "It's not 'who has motive and opportunity.' It's 'who benefits from being caught?'"
"Explain."
"Corporate espionage is usually about money. But sometimes it's about positioning. If I wanted to damage Stark Industries from the inside, I wouldn't sell your technology to competitors. I'd sell it to people who would use it badly, publicly, and in a way that would reflect on you."
Tony's expression shifted from casual interest to focused attention. "Go on."
"So I'd look for the suspect whose bank account shows regular deposits, but not enough to match the value of what they're selling. Someone who's being paid to be a patsy, not a partner."
Clark pointed to one of the names on the display. "This guy. Middle management, access to shipping manifests, and a gambling problem that predates your security breaches by six months. He's not your mastermind—he's your fall guy."
"And the real mastermind?"
"Someone with enough inside knowledge to know exactly what to steal and when to steal it. Someone who benefits if your corporate security looks incompetent. Someone who's been positioning themselves as the obvious replacement for whoever gets fired over this."
Clark's finger moved to another name on the display. "Her. She's been building a case for a complete security overhaul, hasn't she? Pushing for new protocols, new personnel, maybe even new leadership in the security division?"
Tony was staring at the display now with the kind of focus that suggested Clark had hit something important. "You got all that from a logic puzzle?"
"I got it from sixteen years of watching people lie to themselves and each other. Corporate espionage isn't usually about the technology—it's about the politics."
"Please let that have been the right answer. Please let him buy this as normal investigative thinking and not artifact-enhanced pattern recognition."
Tony turned back to Clark, and his expression had shifted again. Less testing, more evaluation. "Pepper was right. You do think differently."
Before Clark could respond, the workshop's main entrance opened, and a man entered who made every one of Clark's artifacts vibrate with warning. Tall, silver-haired, and wearing the kind of smile that never quite reached the eyes, Obadiah Stane moved through the workshop like he owned it.
Which, Clark realized, he probably thought he did.
"Tony!" Stane's voice boomed with paternal warmth that felt calculated. "I heard you were interviewing consultants. I hope you're not planning to expand our payroll without discussing it with the board."
[WARNING: HOSTILE INTENT DETECTED]
[SUBJECT: OBADIAH STANE]
[THREAT LEVEL: HIGH]
[RECOMMENDED ACTION: MAINTAIN COVER, AVOID CONFRONTATION]
"The system can detect hostility now? That's new. And terrifying."
"Just a consultation, Obie," Tony said, and Clark caught the subtle tension in his voice. "Mr. Collins here has some interesting theories about our security problems."
Stane's attention turned to Clark like a spotlight, and Clark felt the full weight of scrutiny from someone who'd built an empire on reading people correctly.
"Mr. Collins. I've heard good things about your work. Unconventional methods, impressive results." Stane extended a hand, and Clark shook it, noting the firm grip and measuring eyes. "I wonder if you might be interested in some private consulting work. The kind that pays very well for discretion."
"And there it is. Stane trying to recruit me. Which means he either wants to use me or neutralize me."
"I appreciate the offer," Clark said carefully, "but I'm pretty committed to my current client."
"Oh, I'm sure we could work something out. After all, Mr. Stark here is just one man. I represent the entire board of directors."
The temperature in the workshop seemed to drop several degrees. Tony's expression had shifted from casual to dangerous, and Clark found himself in the middle of a power struggle he didn't fully understand.
"Actually, Obie," Tony said, his voice carrying the kind of steel that suggested this conversation was over, "Mr. Collins is mine. I saw him first, and I pay better than the board."
Stane's smile never wavered, but something predatory flickered behind his eyes. "Of course, Tony. I didn't mean to overstep. Though if you ever change your mind, Mr. Collins, I'd be very interested in discussing opportunities."
He turned and left the workshop with the same calculated warmth he'd entered with, but Clark's artifacts continued their warning vibration long after he was gone.
"That man wants me dead. I don't know why yet, but he definitely wants me dead."
"Sorry about that," Tony said once Stane was out of earshot. "Office politics. Gets messy sometimes."
"Everyone's got a boss," Clark said, though his mind was racing through implications. If Stane was hostile to him after one meeting, it meant Stane saw him as a threat. Which meant Stane had something to hide that Clark might be able to uncover.
"Focus on the job. Build trust with Tony. Deal with Stane later."
"So," Tony continued, "about that consulting work. I meant what I said about thinking differently. I need someone who can spot problems before they become crises. Someone who can see patterns that normal security consultants miss."
"What kind of problems?"
Tony gestured toward the holographic displays, the robotic arms, the arc reactor technology that hummed with barely contained power. "The kind that come with changing the world. I'm building something here, Clark. Something that could revolutionize energy, transportation, defense. But every revolution creates enemies."
"And you want me to find them before they find you."
"Exactly." Tony picked up a tablet and began scrolling through what looked like threat assessments. "I've got corporate rivals, foreign governments, terrorist organizations, and probably a few people I've personally annoyed over the years. Someone's going to try to stop me. I need to know who, when, and how."
Clark thought about the Ten Rings warehouse, the stolen Stark technology, the overheard conversations about Afghanistan. Tony Stark had no idea how right he was about enemies coming for him.
"I could warn him. Tell him about Afghanistan, about the ambush, about everything I know is coming. But how do I explain knowing any of it without revealing the system?"
"I accept," Clark said. "What's the pay?"
"Fifty thousand a year, plus bonuses for actionable intelligence. Health insurance, equipment budget, and access to resources that most PIs can only dream of."
Clark's vision went slightly gray around the edges. Fifty thousand a year was more money than he'd made in his entire career as a private investigator. It was stability, security, and the kind of resources that could help him prepare for the threats coming to Earth.
"And it puts me right next to Tony Stark when the world starts falling apart. Perfect position to help, and to collect the artifacts the system keeps detecting around Stark technology."
"Deal," Clark said.
Tony's grin was sharp and satisfied. "Welcome to the team, Collins. Fair warning—working for me tends to get complicated fast."
"You have no idea how complicated it's about to get."
"I can handle complicated," Clark said.
And as he spoke, his artifacts hummed with harmonic resonance, the Echo Stone in his briefcase pulsed with C-tier power, and somewhere in the back of his mind, the system whispered about B-tier artifacts hidden in distant deserts.
The game was changing. Clark Collins, private investigator, was about to become something more.
He just hoped he'd survive the transformation.
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