The morning news cycle was a symphony of sensationalism and veiled aggression, all centered on the Osborn Tower.
"OSBORN IN TURMOIL! Board Revolt Against New Chairman!"
"Anonymous Director Claims 'Terrifying Confrontation' During Closed-Door Meeting!"
"SHOCKING UPDATE: Director Hospitalized After Storming Out of Osborn Meeting, Pronounced Dead Hours Later!"
"Family Curse? Attending Physician Notes Deceased Director's Symptoms Mirror Osborn Hereditary Affliction. Secret Kin?"
"A.I.M. CEO Aldrich Killian Issues Statement: 'Chairman Aaron Exhibits Traits Consistent with Unregistered Mutant Abilities. Coercion Suspected in Shareholder Agreements.'"
"Venture Aerospace Exec Condemns 'Foreign Takeover,' Calls for Government Intervention to 'Protect American Assets from Despotic Control.'"
"NYPD Commissioner Indicates 'Increased Scrutiny' of Osborn Operations Pending Review."
"XAVIER'S SCHOOL FOR GIFTED YOUNGSTERS RESPONDS: 'Chairman Aaron is Not a Mutant. We Urge an End to Prejudicial Speculation and Affirm the Rights of All.'"
"Osborn Stock in Freefall: Market Cap Drops Below 20% of Peak. Is This the End for a Biotech Titan?"
"Sources: Norman Osborn Engaged in Late-Night Meetings with Private Equity Figures, Signaling Potential Fire-Sale…"
The deluge was overwhelming. Even Aaron, who operated in a sphere largely detached from media chatter, found his phone buzzing with notifications. There were concerned messages from Eleanor and a flurry of them from Kate. Norman's were terse status updates. He skimmed the substantive ones, then purged the log with a thought. The digital noise was irrelevant.
The financial reality, however, was a concrete problem. Even with the stock price cratered, buying out the combined minority stakes would require capital on a scale neither he nor Norman possessed. Bishop Security's resources, while substantial, were a drop in that particular ocean.
He scanned the headlines again. The narrative was cartoonishly villainous: a mysterious, predatory outsider, wielding dark charisma or powers, corrupting the noble Norman and seizing a national treasure, only to be heroically challenged by brave captains of industry and vigilant authorities. It was a folk tale for the financially anxious.
The comment sections were a fever swamp of outrage and conspiracy. Aaron shook his head, a faint smirk on his lips. "The collective critical thinking of the internet remains a profound disappointment."
He gave the rumpled bedding a light pat. "Time to mobilize."
Felicia, midway through a hurried breakfast of a bagel and coffee, mumbled an acknowledgment, sped up her chewing, and chased it down with a gulp of orange juice. After a swift trip to the bathroom to freshen up, she was pulling on her jacket, ready for the corporate battlefield.
Before the chime could finish, Aaron spoke without looking up from his tablet. "We have a visitor. See to the door."
"Hmm? Right." Felicia, rather than walking, flicked her wrist. A single, precise strand of webbing shot across the foyer, wrapped the knob, and pulled it open with a soft click.
Aaron shot her a dry look. "Show-off."
Felicia just grinned, her enhanced tongue darting out to catch a stray crumb with impossible dexterity. "You could always… reprimand me for it later, sir."
"Don't expect any leniency tonight."
Their banter was cut short by a familiar, bright voice from the doorway. "Hello? Anyone home? Oh! The door was open!"
"Miss Bishop," Aaron called out, walking to the foyer. "Shouldn't you be enriching your mind in a classroom at this hour?"
Kate bounced on her heels. "It's flexible! When your family's name is on a wing of the administration building, the schedule becomes more of a… guideline. No homework either!"
"Someone does it for you," Aaron stated, not asked.
"Well, someone helps—" Kate caught herself, her eyes widening. "I mean, I complete it diligently and promptly! It's very manageable!"
Aaron looked down at her, one eyebrow arched. "Perhaps I should have a conversation with your mother about academic integrity and long-term life planning."
"No, no, no!" Kate waved her hands frantically. "I came to see you! You can't turn traitor!" She leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Besides… I learned from the best."
Her eyes flicked meaningfully toward Felicia, then back to Aaron, clearly referencing his own… managerial style.
Aaron chuckled, ruffling her hair. "Your secret is safe. Focus on your training. Who knows? Perseverance might yield its own rewards."
He left it deliberately vague.
Behind him, Felicia allowed herself a small, private smile. Rewards, indeed.
Kate shook her head vigorously. "No weird mutations for me, thanks."
"Wise," Aaron conceded.
"I'm glad you're okay," Kate said, her tone shifting to one of fierce loyalty. "Seeing all that junk on the news… as if someone like you could be troubled by those vultures! When I'm older, I'm going to track every one of them down and… and give them a stern talking-to!" She amended her initial, more violent declaration with a hasty compromise.
"Your advocacy is noted." His tone was warm.
"Oh! That's actually the other reason I came." Kate's expression turned serious. She glanced over her shoulder into the empty hall, then beckoned Aaron down with urgent gestures. He obliged, leaning close.
She cupped her hands around his ear, her whisper a hot, earnest secret. "I think… my instructor, Adeline, is up to something. Something about you."
Aaron froze for a fraction of a second. Could she actually have pierced the cover?
Seeing his reaction, Kate nodded sagely, putting her hands on her hips. "She's always asking questions about you! What you like, what you do, what your 'type' might be. She goes on about 'securing her future,' and 'a strong partner,' and how 'women have to plan ahead.' It's so obvious!"
She puffed out her chest, triumphant. "I figured out her game! She's trying to get close to you! Gold-digging, plain and simple! So, I've been giving her extra homework and tedious research tasks as punishment. That'll teach her to have ulterior motives!"
Aaron stared at her, the gears of his mind, which had been prepared for an analysis of tradecraft and surveillance, grinding to a halt. He'd braced for a child's intuition brushing against a spy's artifice. Instead, he'd received a pre-teen's razor-sharp diagnosis of romantic social-climbing.
He was, for one of the few times since his arrival, utterly speechless. The vast, paranoid architecture of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s operation, and Kate had reduced it to the plot of a reality dating show.
He managed a slow blink. "I… see. Your… investigative work is… thorough."
Kate beamed, taking it as high praise. "I know, right? You have to be careful, Mr. Aaron. She's really pretty and she knows a lot of… moves."
She said the last word with a gravity that suggested she'd seen martial arts films she probably shouldn't have.
"Duly noted," Aaron said, straightening up, a complex mix of relief, amusement, and newfound respect for Kate's uniquely skewed perspective warring within him. The world's most advanced intelligence agency had just been outmaneuvered by a tween's sense of propriety and a shrewd aversion to gold-diggers. It was, he decided, a far more satisfying outcome.