At ten o’clock in the morning, Shaun Vance walked through the revolving doors into the ground-floor lobby of Stark Tower.
He carried a black briefcase containing the thirteen million dollars in cash Matt had returned the previous night.
Dressed in a simple gray shirt and jeans, he stood out sharply against the suit-and-tie elites bustling around him.
“Sir, who are you here to see?”
The receptionist looked up, offering a practiced, sweet smile.
She was around twenty-three or twenty-four, her long blonde hair pinned behind her head, perfectly matching the “Stark aesthetic.”
“I’m looking for Tony Stark,” Shaun said.
The receptionist’s smile remained unchanged, though a touch of professional regret entered her eyes.
“Do you have an appointment?
Mr.
Stark’s schedule is fully booked for the next three weeks.”
“No appointment.”
“Then I’m afraid—”
Shaun was already pulling out his phone and dialing a number.
The call rang four times before it was picked up, accompanied by the loud sizzle of a welding torch in the background.
“Shaun?
Calling me this early—wanting to buy me lunch?” Tony’s voice carried its usual glib tone.
“Need a quick favor.” Shaun glanced at his watch.
“Are you at Stark Tower right now?”
“Yeah, welding something up on the top floor.
What, want to come up for a tour?”
“I’m already downstairs.”
“Did the front desk stop you?”
“Yep.”
“Hold on.”
The call disconnected.
Three seconds later, the gold-plated landline at the front desk rang.
The receptionist picked it up.
Her expression shifted from a formulaic smile to surprise, and then to deep respect.
“Yes, Mr.
Stark…
Understood, I’ll arrange it right away.”
She hung up, and when she turned back to Shaun, her smile held genuine warmth.
“Mr.
Vance, I am so sorry!
Mr.
Stark asked for you to head straight up.
This way, please.
I’ll take you to the private elevator.”
She stepped out from behind the counter, her high heels clicking rhythmically on the floor.
Shaun followed.
While waiting for the elevator, he pulled a postcard printed with the words “Dragon Pavilion” from his pocket and handed it to her.
“My restaurant, just on the next street over.
Bring this for ten percent off.”
The receptionist’s eyes lit up as she took the card.
“Wow, thank you!
My coworker said your egg fried rice is amazing!”
“Drop by and try it sometime.”
*Ding.*
The elevator doors slid open.
Shaun waved goodbye and stepped inside.
Top floor.
The moment the elevator doors parted, the grand skyline of New York rushed into view.
Three-hundred-and-sixty-degree panoramic floor-to-ceiling windows allowed unfiltered sunlight to stream in, illuminating the space with a dazzling brilliance.
Tony Stark stood at a welding station near the edge of the balcony, wearing safety goggles as a blue-white flame sputtered from the blowtorch in his hand.
Instead of a suit, he wore a grease-stained white t-shirt and cargo pants.
Beside him stood a suit of armor.
Painted in blue and black, its lines were rougher and heavier than those of the Mark series.
It lacked an arc reactor on its chest; instead, a deep blue energy core spun slowly in its center.
The suit held a silver tray in one hand, upon which sat a whisky bottle and several crystal glasses.
The most absurd part was the faceplate: an exaggerated joker smile had been spray-painted onto it, the corners stretching all the way to its ears, with two hollow whirlpools for eyes.
Shaun narrowed his eyes.
Yellow Springs vision activated automatically.
The world drained of color, leaving only greyish-white backgrounds and deep blue soul outlines.
Inside the suit, there was no living soul—only a forcibly imprisoned, twisted mass of deep blue energy.
The entity roared and struggled, yet remained helpless against the dense runes binding it inside the armor.
It was Obadiah’s soul.
Tony tossed the blowtorch onto the workbench, removed his goggles, and walked over.
“You didn’t have to bring a gift.” He reached out to take Shaun’s briefcase.
Shaun side-stepped to dodge him.
“Don’t flatter yourself.
This is dirty money I need you to clean.”
Tony clicked his tongue and walked over to the suit.
He poured a glass of whisky from the tray, took a deep gulp, and then poured another glass, handing it to Shaun.
“For a small thing like that, a phone call would’ve been enough.”
“I also wanted to see if you were still alive.” Shaun took the glass, his eyes drifting toward the space behind Tony.
A woman with wavy, bright red hair walked out from the work area.
She wore a tailored black skirt suit over a white shirt with the top button undone, her heels clicking steadily against the floor.
Her makeup was immaculate, her smile perfectly poised—professional, yet layered with a subtle detachment.
Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff.
Shaun recognized her instantly.
It seemed the events of Iron Man 1 had wrapped up, seamlessly transitioning into the opening of Iron Man 2.
SHIELD had planted Natasha as Tony’s secretary—nominally to assist him, but realistically to monitor and evaluate him.
“Got a new secretary?” Shaun took a sip of his drink, playing dumb.
“Did you fire Potts?
If you don’t want her, I can hire her as an accountant for my restaurant.
I’m short on cash handlers.”
“In your dreams!
I promoted Pepper to CEO.
She’s downstairs in a board meeting right now, dealing with those old geezers for me.” Tony swirled his whisky proudly.
“Your little eatery isn’t big enough to hold a titan like her.”
Natasha approached them, holding a liquor bottle, and naturally topped off their empty glasses.
Her movements were gentle, but Shaun felt her gaze linger on him for a brief moment.
It wasn’t the look a normal secretary gave her boss’s friend; it was calculating, analyzing, and gathering intelligence.
“And this is Boss Vance?” Natasha smiled.
“Mr.
Stark mentions you quite often.
I’m Natalie Rushman, the new executive assistant.”
Her voice was pleasant, her acting flawless.
Shaun turned his head and met her eyes directly.
“Miss Rushman, staring at me for so long…
do you think I’m more charming than Tony?”
Natasha’s expression didn’t flicker in the slightest, her smile remaining picture-perfect.
“Both of you are very charming gentlemen.
Though…” She looked at Tony, her eyes filled with just the right amount of admiration, “…my boss is slightly more charming.”
Tony’s vanity was thoroughly satisfied.
He grinned broadly.
“Well said!
You get a twenty percent raise this month!”
“Thank you, boss.” Natasha nodded slightly, stepped back half a pace, and resumed playing the role of the perfect secretary.
Shaun marveled inwardly.
*As expected of the Black Widow—she really knows how to handle men.*
Just then, his phone rang.
He pulled it out; it was the restaurant’s number.
“Hello?”
“Boss, we just got a reservation.
Someone wants to buy out the entire restaurant tonight, and the full payment has already hit the account.” Jessica’s voice came through the receiver; since it was the weekend, she was working a full shift today.
“The customer requested a private dining room setting—just serving their table.”
“Did they leave a name?”
“Yes, a Mr.
Wilson Fisk.”
Shaun raised an eyebrow slightly.
Kingpin.
He sure moved fast.
“Got it.
I’ll head back soon to prepare.”
Hanging up, Shaun downed the rest of his whisky and set the empty glass back onto the armor’s tray.
“Something came up?” Tony asked.
“Yeah, someone bought out the restaurant for tonight.” Shaun picked up his briefcase.
“I’ll leave the cash with you.
Clean it up and transfer it to my Swiss account.”
“Don’t worry, JARVIS can handle it in ten minutes.” Tony walked back to the welding table and picked up his goggles again.
“Let me know in advance next time.
I’ll have Pepper come up too, and we can all have a meal.”
“Sure.”
Shaun walked toward the elevator.
Before stepping in, he cast a glance back.
Natasha was looking down, organizing documents, but Shaun could sense that her attention remained firmly on him.
The elevator doors slowly slid shut.