Chapter 17: Obadiah Plan!

Meanwhile, somewhere else…

A dimly lit office buzzed faintly with the hum of high-powered servers. The air conditioning pumped cold air relentlessly, making the space feel sterile and unwelcoming.

Seated behind a polished desk, Nick Fury set down his phone.

His one visible eye lingered on the classified report he'd received just minutes earlier.

His expression darkened.

Resting his elbow on the desk, Fury ran his palm over his smooth, gleaming scalp before tapping his fingers rhythmically against the wood.

The numbers in the report didn't lie—$1.3 billion had vanished from one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s secret offshore accounts.

Gone without a trace.

For most organizations, losing that kind of money would trigger panic and chaos. But Fury wasn't most people.

To him, the money wasn't the problem.

It was what the theft meant.

Whoever had the skills to infiltrate and drain one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most secure accounts hadn't done it for cash. No—this was a demonstration.

A message.

Because stealing money was one thing. But stealing it from S.H.I.E.L.D.—from him—was a declaration of war.

And war was Fury's specialty.

He leaned back in his chair, a sharp gaze fixed on the glowing monitors.

"Who the hell are you?"

….

Lemu leaned back against the plush couch in Stark's Malibu mansion, savoring his victory.

The funds were secured. The investments were underway. And now? Now he was rich—filthy rich—and that wasn't even the best part.

The Great Sage had already put the money to work, buying up Stark Industries' stock during its plummet and diversifying the rest into high-return sectors.

No one would suspect a thing.

Except, of course, for S.H.I.E.L.D..

Lemu wasn't stupid. He knew they'd notice the missing money—and fast. But by the time they traced the digital breadcrumbs, the trail would vanish.

Still, he made a mental note to prepare contingency plans. In this world, wealth was power, but knowledge was survival.

And with 1.3 million skills in his arsenal, survival wasn't something he needed to worry about.

"This is just the beginning," Lemu muttered, swirling the last of his yogurt before downing it.

….

In the wake of Tony Stark's bombshell press conference, Obadiah Stane retreated to a quiet corner of the room, his phone pressed tightly to his ear.

The voice on the other end was sharp and panicked.

"Boss, bad news. Terence—the guy handling the Ten Rings deal—ran off with the money. He emptied two accounts—$270 million total. We've already sent people after him, but—"

The rest of the words blurred as blood pounded in Obadiah's ears.

"Fuck!"

His face contorted with rage, veins bulging at his temples. His free hand clenched so hard his knuckles turned white.

Lowering his voice to a dangerous growl, he hissed into the phone, "Listen here, you worthless—*&%@! I don't care what it takes. Find him. Kill him. That deal cannot come to light!"

"And if you fail…"

The threat lingered in the silence before he slammed the phone down.

Obadiah inhaled sharply, straightened his tie, and slapped his cheeks. Within seconds, his expression transformed. The rage and desperation melted away, replaced by his usual disarming smile—the mask of a seasoned manipulator.

Never let them see you sweat.

Obadiah had seen betrayal before. He'd delivered his fair share, too. Getting angry was fine, but losing control? That was never an option.

Because bigger prizes lay ahead.

And none were bigger than Tony Stark.

….

Meanwhile, at Stark Industries Headquarters…

In a dimly lit lab, arc reactors hummed faintly. The largest of them—a massive circular structure—spun with mesmerizing blue-white energy, casting ethereal patterns across the walls.

It looked futuristic, like something pulled straight out of science fiction. Yet it wasn't new.

Decades earlier, Howard Stark had built the first prototype, but it had always been more of a concept piece—an idea far ahead of its time.

Now, thanks to Tony Stark's ingenuity, it has been reborn.

Where the original had been a showpiece, this new iteration was functional. A portable, high-output energy source with limitless potential.

And Tony Stark—dressed in worn coveralls—was busy tinkering with it. Sparks danced as he adjusted the components, his focus so intense that he didn't even glance up when the door creaked open.

Obadiah Stane stepped inside, his polished shoes echoing softly against the floor.

"Hey, Tony."

Tony didn't look away from the reactor, his hands moving with practiced precision.

"Do I have a target painted on my back? Is that it? How'd you even find me here?"

Obadiah chuckled, playing the part of the concerned mentor.

"Your back? Tony, my head's the one on the chopping block after that little stunt of yours. Any idea how far the stock's going to drop?"

Tony finally looked up, raising an eyebrow.

"Stocks can recover. But lives?" He gestured toward the reactor. "This can save lives, Obie. That's what matters."

Obadiah's smile tightened.

"Of course. Lives."

But his gaze betrayed him, lingering a second too long on the glowing core of the reactor—calculating, hungry.

….

The arc reactor pulsed softly, its glow reflecting in Obadiah's eyes.

This wasn't just a technological marvel. It was a weapon. A source of limitless energy that could power machines of unimaginable destruction—or domination.

And Tony, naïve as always, had no idea just how dangerous his creation really was.

Obadiah's smile widened.

"Oh, Tony," he said, stepping closer, "you're always thinking ten steps ahead. That's what makes you brilliant. But I'm not sure the rest of the world is ready for this."

Tony smirked, clearly seeing through the flattery.

"Let me worry about the world. You just worry about keeping the board from having a meltdown."

Obadiah Stane's with barely concealed frustration, but his eyes never left Tony Stark's chest—the faint glow seeping through his shirt.