Chapter 38: Selecting a Proxy

Over the weekend, George spent most of his time practicing newly learned spells. Occasionally, he would visit Hagrid to learn about magical creatures and establish a mental connection with the ones Hagrid raised.

During this time, he didn't see Harry or Ron, who were reportedly being punished for crashing the flying car into the Whomping Willow.

In the following week, George continued to tirelessly accumulate points while absorbing as much magical knowledge as possible, diligently studying and practicing new spells.

Meanwhile, on the Marvel side of things, after over ten days of investigation, some promising leads began to emerge.

One evening, George rode his modified motorcycle from the mutant school located in the suburbs to the Bronx district closer to the city.

On the way, he passed a checkpoint, successfully bluffing his way through with an expensive fake ID he had procured.

During these ten days, besides familiarizing himself with the dynamics of dozens of families in the Bronx, he had also hired locals to create a fake identity for him at a steep cost.

Of course, this fake identity could only fool ordinary police officers. If he encountered agencies like the CIA, S.H.I.E.L.D., or the FBI, it would be useless.

Let alone trying to use this identity to open an account, deposit the money he had acquired, and then buy Stark Industries' shares.

From the start, he never intended to buy Stark's shares under his name. This body was a product of a lab experiment, with no legitimate identification to begin with. A fake ID wouldn't cut it.

He needed a proxy, but he couldn't just pick anyone.

First, this person had to have a certain social standing. Otherwise, helping him purchase Stark's shares might raise suspicion and attract attention from various organizations.

To be honest, George felt that even if he looted every gang in the Bronx and used all the cash to buy Stark Industries' stock, it would still be a drop in the bucket for such a massive conglomerate.

After all, the cash he could loot would mostly be in small amounts, even if he coerced gang leaders to withdraw their available funds. He couldn't seize all their assets.

For the impoverished and chaotic Bronx, this amount of cash might be astronomical, but for Stark Industries, it probably wouldn't even match the value of the art pieces in Tony Stark's mansion.

The wealth of the truly rich was beyond the imagination of the poor.

A single painting in Tony Stark's room might be worth billions, but for George, even a fraction of that would be enough to ensure a stable life for himself and the mutant children.

At the moment, he didn't need to stir up major conflicts or antagonize powerful organizations. What he needed was a stable life to research magic and enhance his abilities.

If not for the looming threat of the Chitauri invasion in a few years—and the potential failure of the Avengers to resist it, leading to Earth's downfall—he wouldn't have stayed near New York.

Second, this proxy had to be tethered to the Bronx and unable to leave. Otherwise, with so much money under their control, the proxy might simply vanish with it, leaving George with no way to track them down.

People are driven by wealth as birds are by food. George didn't believe that a few months of acquaintance would earn him someone's undying loyalty. He didn't have that kind of charisma.

Fortunately, the past ten days hadn't been wasted. He had gradually identified a promising candidate.

Tonight, he planned to witness a dramatic scene. If everything went smoothly, his proxy would be finalized.

After parking his motorcycle, George slipped into a deserted alley, donned a black robe to conceal himself, and put on a common, easily available mask. Activating his abilities, he began to levitate.

The iron plates embedded in his specially designed soles lifted him gently into the air, allowing him to ascend above the alley.

Over time, especially influenced by his wizard bloodline, George had made significant progress in his mastery of magnetism. He could now manipulate objects weighing over a hundred pounds.

This had already surpassed the experimental lab's assessment of his potential.

If he faced X-24 now, George was confident he could toy with his opponent using his abilities. A hundred pounds of force was enough to destabilize the heavily adamantium-clad X-24.

By exerting his full power, George could barely manage to fly using the iron-plated soles of his shoes.

Of course, his speed was far from impressive—slower than walking, in fact. In combat, he'd be a sitting duck. But in certain scenarios, it was quite useful.

For instance, now he could easily ascend rooftops and move above buildings, avoiding surveillance and sightlines, making it effortless to infiltrate heavily guarded locations without leaving a trace.

Atop a seven-story building owned by the Chebel family, an elderly man in his seventies sat in a wheelchair, gazing at a middle-aged man beaten to the brink of death. The old man spoke with a hint of regret:

"Leon, you truly are remarkable. I've always admired you and treated you like a godson.

But tonight, you must die here."

"Mr. Chebel, I swear I didn't betray you! I've always regarded you as a father figure. How could I possibly sell you out? You have to believe me!"

The bloodied middle-aged man struggled to his feet, desperately pleading his loyalty.

Leon had been the son of a drug addict, abandoned by his mother who couldn't endure their hopeless life.

At thirteen, he had saved Mr. Chebel during an ambush by a rival family. From then on, he gained Chebel's favor and became part of his organization, living the life he had dreamed of.

Over thirty years, Leon had used his intelligence and dedication to help the Chebel family grow from a small group into one of the thirteen prominent families in the Bronx.

Yet now, due to a single assassination attempt, he was accused of plotting to usurp control and sentenced to death—a fate he found unbearably unjust.

He had a loving wife, loyal comrades, and a newborn daughter. He had devoted half his life to the family.

"I know you didn't betray me. That assassination attempt was staged by me. Otherwise, with your current status and reputation in the family, I couldn't have justified killing you."

Chebel sighed deeply, his gaze complex.

Hearing this, Leon's eyes widened in disbelief. He muttered, "Why? Why would you do this?"

"I had no choice. I'm old, and the doctor says I have at most two years to live.

But my son is only twenty, inexperienced, and lacks the reputation to lead."

Chebel coughed and looked at Leon with sorrow. It wasn't that he lacked affection for Leon, but no matter how capable Leon was, Chebel couldn't allow him to threaten his son's position.

"Are you worried I'd replace your son? But you know my loyalty—I would never do such a thing!"

Leon collapsed to the ground, drained of all energy.

Chebel wheeled closer and shook his head.

"Leon, I trust your character, but not your subordinates.

This position isn't one you can refuse. Your men would push you into it."