Obadiah Stane

The streets were already lined with NYPD officers, and several barricades had been set up to keep the curious crowd at bay. Numerous local media outlets, whether TV stations or newspapers, had sent reporters and camera crews to capture every possible angle.

Even with his hands cuffed in special police restraints, Wilson Fisk maintained the dignified demeanor befitting a crime lord. As the head of the largest organized crime syndicate in America, with networks spanning the globe, he was still acutely aware of the media's presence.

"I heard they're sending you to Ryker's Island. I imagine you'll find even more enemies waiting for you there," Spider-Man quipped as the police opened the van's door to escort Fisk inside.

"You brat! Don't think this is the end—you'll regret it!" Fisk roared, his voice echoing across the scene.

Meanwhile, across the street, a commotion broke out as reporters swarmed a familiar figure—Stark herself. Seeing this, Peter turned his attention away from Fisk.

"Oh? You might be right. Actually, staying here and listening to you is probably what I'd regret more," Peter retorted with a shrug before walking toward Stark, ignoring Fisk's continued shouts.

"You idiot! You have no idea what you've done—within a month, you'll be begging me to come back!" Fisk bellowed as the police finally shoved him into the van.

Peter heard the crime lord's words but didn't bother to respond. Instead, he continued to approach Stark, who was currently surrounded by reporters.

"Miss Stark, why were you inside Fisk Tower, especially at such a coincidental time?"

"Miss Stark, is there any connection between you and Wilson Fisk? Were you aware of his criminal activities?"

The barrage of questions came thick and fast as reporters and photographers encircled Stark, each desperate for a scoop. For them, it was big news—the heir to Stark Industries showing up at Fisk Tower amidst a police raid.

Ever since the NYPD had cordoned off the building, cameras had been trained on it, waiting for any development. The sight of Stark Industries' heiress casually walking out of the secured area only fueled rampant speculation and theories.

Stark, however, remained unfazed by the attention. Just because she had chosen to show up in public didn't mean she had to explain herself.

"I have nothing to share at this time. You'll hear more from my lawyer and the company's spokesperson when they arrive," she coolly replied.

Within minutes, her security team finally arrived, pushing back the swarm of reporters. Stark, now visibly irritated, gave a wry smile, though her eyes remained cold.

What truly angered her was how this entire situation had disrupted her business plans. While it didn't spell complete failure for her project, Fisk's arrest meant inevitable delays.

"Apologies, Miss. Traffic was terrible, but we came as soon as we got your call," one of her bodyguards reported, slightly out of breath.

"It's fine. Is Obadiah here yet?" she asked with a dismissive wave, her frustration barely concealed.

Happy Hogan, her head of security, opened his mouth as if to explain the chaos within the company but hesitated. Before he could speak, a timid voice interrupted from behind Stark.

"Miss Stark, are you alright?"

Turning around, Stark found herself looking at Spider-Man, the young hero standing awkwardly nearby.

"What is it, my little hero? Do you need me to send you a thank-you gift?" Stark asked with a mischievous grin.

Peter immediately picked up on her teasing tone and scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

"Actually, I just wanted to ask... why were you at Fisk's place?" Peter asked, his voice full of curiosity.

"Oh, it was just some routine business dealings. Nothing worth fussing over," Stark replied with a casual shrug.

But then, as if something clicked, she widened her eyes and stared at Peter with mock incredulity.

"Or... are you suggesting that I might be involved in his illegal activities?"

"Hey, kid, you're asking too many questions," Happy cut in, stepping between Peter and Stark. As a highly trained bodyguard, he had noticed his boss's subtle change in expression and acted swiftly, positioning himself protectively in front of her.

Though Stark had been friendly enough with the young superhero, Happy wasn't about to let his guard down. He still saw Spider-Man as a potential threat.

Only now did Peter realize how abrupt his questioning had been. His eagerness had gotten the better of him.

"Uh, sorry! I didn't mean it like that..." Peter stammered, flustered.

Stark, however, was unbothered. She simply raised her hand and pointed toward Fisk Tower in the distance. Peter followed her gaze and saw the once-imposing building, now a battle-scarred ruin.

The aftermath of the firefight between the police and Fisk's mercenaries, coupled with his own battle against Fisk, had left the skyscraper in shambles. Hardly any of the windows remained intact, and parts of the exterior wall had been blown away in explosions.

Debris rained down into the gardens below, which were now completely devastated.

Firefighters had already arrived on the scene, rushing inside not only to extinguish the flames but also to rescue those who hadn't yet evacuated. Several people were being carried out on stretchers, handed off to paramedics as quickly as possible.

This disaster had affected many innocent people—ordinary employees who relied on Fisk for their livelihood were now the collateral damage of his criminal empire.

"This is why I went to meet with Fisk," Stark said quietly.

She didn't elaborate further, but the message was clear. She didn't need to explain more; she believed Peter would understand her meaning. Though he wasn't yet a fully matured superhero, she sensed he was smart enough to grasp the situation.

Peter stared at the damaged building in the distance, guilt beginning to creep into his heart. The destruction weighed heavily on him, and he realized the part he had played in it.

Just then, a sleek, silver-gray Cadillac pulled up, its presence breaking the uneasy silence between them. The rear door of the Cadillac swung open, and out stepped a middle-aged man in a finely tailored gray suit, his expression cold and unreadable.

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