chsdbacks Chapter 281 [3 Chapters Combined] Tony Now Has an Elder to Back Him Up
Chapter 281 [3 Chapters Combined] Tony Now Has an Elder to Back Him Up
The conference room was filled with an indescribable, sweet, and pungent smell, like rotting plants mixed into rust.
Thick, eerily fluorescent green blood spread out as a small, dark stain on the expensive wool carpet.
The violence I witnessed firsthand made the atmosphere in the meeting room cold and heavy once again. Every breath felt like swallowing a block of cold lead.
Obadiah Stanislav stood in the center of the mess, his back to the huge floor-to-ceiling window.
Outside the window, the New York skyline shone brightly in the afternoon sun.
In contrast, the glass, made of a special material, blocked out a large amount of ultraviolet rays and heat, giving it a somewhat cold light that cut across Obadiah's broad, slightly hunched back, casting a heavy, silent shadow that almost enveloped the entire long table.
Under this inexplicable sense of oppression, Obadiah pulled a handkerchief from his suit collar and slowly wiped his hands.
The originally pure white linen handkerchief was quickly dyed a shocking dark green.
Each wipe seemed to silently crush the last remaining glimmer of hope in someone's heart.
Tony Stark stood a few steps behind Obadiah, his back pressed against the steel suit standing there, as if only that hard touch could support him amidst his extremely complicated emotions.
His gaze, as if drawn by an invisible thread, was firmly fixed on Obadiah's broad back.
That silhouette once represented the strictness of elders.
It represented excessive expectations that suffocated him.
It also represents the cold, sharp edge of betrayal.
However, just now, in that brief moment filled with violence and green blood...
After that silent yet incredibly powerful embrace...
Something was completely shattered and then rebuilt.
It's Obadiah.
Uncle Obi, who watched him grow up and clumsily tried to fill the huge void after his parents died, has returned.
Tony's Adam's apple bobbed silently, his fingertips curled unconsciously, and his palm seemed to still retain the unique, delicate touch of the tailor-made suit fabric.
A warmth that arrived a full decade late, almost forgotten by him, finally pierced through layers of defense and suspicion, slowly and steadily seeping into every part of his body. Tony, who had once believed that everyone in the world only had interests to do with him and that no one had any genuine love, unconsciously straightened his back with the return of Riley and Obadiah.
At the same time, perhaps noticing Tony's complex gaze, Obadiah gradually stopped cleaning.
With a look of disgust and contempt, he threw the filthy handkerchief, stained with Skrull blood, onto the face of the Skrull who was barely clinging to life after being brutally beaten, making a soft "thud".
The sound, amplified infinitely in the deathly silent conference room, was like a tolling death knell, announcing that everyone's good days had entered their final countdown.
Obadiah slowly turned around, his gaze sweeping across both sides of the long table with the precision and coldness of a sharp eagle.
The people sitting there, who not long ago were incited by imposters to eagerly raise their hands to drive Tony Stark—the soul of Stark Industries and the only legitimate heir—out of the business empire he and his deceased best friend had built, all for the sake of greater profits.
The greed and excitement that had previously lingered on their faces were now replaced by even stronger emotions.
Shocked, incredulous.
And the fear of being targeted by a venomous snake, your blood freezing instantly.
What frightened them even more was...
Compared to the frenzied retaliation against counterfeit goods.
At this moment, Obadiah's face showed no change in expression whatsoever.
There was no angry roar.
There was no disdainful sneer.
There was only a bottomless calm, like the surface of the sea before a storm.
A piercing pain radiated from his knuckles, reminding Obadiah that the outburst of violence he had just unleashed had, just as Riley and Tony had feared, placed a considerable burden on his body.
With each punch that landed on the imposter's face and bones, the recoil caused the accumulated injuries to scream wildly.
But he only slightly tensed the muscles in his arm, suppressing the sharp pain without even frowning.
"Alright, gentlemen."
His voice rang out.
Not tall, and even a little hoarse.
But it was like a steel needle tempered with ice, easily piercing through the frozen air.
"I'm sure you've all had enough of my personal...trouble."
As he spoke, his gaze swept over the pale faces of the board members.
He was clearly just an elderly man with no extraordinary power. Yet, they all shrank back, none daring to meet his gaze even once.
"Now……"
He paused slightly, each syllable as clear as an icicle falling to the ground.
"We can sit down and have a proper talk about the company's future."
The moment the words left his mouth, Riley, who had transferred the "Silly Girl" function to himself beforehand, controlled the huge projection screen at the end of the conference table to suddenly light up.
A large number of silent but clear images began to play in a loop. Like poisoned daggers, they precisely pierced each person present.
Paragraph 1: William Douglas, a white-haired director, receives a heavy metal briefcase from Justin Hammer's assistant in a secluded private club owned by Hammer Industries.
Inside were neatly stacked, gleaming gold bars. In any country, they would be considered solid currency.
It was at this moment that the image froze on Douglas's usually dignified old face.
At this moment, his eyes showed no remorse or self-reproach for betraying his former employer; only a thirst for money and a greedy smile.
Second paragraph: Young Edgar Vincent, Stark Industries' rising star, sneaks into a black sedan in a parking lot late at night.
Although it didn't have any signage related to Hammer Industries, thanks to Silly Girl's powerful internet search skills, she had already thoroughly investigated the details of this car.
Even more outrageous, they directly took over the access to the vehicle's internal surveillance cameras.
Therefore, through the perspective of the surveillance camera, the footage clearly shows the young man, whom Tony had placed high hopes on, respectfully handing over a small USB drive.
After checking the contents and confirming the information was correct, the other party handed the young man a thick manila envelope.
Inside was the property certificate for a vacation villa, and the password to open the safe in the villa's basement, which contained a large amount of jewelry and gold.
The third paragraph...
Fourth paragraph...
Familiar faces, and sordid transactions.
The time, place, amount, and even the items they sold—Stark Industries' weapon blueprints, bid prices, and lists of key suppliers—were all precisely marked on the screen, providing irrefutable evidence.
At this moment, the board members, as if struck by lightning, were all pale-faced, feeling as if the sky had collapsed.
They simply couldn't understand where Tony had gotten so much evidence of his criminal dealings!
Could it be...?
This was actually a scheme orchestrated by Tony and Hammer!
Even if that's really the case...
In order to lure them out and seize all their shares, so that he could truly become a tyrannical ruler with absolute power in the company, he was willing to hand over so much confidential information?!
Isn't this investment a bit too ruthless?
Unless you're really not kidding, and you genuinely have no intention of restarting the weapons department from now on...
Otherwise, based on the confidential documents leaked by the board members, Stark Industries and Hammer Industries would find themselves in an awkward situation where their positions are reversed. The production of many weapons would become extremely difficult because the ownership falls into Hammer Industries' hands!
And so, the guilty board members began to frantically rack their brains, constantly pondering the hidden meaning behind this move.
For a moment, the only sound in the huge conference room was the faint hum of the projector fan.
And the sudden, heavy breathing of several directors, like broken bellows.
Even worse, some people suddenly slumped into their large leather seats, their faces ashen and lifeless.
Some people seemed to have an invisible rope around their necks, their eyes bulging out in terror as they stared intently at their own greedy faces on the screen, their Adam's apple bobbing up and down, yet unable to utter a sound.
Faced with this irrefutable, clear, and interconnected chain of evidence, even seasoned veterans who have been navigating the business world for decades, the most outstanding capitalists, cannot help but feel dizzy and fearful about their future.
Meanwhile, Obadiah watched all of this with indifference, like a god looking down on an anthill.
Ten years of imprisonment, ten years of substitution, ten years of torment...
After regaining consciousness and barely accepting the situation, he had already "witnessed" countless times, through the numerous video fragments collected by Silly Girl, how these so-called "old buddies" who had once been like him and called Howard brothers, were now groveling before Hammer Industries under the drive of profit.
And how, under the imposter's lead, without the slightest hesitation, they decided to join forces and relentlessly pressure the isolated and helpless Tony. They never considered that this might cut off Tony's chances of survival.
In this situation, what about pity and reluctance towards an old friend?
Oh……
Thinking of this, Obadiah raised his voice slightly and pronounced the final verdict that had been decided long before this absurd meeting was even held.
"Very good. It seems that you all have no objections to these minor 'business dealings.' This saves us a lot of time from pointless arguments."
He paused deliberately, his gaze slowly sweeping over the old faces that subconsciously avoided his eyes, leaned slightly forward, and revealed the last glimmer of pleading in their eyes.
That look in his eyes was humble yet familiar, carrying a tentative probe for past affections.
Obadiah's lips twitched down so subtly it was almost an illusion.
But in the end, he chose to ignore the dying struggle of his old comrades.
After all, in Obadiah's eyes, who had never had children, Tony, whom he had watched grow up and nurtured, was no different from his own son.
Under this premise...
Since you dared to lay a hand on my child, and showed such no mercy.
Then don't blame me for being heartless and ruthless!
"In that case, I hereby announce..."
Obadiah's voice suddenly rose, carrying an unquestionable authority.
"All directors who have secret financial dealings with Hammer Industries or who have sold the company's core trade secrets, their Stark Industries shares—"
He paused again, his icy gaze like a heavy hammer, slamming into the faces of each target.
Upon seeing this group, they already guessed what fate awaited them, and their despair and unease grew.
Obadiah then revealed a satisfied smile and continued speaking, word by word.
"Effective immediately, this property is automatically and gratuitously transferred to Mr. Tony Stark!"
hum-
As Obadiah finished speaking, Riley, who was keeping a close eye on the situation, once again switched the images on the projection screen, quietly providing a crucial assist.
Those were seven meticulously formatted equity transfer agreements.
At the end of each document, the name of the corresponding director is clearly signed in the "Transferor" signature column.
The handwriting is smooth and natural, bearing each person's unique penmanship and habits.
Even the world's top handwriting experts would not be able to find the slightest flaw.
The words "Transferee: Tony Stark" at the bottom of the document were like a victory declaration, deeply imprinted in the eyes of these scoundrels.
"No--!!!"
A piercing roar, filled with despair and rage, suddenly ripped through the deathly silence.
The white-haired old man sitting in the middle of the left side of the long table—William Douglas, the one who had accepted a large amount of gold bribes from Hammer Industries and was also the most senior director of Stark Industries besides Obadiah—immediately jumped up from his chair as if he had been burned by a red-hot iron.
His withered fingers trembled violently, almost poking at the projection screen where he had "personally signed" the document.
His wrinkled face was contorted and distorted by extreme fear, turning a horrifying shade of liver.
Ultimately, his fear reached its peak, turning into unreasonable arrogance and anger, and he began to publicly accuse others at the top of his lungs.
"Forgery! This is blatant forgery! Despicable! Shameless!"
Douglas's voice became sharp and distorted with excitement, and spittle flew everywhere.
"We never signed this damn document! Obadiah Stan! This is robbery! It's a crime! It's illegal! I swear, I'll sue you until you're bankrupt! I'll use all my connections to bring you down..."
His hysterical roar was like lighting a fuse.
The other directors who were also named were instantly jolted awake from the enormous blow, and under the stimulation of despair, they ignited a flame called madness.
They slammed their fists on the table and stood up, their angry accusations, incoherent curses, and tearful denunciations all mingling together, creating a chaotic uproar that nearly lifted the roof off the conference room.
Some even tried to rush towards Obadiah, but were stunned by Tony's unhurried raising of his hand and the palm strike he unleashed, leaving them awkwardly rooted to the spot.
"Oh?"
Just as the situation was becoming increasingly chaotic and was about to spiral out of control.
A young, languid voice abruptly cut in, like a sharp knife precisely severing the chaotic clamor.
Everyone's eyes instinctively turned to look in the direction of the sound.
Under the fiery gazes of Douglas and the other directors, Riley slowly straightened up.
He didn't make any threatening gestures; instead, as the symbiote in his palm wriggled, a small, dark blue document holder with a silver badge appeared.
He then flicked his wrist, and with a soft "snap," the document holder opened deftly, revealing the police badge embedded inside and clear job information.
Riley waved his badge at the group of distraught directors, as casually as if he were showing them a supermarket membership card.
"Excuse me for interrupting everyone's... um... passionate speech."
His voice still carried that nonchalant laziness, and even sounded somewhat innocent.
"On behalf of the Acting Sheriff of the 13th Borough of New York City, I solemnly declare that, after my personal supervision and review and filing with the relevant departments, these seven equity transfer agreements on the screen are compliant in procedure, the signatures are genuine and valid, and they are fully legally binding."
He paused slightly, his gaze, through the milky-white eye patch, precisely landing on Douglas's old face, which was contorted and grotesque with extreme shock and anger. His tone suddenly turned cold, as if ice water had been poured over his head.
"By the way, that old-fashioned approach won't work on me. Also..."
Riley tilted his head slightly, deliberately puffed out his chest, and showed off the clearly visible spider mark on his chest to everyone.
In an instant, an invisible sense of oppression that sent chills down one's spine quickly spread.
The board members, who had initially thought that the law could not punish everyone and were about to rush in, suddenly became much clearer-eyed after realizing that the person standing in front of them was Spider-Man, who had recently killed countless people without being punished by law.
"Very good, thank you all for your cooperation... However, Mr. Douglas, and everyone else, it seems you've misunderstood something?"
Compared to the aggressive Obadiah, Riley's voice was not loud, but it seemed to have some special magic, clearly drowning out all the noise.
He took a small step forward, his posture still relaxed, yet like a wild beast that had inadvertently bared its fangs, about to devour its prey.
At this moment, Riley completely removed the mask of "Friendly Neighbor Spider-Man".
Instead, there was only the uncle, who, like Obadiah, stood there with the mindset of an elder, filled with anger, supporting Tony.
"We are not negotiating with you right now."
"This is just to inform you."
"Understand?"
The last word was uttered so casually.
Every word he uttered carried a hint of playfulness in his tone.
Yet it felt as heavy as a thousand pounds, crashing down on everyone's heart.
The meeting room fell into a deathly silence, as if every director not only found it hard to breathe, but their blood had also frozen instantly.
Douglas stood frozen in place, his mouth still in the shape of a curse, but no sound came out.
The color drained from his face, leaving only a utterly crushed, ashen look, as if even his anger had been drained away.
The other directors, who had been shouting so loudly just moments before, were now like ducks with their necks being choked, all their voices stuck in their throats, leaving only heavy, terrified gasps.
They stared intently at the police badge in Riley's hand, which still reflected a cold metallic luster in the shadows, and then looked despairingly at the seven transfer agreements on the projection screen, bearing their "signatures" and resembling death sentences.
Thugs are not scary.
What's frightening is that this "thug" is holding a badge that represents the state's violent machinery.
They also possess a terrifying power that is completely incomprehensible to them and does not conform to the laws of science.
The scene of the imposter "Obadia" making a public phone call to the police, only to be intercepted by the young man in front of them and humbly asking for the next course of action, vividly resurfaced in their minds like a cold nightmare.
In the face of this young man, the legal rules and procedural barriers upon which they depend for survival are as fragile as paper toys.
Therefore, in principle, they could have sued Riley for abusing his power for personal gain and knowingly breaking the law.
But clearly, principles are now firmly in the grasp of this mysterious acting sheriff of District 13, who can manipulate them at will.
Not to mention, in the face of absolute, overwhelming, and terrifying power that can overturn the table at any moment, any conspiracy or sophistry seems pale and laughable.
The deathly silence continued, each second feeling like an eternity.
Despair, like thick ink, completely overwhelmed the seven directors.
Outside the meeting room, another series of footsteps could be heard.
Looking in the direction of the sound, one can see a team of impartial and well-trained New York police officers approaching.
However, they clearly didn't come here to support the board members.
Instead, when the evidence is conclusive, these corrupt officials who betrayed the company's trade secrets will be sent to prison one by one, leaving them to spend the rest of their lives filled with remorse and resentment.
Meanwhile, with the arrival of the police, Obadiah, knowing that this farce should come to an end, broke the suffocating silence.
He slowly and deliberately pulled a neatly folded paper document from the inside pocket of his suit jacket.
Turning around, without the slightest hesitation, he gently placed the document in Tony's hand.
Then he picked up the document on the table, proposed by the imposter and passed by a vote of all the directors, attempting to remove Tony from his post.
He didn't even glance at the contents, holding the document in both hands.
hiss-
A crisp, loud tearing sound rang out like thunder in the silent conference room.
Obadiah, expressionless, moved steadily and forcefully, tearing the document, which embodied betrayal and ambition, in two from top to bottom.
Then came the four halves, the eight halves...
Finally, the snow-white paper scraps, like offerings for a memorial service, fluttered down from his fingers and covered the face of the barely breathing Skrull.
Meeting adjourned.
Obadiah's voice was calm and even, yet it carried an undeniable sense of impending doom.
The next second, the seven directors, stripped of everything, seemed to have had their last ounce of strength drained away. With the intervention of the New York police, they stood up dejectedly.
Their movements were stiff and slow; their expensive custom-made leather shoes felt like hot irons on the soft carpet.
No one dared to look at Obadiah again, and even less dared to look at Riley, who had ruined their "good deed" from the very beginning.
They deliberately avoided eye contact with each other, like a group of defeated deserters, heads down, staggering and silently surging toward the conference room door.
They came with an air of arrogance, but left like stray dogs.