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John Garrett gave the young man his orders.
"One coincidence may just be a coincidence. Twelve coincidences in a row among the same group of people is no coincidence at all. Do we have Henry Brown's movements?"
"Henry Brown?" Kaminski blinked. "Why are we talking about Stark's kid?"
"Because inside the United States, he's the only alien who has a grudge against those Russians."
"Alright. He's mostly stayed in Los Angeles on the West Coast. If you want detailed movements, I'll have to pull the records."
"Do it. Vague statements aren't helpful when making correct judgments. And don't put too much faith in accidents. Everything in this world can either be manipulated or avoided. Calling something an accident usually just means someone lacked the ability to prevent it."
"Understood, John."
Just as Kaminski was about to leave, Garrett spoke again.
"And arrange a plane. I'm heading back to the States. Bring me all the investigation reports on those dead Russians too. I want to read them personally."
Kaminski nodded and hurried off to handle the tasks.
Hands clasped behind his back, John Garrett stared out at the heavy snowfall drifting beyond the window, silently pondering where exactly things had gone wrong.
How had everything spiraled so far out of control?
Meanwhile, at that very moment, Henry—who was beginning to find enjoyment in all this—was sitting in the CEO's office at Stark Pictures, curled up in his chair and spinning in circles.
The progress on his to-do list had reached the halfway mark.
Twelve remained.
Excluding the one hidden inside Oscorp, only eleven were still under S.H.I.E.L.D.-HYDRA protection.
The surviving Russians had already started showing obvious signs of unease, yet the people from "Snake Shield" still hadn't reacted.
After all, it wasn't their people dying.
Most simply dismissed it with a casual: bad luck.
It was becoming so easy that Henry almost believed he could resolve the whole matter quietly and without notice.
The remaining eleven weren't alive because they were luckier than the others.
Most of them had brought their families to America—wives, children, elderly parents, the whole household.
Even when manufacturing larger "accidents," Henry tried his best not to involve innocent people. At worst, bystanders might suffer some fright or minor injuries, but no unrelated person had actually died because of him.
And facing these eleven families, Henry had no intention of abandoning that principle.
He only dealt with those he held grudges against.
Their families were not targets.
Which meant arranging "accidents" for them was far more difficult than for the previous batch.
Letting them live longer also meant Henry gathered more information over time. Although opportunities to isolate them seemed scarce, they weren't nonexistent.
Just as Henry was carefully planning how to handle the remaining targets, an unexpected visitor arrived at Stark Pictures.
Phil Coulson stepped out of the elevator and theatrically knocked on the already-open office door.
"Come in, Agent Coulson."
"It's been a while, Mr. Brown." The ever-friendly agent used his familiar tone to close the distance. "After our last unpleasant meeting, I was worried you might refuse to see me."
Adjusting his glasses, Henry replied,
"As long as you're not accusing me of being Superman, my door is always open to everyone. At the very least, I'm willing to hear why someone came before deciding whether to continue the conversation or throw them out."
"Accusing?" Coulson chuckled awkwardly. "Is it really that serious? I thought being compared to Superman would be considered praise."
"If we're continuing that topic, then I'll unfortunately have to ask you to leave."
Phil Coulson immediately backed down a step.
"If I offended you, then I apologize. That's not why I came."
Pointing toward the small reception sofa area, Henry said,
"Let's sit over there."
Then he called out toward the outer office:
"Yulian, coffee for me and our guest."
"Yes, boss," replied the plus-sized Black secretary before heading off to prepare it.
Once seated on the sofa, Phil Coulson finally dropped the easygoing smile from his face and spoke seriously.
"Mr. Brown, unfortunately, I came today with a warning.
"There are certain things you shouldn't push too far. If too many lines are crossed, traces are inevitably left behind. And when that happens, things become difficult to clean up."
"Oh?" Henry tilted his head. "And from what position are you saying this? On behalf of whom?"
Coulson was just about to answer when he suddenly fell silent.
At that moment, Yulian entered carrying a tray with two cups of coffee and placed them on the table.
The young agent politely thanked her.
Only after she left did Coulson continue.
"A lot of people have already noticed what's happening in Toronto. Surely you don't think we need courtroom-level evidence to draw conclusions, Mr. Brown.
"When too many coincidences occur in rapid succession within the same group of people, it naturally invites speculation.
"Within the scope of our authority, we can choose to understand your position and pretend not to notice.
"But if the matter reaches people higher up, and they decide to investigate further, then due to our responsibilities, we'll have no choice but to voice certain possibilities—even if the evidence isn't entirely sufficient."
Those words could be interpreted as either a threat or goodwill.
It all depended on how one chose to hear them.
Henry, however, refused to openly acknowledge either meaning and continued playing dumb.
"Agent Coulson, I'm afraid I don't quite understand what you're saying. Did I do something in Toronto?
"Because I've been in Los Angeles this entire time. I haven't even visited that Canadian city. Could it be you've mistaken me for someone else?"
Coulson had clearly expected this response.
He looked as though he still wanted to say something more.
But in the end, the words never came out.
The psychological experts inside the agency had long reached a consensus: the man sitting before him would never be easily persuaded.
Yet the agency had still sent him here.
That left Coulson with a strange sense of unease.
Perhaps this trip had never truly been about convincing Henry to stop.
Even if that was what Coulson himself genuinely wanted—assuming those "accidents" really had been engineered by the man before him.
No.
The true purpose of this meeting was simply to deliver a message.
Or rather—a warning.
If Henry became frightened and stopped, then that would effectively confirm he was responsible for the previous incidents.
And if he could be intimidated into stopping, that meant he was controllable.
Which would be good.
But if he ignored the warning and continued as before, then the agency would begin actively investigating the unusually frequent "accidents."
If Henry truly had nothing to do with them, that would be the best possible outcome for him.
And the agency would uncover another hidden threat instead.
But if Henry was involved, then the agency would gain leverage over him.
Which would also be good.
Because if he still wished to maintain his comfortable life, that leverage would become an excellent means of control.
At that thought, Phil Coulson suddenly felt a chill crawl down his spine.
He didn't know whether Henry Brown could see through all of this.
Even someone like himself—already inside the system and mentally prepared—still found himself nauseated by the foul stench hidden beneath the many layers of the intelligence world.
Of course Henry understood perfectly well.
No matter who had sent the good-natured Coulson here to say these things, their intention was obvious:
They were forcing him to continue acting until he finally slipped up.
And since someone had formally issued a challenge—
How could he possibly refuse it?
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