# Stark Industries Advanced Weapons Development Laboratory – Pasadena Facility – 9:23 AM PST
The laboratory sprawled across two floors of reinforced concrete and bulletproof glass, a cathedral dedicated to the religion of making things that exploded with precision. Banks of computer terminals lined walls that had witnessed decades of innovation, while testing chambers built to contain small nuclear detonations waited patiently for their next opportunity to prove their worth. The air carried that distinctive scent of ozone, metal, and the particular anxiety that came from working with things that could kill you if you miscalculated by decimal points.
Tony Stark strode through the main entrance like he owned the place—which he did—carrying a leather portfolio that contained designs that would either revolutionize weapons technology or get him committed to a psychiatric facility for claiming his six-year-old son had redesigned military hardware over breakfast.
"Morning, boss," called Marcus Chen, lead engineer for the Jericho project, looking up from a workstation covered in holographic projections that showed missile trajectory calculations complex enough to make NASA jealous. His gray hair spoke to decades of experience turning theoretical impossibilities into functional prototypes, while his permanent expression of mild concern suggested he'd learned that working for Tony Stark meant accepting that normal engineering timelines were more guidelines than actual requirements.
"Marcus." Tony's greeting was distracted, his mind already racing ahead to the conversation he was about to have that would either be brilliant or career-ending for everyone involved. "Conference room. Now. And bring everyone who's been working on the Jericho repulsor systems."
Something in Tony's tone made Marcus's eyes sharpen with the kind of alert attention usually reserved for fire drills or surprise quality control audits. "All of them? Sir, that's fifteen engineers—"
"All of them," Tony confirmed, already moving toward the glass-walled conference room that overlooked the main laboratory floor. "And Marcus? Clear your schedule for the day. What I'm about to show you is going to require complete reconstruction of our current approach."
Twenty minutes later, fifteen of Stark Industries' most brilliant weapons engineers were packed into a conference room designed for ten, their collective anxiety creating the kind of professional tension that usually preceded either major breakthroughs or spectacular project cancellations.
Tony stood at the head of the table, the leather portfolio unopened before him, studying the assembled team with the focused intensity of someone about to either make their careers or end them.
"Right," he said, his voice carrying that particular authority that had convinced shareholders and generals alike that Tony Stark's genius was worth whatever chaos it generated. "The Jericho missile system. Eighteen months of development, forty-seven million dollars invested, and according to every technical evaluation, we're approximately six months from prototype completion."
He paused, letting that sink in while watching their expressions shift from nervous to cautiously hopeful.
"Which is why," Tony continued with the kind of calm that preceded earthquakes, "I'm scrapping the entire repulsor propulsion system and starting over from scratch."
The silence that followed was so complete that the laboratory's ventilation systems sounded like jet engines. Marcus looked like he'd been struck by lightning, while several junior engineers appeared to be reconsidering their career choices and possibly their entire understanding of reality.
"Sir," Marcus said carefully, his voice carrying the diplomatic precision of someone who'd survived two decades of corporate restructuring and knew how to navigate impossible conversations, "when you say 'scrapping the entire repulsor system'—"
"I mean exactly that," Tony interrupted, opening the portfolio with deliberate precision. "The current design is functional, meets basic specifications, and would probably achieve acceptable performance in field conditions. But 'acceptable' isn't good enough. Not when there's a demonstrably superior approach available."
He activated the conference room's holographic projection system, and suddenly the air above the table filled with three-dimensional technical schematics that made every engineer in the room lean forward with involuntary professional fascination.
The new repulsor design was beautiful in the way that perfect mathematical equations were beautiful—elegant, efficient, and so intuitively correct that it seemed impossible no one had thought of it before. Magnetic containment fields nested within each other like Russian dolls, energy distribution patterns flowed with liquid grace through pathways that minimized waste, and targeting algorithms integrated with guidance systems in ways that suggested someone had fundamentally rethought the entire concept of precision weapons delivery.
"Holy shit," breathed Jennifer Morrison, the team's lead physicist whose specialty was making theoretical concepts into functional hardware. Her dark eyes were wide as she studied the projections with the kind of hunger usually reserved for revolutionary discoveries. "Sir, these efficiency calculations—if this is accurate, we're looking at energy output improvements of nearly three hundred percent with simultaneously enhanced accuracy and reduced resource consumption."
"It's accurate," Tony confirmed with the satisfaction of someone who'd spent the past twelve hours double-checking calculations and running simulations until even his perfectionist instincts were satisfied. "And the practical applications extend far beyond basic missile guidance. This repulsor architecture could be adapted for transportation systems, construction equipment, emergency rescue operations—any application requiring precise manipulation of objects through directed energy."
Marcus was now examining the holographic projections with the focused intensity of someone whose professional pride had been simultaneously wounded and intrigued by the realization that everything his team had built could be significantly improved.
"The magnetic field stabilization alone represents advances I've never seen in commercial or military applications," he said slowly, his engineering mind clearly racing through implications and possibilities. "Sir, where did you develop these specifications? Because if this came from classified research programs or foreign technology acquisition—"
"It came from my son," Tony said simply.
The conference room fell silent again, but this time the quality of silence was different—more confused than shocked, edging toward the kind of professional concern that suggested several people were wondering if their CEO had experienced some kind of stress-induced breakdown.
"Your son," Marcus repeated carefully. "Harry. The six-year-old."
"Nearly seven," Tony corrected automatically, then couldn't help grinning at the expressions surrounding him. "I know how it sounds. Trust me, I had the same reaction when he showed me these designs yesterday afternoon while casually explaining that our current repulsor architecture was 'functionally adequate but theoretically suboptimal for achieving maximum efficiency within acceptable resource constraints.'"
"A six-year-old said that," Jennifer stated, her tone hovering somewhere between disbelief and the dawning realization that Tony Stark wasn't joking about any of this.
"He's remarkably articulate," Tony said dryly. "But more importantly, he's right. Look at these calculations—" He gestured toward a section of the holographic projection that showed energy distribution models. "The magnetic field harmonics alone would have taken our team months to optimize properly. Harry worked them out in approximately four hours while simultaneously redesigning my workshop's lighting system for improved circadian rhythm optimization."
He paused, letting that sink in while watching fifteen brilliant engineers process the reality that a child who wasn't old enough to legally operate most machinery had casually solved problems they'd been struggling with for months.
"I've verified every calculation," Tony continued with absolute professional seriousness. "JARVIS has run comprehensive simulations across multiple scenario parameters. The mathematics are sound, the engineering principles are correct, and the practical applications are extraordinary. This isn't theoretical speculation—this is functional innovation that we can implement immediately."
Marcus was quiet for several long moments, his experienced mind clearly working through professional pride, genuine curiosity, and the pragmatic recognition that if Tony Stark said something was brilliant, it was probably worth examining regardless of who created it.
"Sir," he said finally, "with all due respect to your son's apparent genius, implementing a completely new propulsion system would require—"
"Six weeks," Tony interrupted. "Maybe eight if we encounter unexpected materials fabrication challenges. I want prototype construction beginning immediately, with parallel development tracks for both military and civilian applications."
"Civilian applications?" Jennifer looked up from her intense study of the energy distribution calculations. "Sir, the Jericho is a military contract. We're not authorized to develop alternative commercial uses for classified weapons technology."
"The Jericho contract specifies a missile guidance system with enhanced accuracy and efficiency," Tony corrected with the kind of precision that suggested he'd been reviewing legal documentation as thoroughly as technical specifications. "It doesn't restrict us from developing the underlying propulsion technology for other applications, particularly if those applications serve legitimate civilian purposes and don't compromise military functionality."
He gestured toward the holographic projections again, this time highlighting sections that showed non-weapons applications.
"Transportation pods using magnetic repulsion for urban transit systems," he outlined with growing enthusiasm. "Construction equipment that can manipulate heavy materials with precision previously impossible using conventional hydraulics. Emergency rescue systems that can lift debris or extract victims from disaster sites without risking additional structural collapse. Medical applications for non-invasive surgery using precisely controlled magnetic fields."
The conference room was now filled with engineers who'd shifted from skeptical to professionally intrigued, their collective expertise recognizing genuine innovation when confronted with it.
"The applications are extraordinary," Marcus admitted, though his expression still carried reservations about implementing revolutionary technology designed by someone who probably still had homework assignments. "But Mr. Stark, even if your son's designs are mathematically sound, practical construction involves complications that theoretical work doesn't address. Materials tolerances, manufacturing precision, quality control protocols—"
"All addressed in the supporting documentation," Tony interrupted, activating additional holographic displays that showed comprehensive construction specifications, materials requirements, testing protocols, and safety procedures that demonstrated someone had thought through practical implementation with systematic thoroughness.
"Harry included detailed manufacturing guidelines," Tony explained with obvious pride. "Assembly sequences, quality control checkpoints, failure mode analysis, and comprehensive safety protocols. He even specified optimal workshop environmental conditions for precision fabrication."
Jennifer was now scrolling through pages of supporting documentation with the focused attention of someone discovering that a child had casually produced graduate-level engineering work that would impress doctoral committees.
"This is remarkable," she said quietly. "The level of detail, the anticipation of practical complications, the integration of theoretical elegance with manufacturing pragmatism—Mr. Stark, if I didn't know better, I'd say these specifications came from someone with decades of engineering experience."
"He's been learning from the best," Tony said with a grin that was equal parts pride and barely controlled amazement at his own good fortune in finding this particular child. "Though I suspect he's inherited some natural talent from parents who apparently excelled at making impossible things possible."
The engineers were now actively engaged with the holographic projections, their professional skepticism giving way to genuine excitement as they recognized the scope and sophistication of what they were being offered.
"Timeline for prototype construction?" Marcus asked, his tone shifting from defensive to professionally engaged as his engineering instincts overcame his wounded pride at being upstaged by a six-year-old.
"Aggressive but achievable," Tony replied. "I want initial component fabrication beginning this afternoon, with full system integration testing scheduled for five weeks from today. The defense department's expecting prototype demonstrations next month, and I'd like to deliver something that exceeds their expectations while simultaneously laying groundwork for civilian applications."
"What about the existing Jericho development?" Jennifer asked. "Sir, we've got forty-seven million dollars and eighteen months of work invested in current systems."
"Not wasted," Tony assured her. "The existing guidance systems, targeting algorithms, and delivery mechanisms remain functional and compatible with the new repulsor architecture. We're replacing the propulsion technology, not rebuilding from scratch. Most of your existing work integrates directly with Harry's improvements."
He gestured toward sections of the holographic display that showed how new and old systems could interface, technical documentation that demonstrated someone had thought through compatibility issues with existing infrastructure.
"The kid did his homework," Marcus observed with grudging respect. "He didn't just design revolutionary technology—he designed revolutionary technology that works with what we've already built."
"He's considerate like that," Tony said with dry amusement. "Also probably practical enough to recognize that completely scrapping eighteen months of engineering work would be wasteful and potentially create implementation delays."
The conference room had transformed from anxious tension to excited collaboration as fifteen brilliant engineers began the mental transition from defending existing work to embracing superior alternatives and planning implementation strategies.
"Right," Marcus said with the decisive tone of someone whose professional pride had finished mourning and started looking forward to the challenge, "I want materials fabrication teams activated immediately. Jennifer, you coordinate component specifications with our manufacturing partners. Anderson, you begin simulation testing on the magnetic field integration. Davis, you handle quality control protocol development."
The engineers scattered to their various workstations with the focused energy of people who'd just been handed genuinely interesting problems to solve, leaving Tony and Marcus alone in the conference room surrounded by holographic projections of revolutionary technology designed by someone who wasn't old enough to have a learner's permit.
"Mr. Stark," Marcus said quietly, his expression serious despite the excitement in his eyes, "I've been working in advanced weapons development for twenty-three years. I've seen innovations from DARPA, from classified military research programs, from the brightest engineering minds on three continents. And I have to tell you—what your son has created here ranks among the most sophisticated work I've ever encountered."
"I know," Tony said simply.
"Which raises some rather significant questions about security, intellectual property protection, and what happens when the defense department realizes that revolutionary military technology was designed by a six-year-old who probably has opinions about ethical weapons use and civilian applications."
"Nearly seven," Tony corrected, then sobered as he recognized the legitimate concerns underlying Marcus's observation. "And yes, those are all excellent questions that I'm currently working through with legal counsel, security consultants, and everyone else who has opinions about protecting intellectual property developed by minor children with extraordinary capabilities."
Marcus studied him with the focused attention of someone who'd known Tony Stark long enough to recognize when personal concerns were affecting professional decisions.
"He's why you've been distracted lately," he said with understanding rather than accusation. "Not distracted from work—distracted by work. You're trying to balance weapons development with raising a child who has strong opinions about ethical innovation."
"Something like that," Tony admitted. "Though 'balance' might be too strong a word for what's essentially controlled chaos involving corporate obligations, family responsibilities, and trying to protect a brilliant kid from people who'd exploit his gifts for purposes that conflict with his values."
"Well," Marcus said with a slight smile, "for what it's worth, if your controlled chaos produces technology like this, maybe corporate board members should spend less time complaining about your work schedule and more time celebrating whatever's inspiring this level of innovation."
Before Tony could respond, the conference room door opened to admit Obadiah Stane, whose expression suggested he'd been informed of activity in the weapons development laboratory and had decided this warranted personal investigation.
"Tony," Stane said, his voice carrying that familiar blend of paternal concern and professional assessment. His gray beard was perfectly groomed despite the early hour, his suit pressed to executive precision. "Marcus mentioned you'd initiated some kind of major project revision. I thought I'd check in personally."
"Obie." Tony's greeting was professionally cordial but lacking the warmth that had characterized their relationship before recent conversations about priorities and family obligations. "Perfect timing. I was just about to send you preliminary reports on the new Jericho repulsor specifications."
He gestured toward the holographic projections that still filled the conference room with luminous technical beauty, and watched as Stane's expression shifted from mild curiosity to focused professional attention.
"These are remarkable," Stane said after several moments of silent study, his experienced eye recognizing genuine innovation despite not understanding all the technical details. "Energy efficiency improvements alone would justify complete system redesign, but the enhanced targeting capabilities and reduced resource consumption—Tony, this could revolutionize our entire propulsion technology portfolio."
"That's the idea," Tony confirmed. "I want prototype construction completed before next week."
"Next week?" Stane's eyebrows rose with professional concern about aggressive timelines. "Tony, even with accelerated development protocols, complete system integration usually requires—"
"I want it done before next week," Tony interrupted with quiet authority, "because next Thursday is Harry's seventh birthday, and I intend to spend that day focused on family celebration rather than corporate obligations. Which means I need the Jericho repulsor work completed, documented, and ready for defense department presentation so I can take uninterrupted time with my son."
The silence that followed carried weight beyond simple schedule discussion, loaded with implications about priorities that had apparently shifted since Stane's last conversation with Tony about balancing fatherhood with professional responsibilities.
Stane's expression was carefully neutral when he responded, though something flickered behind his eyes that suggested calculations being revised and strategies being reconsidered.
"Of course," he said smoothly. "Family celebrations are important. Though I have to say, Tony—if this level of innovation is what fatherhood inspires, perhaps I should reconsider my earlier concerns about work-life balance affecting productivity."
"The innovation," Tony said with careful emphasis, "was designed by Harry. These specifications, the technical documentation, the manufacturing guidelines—all his work."
Now Stane's expression transformed from professional appreciation to something more complex—surprise mixed with calculation and what might have been the early stages of predatory interest that Tony recognized but couldn't quite place.
"Harry designed this?" Stane moved closer to the holographic projections, studying them with renewed attention that carried different weight than simple professional assessment. "Your six-year-old son created weapons technology that could revolutionize our entire defense portfolio?"
"Nearly seven," Tony corrected automatically, then watched as Stane continued examining the displays with the focused intensity of someone recognizing opportunities beyond immediate technical applications.
"Remarkable," Stane murmured, his voice carrying undertones that suggested wheels turning behind his professional mask. "Tony, if the boy has this kind of capability at six—at nearly seven—imagine what he could accomplish with proper guidance, corporate resources, and focused development of his natural talents."
"He's getting excellent guidance," Tony replied with protective edge creeping into his tone. "Between Pepper's organizational expertise, educational consultants, and my own technical mentoring, Harry has support systems that encourage his gifts while ensuring he develops appropriate social skills and ethical frameworks."
"Of course," Stane agreed smoothly, though his attention remained fixed on the holographic projections with the kind of hungry assessment that made Tony's protective instincts engage more forcefully. "Though I wonder if we shouldn't consider more formal arrangements for integrating his capabilities with Stark Industries research programs. Consulting agreements, intellectual property frameworks, perhaps even junior partnership considerations once he reaches appropriate age."
"Harry's seven next week," Tony said with dangerous calm. "Not seventeen. He's not joining any corporate partnerships, consulting arrangements, or research programs that treat him as a resource rather than a child who needs childhood."
"I'm not suggesting exploitation," Stane protested with the diplomatic smoothness of someone who'd spent decades navigating corporate politics. "Simply ensuring that his innovations receive proper support, protection, and development within structures that benefit both his growth and the company's strategic interests."
"What Harry needs," Tony replied with absolute firmness, "is family who loves him unconditionally, education that nurtures his curiosity without pressuring him toward specific outcomes, and protection from people who'd treat his genius as a commodity rather than recognizing him as a person with his own interests and autonomy."
The temperature in the conference room had dropped several degrees despite California sunshine streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows, the conversation shifting from professional discussion to something more fundamental about competing visions for Harry's future.
Stane studied Tony with the focused attention of someone who'd known him for twenty years and was recognizing that something fundamental had changed in their relationship—boundaries being established, priorities being reordered, and perhaps most significantly, protection being offered to something Stane hadn't previously considered as a variable in their corporate partnership.
"I understand paternal instincts, Tony," Stane said with the tone of someone attempting to rebuild diplomatic bridges while maintaining strategic flexibility. "And I respect your commitment to Harry's welfare. I'm simply suggesting that we think strategically about how to nurture his extraordinary capabilities in ways that benefit everyone."
"I appreciate the concern," Tony replied with professional courtesy that didn't quite mask underlying steel. "But strategic planning for Harry's future will be handled by his family—meaning me, Pepper, and the people who actually care about his happiness rather than his potential contribution to quarterly earnings."
He gathered the leather portfolio with deliberate care, his body language clearly indicating that this conversation was approaching its conclusion.
"Now if you'll excuse me," Tony continued with the authority of someone who'd decided family commitments outweighed corporate hierarchies, "I have prototype specifications to finalize, manufacturing timelines to coordinate, and a birthday party to plan for someone who's considerably more important than any defense contract."
Marcus, who'd been quietly observing this exchange with the uncomfortable awareness of someone witnessing relationship dynamics that extended beyond his pay grade, cleared his throat diplomatically.
"I'll coordinate with the engineering teams on accelerated development protocols," he said with professional focus on immediately actionable tasks. "Mr. Stark, you'll have progress reports by end of day, with preliminary component fabrication completed by tomorrow afternoon."
"Perfect," Tony said, his expression warming as he shifted attention away from Stane toward people who understood that some things were worth more than corporate profits. "And Marcus? Document everything. I want comprehensive records of development processes, testing protocols, and safety validation. Because when Harry asks about practical implementation of his designs—and he will ask—I want to be able to show him that we treated his work with the respect and care it deserves."
After Tony left the conference room, Stane remained standing among the holographic projections, his expression cycling through calculations that extended far beyond immediate engineering challenges into territory that suggested long-term strategic planning with variables that hadn't existed in his previous corporate equations.
A six-year-old—nearly seven—who could casually redesign weapons systems that challenged the brightest engineers for months.
A child whose capabilities suggested potential that could be developed, directed, and ultimately controlled with appropriate incentives and careful management of family relationships.
A resource that might prove more valuable and more malleable than Tony Stark had ever been, particularly if circumstances made paternal protection less absolute and corporate guidance more attractive.
The game was changing in ways that required new strategies, new approaches, and perhaps new players who understood that genius without proper supervision was wasted potential waiting to be optimized for maximum return on investment.
Obadiah Stane smiled as he studied the revolutionary technology floating before him, his mind already working through possibilities that extended far beyond next week's birthday celebrations into futures where control meant something different than it had twenty years ago.
The golden goose had an heir.
And heirs, properly managed, could be even more valuable than the original.
—
# Obadiah Stane's Private Office – Stark Industries Headquarters – 11:47 PM PST
The office was dark except for the glow of Los Angeles sprawling below like a circuit board of ambition and desperation. Obadiah Stane sat behind his desk with a tumbler of scotch that cost more than most people's monthly rent, the amber liquid catching light from his computer screen as he reviewed technical specifications that had arrived from the weapons development laboratory that afternoon.
Harry Potter-Stark's revolutionary repulsor designs stared back at him with the elegant simplicity of genuine innovation—the kind that changed paradigms and created fortunes for those positioned to exploit them. But it was the signature at the bottom of the documentation that held his attention: neat, childish handwriting that spelled out a name belonging to someone who wouldn't be legally able to vote for another eleven years.
"Remarkable," he murmured to himself, swirling the scotch with practiced ease. "The old man spent forty years building an empire, Tony's spent twenty years maintaining it, and now a six-year-old casually produces technology that could redefine the entire industry."
He set down the glass with deliberate precision and reached for the satellite phone buried in his desk's false bottom—one of several communication devices that existed outside Stark Industries' official inventory and certainly beyond any government oversight agency's monitoring capabilities.
The encryption protocols engaged with a series of soft clicks that suggested military-grade security designed by people who understood that some conversations required absolute discretion. The call connected after three rings, answered by a voice that carried educated precision wrapped in barely concealed violence.
"Mr. Stane." Raza's greeting held the smooth courtesy of someone who'd learned that professional relationships required maintaining certain social niceties regardless of the actual nature of business being conducted. "I wasn't expecting communication so soon after our last meeting. Has something changed regarding our arrangements?"
"Significantly," Stane replied, his voice carrying the gravelly authority that had convinced shareholders and government officials alike that he understood both opportunities and risks with equal clarity. "I need to discuss modifications to our timeline and some rather substantial changes to our ultimate objectives."
There was a pause on the other end—the calculated silence of someone who'd spent years negotiating deals where enthusiasm could cost you millions and patience could make you fortunes.
"I'm listening," Raza said finally, his tone shifting to something more focused, more predatory.
Stane rose from his chair and moved to the windows, studying the city below while organizing thoughts that would redirect resources and redefine partnerships in ways that crossed lines he'd been approaching for years but had never quite committed to until tonight.
"Tony Stark has become a liability," he said with the clinical detachment of someone discussing quarterly projections rather than the systematic removal of a business partner he'd known for two decades. "His priorities have shifted in ways that make him unreliable for long-term strategic planning. The adoption has transformed him from a predictable innovator into an ethical philosopher with inconvenient opinions about weapons development and corporate responsibility."
"This represents a change from our previous discussions," Raza observed carefully. "You've spent years managing Mr. Stark's various eccentricities and creative impulses. What's made fatherhood different from his other distractions?"
"Because this time the distraction has its own agenda," Stane replied with cold precision. "And that agenda includes questioning the fundamental business model that's generated billions in revenue through strategic weapons sales to carefully selected international partners who appreciate discretion over diplomatic channels."
He returned to his desk, pulling up files on his computer that showed financial projections, market analyses, and strategic assessments that painted a picture of opportunities that required removing obstacles currently named Tony Stark.
"The boy—Harry—has capabilities that exceed his father's," Stane continued, his voice carrying the kind of calculated enthusiasm that suggested he'd found something valuable and was already planning how to acquire it. "Revolutionary weapons technology designed in hours rather than months. Energy systems that could transform entire industries. And most importantly—he's six years old. Nearly seven. Young enough to be guided, shaped, directed toward productive applications rather than ethical complications."
"You're suggesting," Raza said slowly, his voice carrying dawning comprehension mixed with professional interest, "that the child represents more valuable assets than the father?"
"I'm suggesting that a genius without twenty years of accumulated skepticism about corporate authority might prove more cooperative than one who's developed inconvenient opinions about personal autonomy and ethical innovation," Stane replied with brutal honesty about motivations he was no longer bothering to disguise with corporate euphemisms.
The silence that followed stretched long enough for both men to consider implications that extended far beyond simple business arrangements into territory where consequences couldn't be easily predicted or controlled once set in motion.
"What exactly are you proposing?" Raza asked finally.
Stane took a long swallow of scotch, feeling the burn settle in his chest while his mind worked through scenarios that ranged from containable incidents to international complications requiring resources he wasn't entirely certain he could access.
"Tony needs to complete the Jericho project," he said with the careful precision of someone who'd thought through practical logistics and timing considerations. "That technology represents too much potential revenue to risk incomplete development. The defense contracts alone are worth billions, and the international applications..." He trailed off meaningfully.
"So we wait," Raza concluded.
"We wait," Stane confirmed. "Tony's focused now—motivated by wanting to finish before his son's birthday next week. He'll complete prototype development, conduct comprehensive testing, document everything properly. And then..." He paused, choosing words carefully even over encrypted channels. "Then circumstances might arise that make Tony Stark's continued involvement in Stark Industries operations... impractical."
"Impractical," Raza repeated, the word carrying layers of meaning that both men understood without explicit elaboration. "And these circumstances—would they involve opportunities for your organization to acquire Stark technology through channels that avoid traditional corporate oversight?"
"They might," Stane said carefully. "If properly coordinated by partners who understand the value of discretion and the importance of maintaining deniability regarding certain operational details."
Another pause, longer this time, filled with calculations about profit margins, risk assessments, and the cold mathematics of violence disguised as business opportunity.
"This represents significant escalation from weapons procurement," Raza observed. "The kind of escalation that requires substantial resources, careful planning, and absolute commitment once initiated. You understand that once certain actions are taken, there's no returning to previous arrangements?"
"I understand perfectly," Stane replied with the grim certainty of someone who'd crossed internal boundaries and was now focused on practical implementation rather than moral hesitation. "Which is why I'm proposing a timeline that provides adequate preparation. Tony needs at least another year to complete comprehensive Jericho development—full system integration, testing protocols, manufacturing specifications, and documentation that would allow production to continue regardless of his personal involvement."
"A year," Raza mused. "Time enough for detailed planning, resource allocation, and identifying optimal circumstances for... operational implementation."
"Exactly," Stane confirmed. "And during that year, Tony continues his usual patterns—weapons development, technology innovation, corporate leadership. Nothing that would trigger his considerable paranoia or alert his security systems to potential complications."
"What about the boy?" Raza asked. "If Mr. Stark becomes unavailable, guardianship arrangements would presumably transfer to designated family members or legal representatives. How does that serve your interests in accessing the child's capabilities?"
Stane's smile was cold and calculating as he contemplated scenarios that made even his considerable capacity for ruthless pragmatism feel like he was approaching territory that required careful navigation.
"Legal guardianship during crisis situations is remarkably fluid," he said with the tone of someone who'd consulted experts about custodial arrangements and their vulnerabilities. "Particularly when the deceased parent's closest business partner can demonstrate both personal relationship and financial resources adequate for providing stable care during difficult transitions."
"You're planning to acquire custody," Raza said flatly.
"I'm planning to ensure the boy receives proper guidance from someone who understands the value of his gifts and knows how to develop them for maximum benefit," Stane corrected with semantic precision that disguised motivations he wasn't interested in examining too closely. "Tony's approach—encouraging ethical frameworks and personal autonomy—wastes potential that could be channeled toward profitable applications."
"And if the child resists such guidance?"
"He's six years old," Stane replied with cold pragmatism. "Nearly seven. Children that age respond to appropriate incentives, structured environments, and adults who demonstrate authority combined with rewards for cooperation. Within a year of proper management, he'll be producing innovations that make his current work look like elementary school projects."
Raza was quiet for several moments, his silence suggesting complex calculations about partnerships that crossed lines even his considerable moral flexibility found noteworthy.
"Mr. Stane," he said finally, "what you're proposing represents business arrangements that go beyond our previous collaborations. The resources required, the risks involved, the potential complications if circumstances don't develop according to plan—these all require additional compensation beyond our usual fee structures."
"Understood," Stane replied without hesitation. "I'm prepared to discuss substantially enhanced payment arrangements, resource allocation, and profit-sharing from technologies acquired through our partnership. We're talking about access to innovations worth billions—adequate compensation for operational support is simply reasonable business practice."
"Then we have preliminary understanding," Raza confirmed with professional satisfaction. "Though I want explicit agreement on several points before committing resources to this scale of operation."
"Name them."
"First—timeline flexibility. If circumstances present optimal opportunities before your year deadline, we need authorization to proceed without requiring additional approval."
"Agreed," Stane said, "provided such circumstances don't compromise technology acquisition or create complications that would interfere with accessing Stark Industries' intellectual property."
"Second—complete operational autonomy regarding methods and implementation. You specify outcomes, we determine approaches. No interference, no second-guessing, no liability if our methods generate consequences you'd prefer to avoid."
Stane hesitated fractionally, recognizing that he was about to surrender control over details that could have profound implications for outcomes he'd only considered abstractly until now.
"Agreed," he said finally, "with the understanding that operational autonomy doesn't extend to actions that would directly implicate Stark Industries or my personal involvement in ways that couldn't be successfully denied."
"Naturally," Raza replied smoothly. "Deniability serves both our interests. Third point—what happens to other complications?"
"Other complications?"
"The godfather who was recently exonerated. The security personnel who've demonstrated loyalty to Mr. Stark. The child's other guardians and educational consultants. These represent variables that could interfere with custody transition or create obstacles to accessing the boy's capabilities."
Stane was quiet, contemplating implications that extended beyond Tony's removal into territory involving multiple casualties and complications that would require extensive cleanup operations.
"Handle them as operationally necessary," he said finally, his voice flat with the kind of moral surrender that came from deciding some objectives justified any means. "Priority is securing the child and ensuring his cooperation. Everything else is secondary to that outcome."
"Understood," Raza confirmed with the professional satisfaction of someone who'd just received authorization for comprehensive operational freedom. "Then we have agreement in principle. I'll begin preliminary planning and resource allocation. You'll receive regular updates through our usual encrypted channels, with detailed operational proposals closer to implementation timeline."
"One more thing," Stane added before ending the call. "The child's birthday is next Thursday. Tony's planning extensive celebrations—family gathering, probably security everywhere, maximum protective measures. That week is off-limits for any operational activity. Let them have their party. Let Tony feel secure. It'll make subsequent developments more effective when circumstances change."
"Generous of you," Raza observed with irony that suggested he recognized Stane's reasoning had more to do with strategic timing than humanitarian considerations.
"Practical," Stane corrected. "Comfortable targets are easier to acquire than alert ones. Let Tony think he's won—balanced work with family, completed Jericho development, protected his son successfully. The satisfaction will make him careless."
After ending the call, Stane sat alone in his dark office, staring at the city below while contemplating choices that would reshape Stark Industries, eliminate obstacles that had become liabilities, and acquire assets that could generate profits exceeding anything achieved during Howard Stark's lifetime or Tony's tenure.
A six-year-old with capabilities that could revolutionize weapons technology, energy systems, and countless other applications.
A child young enough to be guided, controlled, directed toward profitable outcomes without inconvenient ethical complications.
A resource that required removing one obstacle—one brilliant, paranoid, protective obstacle who'd spent twenty years being more trouble than he was worth.
Obadiah Stane finished his scotch and began reviewing files that would help him prepare for the aftermath of decisions made tonight, planning for futures where control meant something different than partnership and where genius served corporate interests without the burden of personal autonomy.
The game had changed.
And he was going to win.
---
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