Sitting at his computer, Herman completed a series of stock acquisitions with quiet satisfaction.
Everything had unfolded exactly as he predicted. The moment Tony Stark announced the shutdown of Stark Industries' weapons division, the stock price went into free fall.
Even the capital groups that had stayed calm and simply observed after Stark's disappearance were now rushing to dump their shares without hesitation. To most people, Tony Stark was a genius weapons maker, not a business genius. If a man like him stopped building weapons, then his value as an investment disappeared.
"But I'm different. I know that soon a new element will be created. When that happens, Stark Industries can pivot into becoming an energy giant."
After his moves, Herman's only regret was that he hadn't managed to secure more. Tony Stark had reacted too quickly. In their scramble for shares, Herman expanded his holdings only to forty-six percent. By then, circulating shares were scarce—gaining even a few percentage points was no small feat. Stark himself had only managed to raise his stake to forty-three percent. By the numbers, Herman was still the largest shareholder.
It had to be said, the current shareholding structure of Stark Industries was bizarre. For a publicly traded company to have just one percent of its shares in circulation was outrageous. It showed just how little faith the outside world had in Stark's future.
Investors were dumping stock en masse. News outlets called Stark's decision the most foolish of his career. Some went further still, declaring that Stark Industries was on the verge of collapse.
"Boss, your stock is worthless now."
Attorney Matt walked in through the door, his expression filled with pity.
Who could have imagined Tony Stark would actually shut down the weapons division? Matt figured even Herman hadn't seen that coming. An arms dealer who doesn't sell arms—Stark must have lost his mind.
Even Matt, usually so righteous, thought so. So it wasn't hard to imagine what the general public believed. In truth, most Americans would never link arms with evil. Only those who had personally seen the destruction they caused would ever understand that arms dealers were the true source of misery.
"Heh."
Herman only smiled.
He didn't bother explaining. All he needed was half a month. Then reality itself would show Matt what true foresight meant.
The most profitable industry in the world wasn't arms dealing. Unlike weapons, which were consumed only in times of war, energy was a necessity people used every single day.
"Really, boss, you shouldn't be too discouraged. Tony Stark's a genius. He'll definitely find a way to make money again."
Matt assumed Herman's silence came from frustration. Dropping his usual sarcasm, he tried to offer a serious analysis.
Of course, he still believed no industry could ever be as profitable as selling weapons. In his view, Stark Industries would inevitably drop out of the top ranks.
Herman didn't argue. He simply listened patiently until Matt finished speaking.
"If there's nothing else, turn right at the exit—today's toilet hasn't been cleaned yet."
Herman opened the TV show streaming app. After watching Matt finish his "analysis" of the future, he hit pause on the show and gave the lawyer a look that clearly said, You can go now.
Most people would have caught the hint immediately. Unfortunately, Matt was blind—literally—and couldn't read the expression at all.
"Doesn't our company have professional cleaners?" Matt stayed seated at the desk, showing no intention of leaving.
He was still turning over in his mind what Tony Stark's decision might mean for New York, and whether it could even bankrupt his own boss. A hundred billion gone in smoke—Matt figured even a big-shot tycoon would take serious damage from that.
"Fox isn't scrubbing toilets, and Cross went home for a banquet—his son's girlfriend just turned eighty."
Herman explained with a perfectly straight face.
Of course, it was nonsense. In reality, Cross was out on a mission—an assassination assignment Herman had given him.
The target: Justin Hammer, head of Hammer Industries. Whenever there was downtime, Cross would scout locations and gather intel. After careful prep, he'd finally found an opening today.
Justin Hammer wanted to use Stark Industries' exit from the weapons business as his chance to unload his stockpiled, unsellable arms onto Middle Eastern tycoons.
Earlier that morning, Hammer had bragged on social media about arriving in the region, posting photos of himself receiving a lavish welcome from a prince.
Clearly, he was showing off. He even tagged his location—handing Cross an easy opportunity.
"Eighty years old?"
Matt didn't doubt Herman's words.
He was simply stunned. Cross didn't sound that old, and his son could only be in his twenties, not yet thirty. That was one hell of an age gap. Matt figured it had to be true love—what else could make someone leap across three generations to get married?
"You want one too? Word is that old lady's best friend is deaf, and she's looking for a blind husband."
"You've been single long enough, with too much free time. Maybe it's time someone reined you in." Herman's tone was disturbingly serious.
Matt froze.
"Where's my cane?"
He immediately put on the act of a blind man struggling with mobility, fumbling his way out of Herman's office at top speed. It was practically a panicked scramble.
"What's wrong with you?"
Aunt May, busy moving office supplies, spotted Matt leaning against the wall, drenched in sweat and breathing hard.
"Just some exercise."
Matt blurted out the lie. He couldn't exactly admit his boss had just tried setting him up with an eighty-year-old girlfriend who would "take care of him."
"Well, you really are disciplined."
Aunt May wanted to get rid of him, so she didn't comment further on his strange behavior. "By the way, Matt, I'm stuck on another case. Could you help me out again?"
This was clearly not the first time she'd asked him for help.
Passionate about community work, Aunt May often clashed with radical groups, which inevitably landed her in little legal messes.
In the original timeline, Daredevil—Matt Murdock—had basically been her personal lawyer, even handling Spider-Man's bail. Though Herman's presence had changed history in this universe, some things still fell into place the same way.
"Of course, no problem."
Matt forced a smile, flashed an OK sign in her direction, then wiped the sweat from his forehead.
"Thank you, Matt. You're such a good man."
Aunt May handed him an envelope with his legal fees.
Even though they were friends, she refused to take advantage of him. For a blind man to live so bravely was already impressive enough.
Look at him—steady job and all, yet clearly burdened. His difficult life must have left him mentally frayed, Aunt May thought as she walked away, glancing back at him every few steps before heading into her office.
Nearby, another office door opened.
Fox stepped out.
Cross's private job for Herman had nothing to do with her. She walked straight toward the TV in the lobby.
Skye, with no school to attend and little work to do, was sprawled in front of the screen cracking sunflower seeds. For some reason, she only ever bought the caramel-flavored ones.
"Skye, you're heading out soon, right?"
Fox patted Skye's shoulder. Her figure had noticeably rounded out—clearly, she too had fallen victim to Carrie's relentless food offerings.
"Yeah, I need to pick up some daily necessities." Skye's tone was vague, but Fox knew exactly what she meant. Nothing more than what every girl needs once a month.
"Then could you grab a couple packs of those little cookies from yesterday?"
Fox gave Skye a charming smile. Even with the extra weight, her looks and aura still carried a sultry edge.
"You like them too?"
Skye glanced at her with some surprise.
"Not really. I don't care much for dry snacks. It's Carrie—she won't stop talking about them. She told me to ask you to bring back more."
Fox remembered that milk-soaked cookie concoction and shuddered. To her, it was pure culinary heresy. She much preferred good old American-style cookies.
"Carrie wants some?"
Skye instantly understood what "some" meant—it would be measured by the box. Lately, she was more and more convinced Carrie was actually an alien.
"No problem."
She flashed Fox an OK sign and turned her eyes back to the television, which was playing a conspiracy show.
Conveniently, the topic was aliens.
[What Is the U.S. Hiding? Are Aliens Really on the Far Side of the Moon?] This kind of show wasn't just for people scraping by on minimum wage.
Skye watched intently.
Fox didn't bother her further. Of everyone in the company, Skye was probably the only one with an interest in alien theories. Fox herself would sooner believe in ghosts than extraterrestrials.
…
"Boss!"
After leaving instructions with Skye, Fox headed straight for Herman's office. She often came by to complain that no Destiny missions had been assigned lately. Today was no different.
"If Destiny hasn't given us guidance, doesn't that just mean the future is looking bright?" Herman was already fed up with this sultry assassin constantly pestering him.
"But before, we had targets every single day."
Fox couldn't shake her doubts about this new, easygoing life. It wasn't that she disliked the company's laid-back atmosphere. But as an assassin of Fate, she felt she shouldn't be living in comfort—she needed to keep fighting for the future.
"That was Sloan deceiving you, using you for his profit. I'm different. I follow the true will of Fate."
Herman wasn't making things up. Not long ago, he had visited a hidden base in New Mexico.
Sloan had concealed the real Loom of Fate there. Having read Sloan's memories, Herman naturally found it. After retrieving the magic-infused Loom, he even studied it for a while.
Unfortunately, Herman didn't understand magic, nor did he want to drop by the New York Sanctum for tea. When his research got him nowhere, he tossed the Loom into a pocket dimension.
Since then, it hadn't produced a single name.
The void and Herman's world were two separate realms—it shouldn't affect the Loom's operation… right? As someone carrying the title [Favored of Fate], Herman figured he had at least some authority to interpret such things.
Besides, the ordinary names that spilled out of the Loom didn't matter for the future of Earth in the Marvel Universe anyway.
At the end of the day, the Marvel Universe was a high-risk world.
It was the extraordinary beings who truly shaped it.
Sure, Herman had inherited tasks related to the assassin organization. But building it into a formidable force couldn't be done by just taking out a few random people.
Take this latest assignment.
When Cross was sent after Justin Hammer, Herman had specifically told him to leave behind distinctive traces—to raise the organization's profile.
He'd even done some research on the matter. If the group was going to grow, mystery had to be its core strength.
They were Fate's assassins, after all.
How could they not add a touch of spectacle?
"If Fate had given guidance, I would have assigned you a mission."
Herman had nothing pressing to entrust to Fox, who, in truth, was just an ordinary person. He tried to calm her down.
"Didn't Cross go out on a mission today?"
Fox looked at him with open disbelief. She was convinced Herman was playing favorites. Why was Cross allowed on missions while she wasn't? Was it really just because his assassin skills were a bit sharper than hers?
A loyal believer in Fate, Fox longed for a mission of her own. By now, she had already made up her mind in silence.
"Cross only went to attend his son's wedding banquet."
Herman tossed out another excuse. The assassination contract he had placed on Justin Hammer was a secret. Not an impossible one to share—but the fewer who knew, the better. Hammer was a major American tycoon. His death would stir up a storm of complications, and Herman had no desire to get dragged in.
"His son's a loser. You think I haven't seen him?"
Fox curled her lip in disdain. "The guy's eyes nearly popped out when he saw me—like he'd never laid eyes on a woman before. Oh, right, he does have a girlfriend, but she's cheating on him with his best friend. And even after finding out, he hasn't reacted at all. Tsk tsk... what kind of man is that?"
Herman was taken aback.
For her to know so much about Cross's son could only mean Cross had introduced her to the boy recently. And yes, Herman had to admit—the kid did seem weak for a man.
"You can't put it that way. Even if Cross's son is a cuckold who likes watching his girlfriend with his buddy..."
Before Herman could spin a more convincing story, Fox suddenly began stripping right in front of him.
Her figure, even with a touch of softness, still rivaled Jean Grey's in its prime—completely natural, with no enhancements. Her curves were smooth and flawless.
Herman froze.
"What are you doing?"
She had caught him completely off guard. Damn it, this was the office—in the middle of the company! Employees were right outside! He could even hear Skye chatting with someone down the hall.
"I know. To earn Fate's favor, you have to pay a price... My assassination skills may not match Cross's, but I have an even greater advantage."
Fox's expression was resolute. She walked straight toward Herman, seated on the sofa, without a shred of hesitation.
"I'll show you my... loyalty."
With that, she sank to her knees before him.
"Hhh—"
The sudden, skillful assault made Herman's pupils contract sharply. Faced with Fox's determination, he realized he had no real way to resist.
He could only shut his eyes, use telekinesis to lock the office door, and draw the curtains.
In an instant, the room felt like a battlefield once again.