Hyde Gardens, Manhattan.
Villa No. 1.
Tony Stark was showing off just how handsome a man looks when he transfers money on the spot.
The scene made Finnian Murdock feel… guilty, inexplicably guilty.
He knew he'd broken the cardinal rule of fleecing sheep: don't keep shaving the same fat sheep dry. One day, there won't be any wool left.
Even in Avengers: Endgame, when Tony's wealth ballooned thanks to his monopoly on advanced tech, his personal assets only brushed past $100 billion.
But billions in assets doesn't mean billions in liquid cash.
Even if Finnian managed to strip Tony clean, it still wouldn't make him invincible. Better to find a few more "big dogs" to milk.
Because no matter how fat one rich man is, personal assets will never compare to the monstrous machine of a government.
"Ding! Your Garden Bank account number 9527 has received 100,000,000. The current balance is—"
Tony slid his phone back into his pocket. "Alright, I'll head back and wait for your good news."
Truth be told, his liquid cash flow was stretched thin. In just a few days, he'd already spent over $300 million on Finnian.
And yet, he thought it was all worth it.
Renting out Mark armor prototypes, building that mechanical dog, paying for "consultant" fees… For Tony, it was worth every cent.
And this last $100 million? That was his bet on an extraordinary future.
"Thanks, Tony."
"It's fine, we're friends." Tony waved casually.
But then his eyes fell on the shabby Mazda parked out front of the villa, and his whole body itched in discomfort.
"Huh? Murdock's this frugal?"
He didn't understand it. But damn, he was impressed.
When Finnian drove that Mazda back to S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, his boss, the One-Eyed Bald Eagle himself, was grinning wide enough to show all his teeth.
"Agent Murdock, by committee vote, you are now officially promoted to Level 8 Agent and appointed Deputy Captain of the Rapid Response Special Forces."
Finnian accepted the commission. "Thank you, sir."
In America, you had to be at least 30 to run for Senate, 25 for the House of Representatives.
Finnian was 23. That gave him two years before he could run for New York State Assembly or even Congress.
The next two years would be absolutely critical.
Deputy Captain was a good starting point. But hey—no harm in being a little greedy.
Nick Fury clapped him on the shoulder, speaking with loaded meaning. "Rumlow's still recovering from his injuries. Keep a close eye on the special forces for now."
"Yes, sir," Finnian nodded.
Alright. Straight into Hydra's nest.
Fury gave him some vague encouragement before slipping away on "business." That left Coulson to wander over and share some advice.
"Murdock, you should spend more time with Rumlow. It'll benefit your future work."
"Sure, I'll pick up some supplements and visit him after work."
Coulson glanced around, then whispered, "Actually, better if you go during work hours."
"…That doesn't feel right," Finnian muttered.
So this was S.H.I.E.L.D.—where you nurture Hydra connections on the clock.
Fucking magical.
Then again, when you thought about it, it wasn't strange at all. S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra had been intertwined for decades, practically indistinguishable.
Even if Finnian someday took command of S.H.I.E.L.D., he wouldn't exterminate Hydra completely. Sometimes, you keep the enemy around for leverage.
"Don't worry, it's fine." Coulson added, "Also—Stark may need us soon."
"Got it." Finnian flashed him an OK sign.
Probably news about Iron Monger gearing up. But with the robot dog guarding Tony, that walking tin can didn't stand a chance.
Later, Finnian brought a can of pork rib soup to the hospital to visit Rumlow.
Three broken ribs meant rib soup. That's just ancient wisdom.
"Oi, brother—I'm here to see you."
Rumlow's dull eyes suddenly lit up, like a lifeless puppet suddenly infused with a soul.
"Hey, bro!"
If this guy joined Hydra fully? Hydra might actually collapse from sheer irony.
Overcome with excitement, Rumlow forgot he was injured. He tried to sit up—only to get slammed by a sharp wave of pain.
"Hiss—"
Finnian raised a hand to help, but Rumlow waved him off.
"Don't move, don't move—might break it again."
"…Sorry, bro, I'll grab a doctor."
"It's nothing." Rumlow's face was pale, but he still forced a grin. "Just a minor injury. No big deal."
Finnian gave him a thumbs up. "You're tough as hell."
After a bit more small talk, they were already like sworn brothers.
"No meat, huh? Then take care of the squad for me."
"Don't worry. Heal up. Once you're better, we'll fight side by side."
If Finnian hadn't gotten a phone call just then, he might've walked out with an official Hydra recruitment offer.
Hell's Kitchen.
Nelson, Murdock & Page LLP.
Matt, Karen, and Foggy all surrounded Finnian like they'd never seen him before.
"Finn, seriously? You kept this from us for so long?"
"Heh." Finnian scratched his head. "Karen, I just didn't want to bring unnecessary trouble down on us."
"Then why aren't you worried now?" she pressed.
"Sit down, sit down. You're making me nervous standing like that."
They settled in. Karen, ever thoughtful, poured out fresh coffee for everyone.
Matt leaned forward. "Alright. Tell us."
Finnian took a breath. "Brother… I want to be the boss."
PFFFFFT—
Three simultaneous spit-takes.
Before the coffee could splash into his face, Finnian blew a cold breath—freezing the drinks mid-air into slushies.
"The boss? The beautiful boss?"
Even blind, Matt still looked stunned.
Finnian spread his hands. "Of course. What, you think I'd settle for Unknown country?"
When the time came to run for president, he'd need a campaign team and serious funding. Who better than his own brother, his friends, and his sister-in-law-to-be?
Not only trusted lawyers, but also the perfect campaign machine.
"Are you serious?"
"Dead serious, brother."
Why was Finnian so obsessed with becoming president?
Simple.
Because his Majesty the Speaker once sold VIP "gold cards" at $5 million a pop.
And they sold 70,000 of them in six months.
That's $350 billion.
Motherfucking knife music.
It was always about money. That was the proper way to open the conversation.
"Finn, tell us why," Karen asked, still shocked.
It wasn't like she'd just met him yesterday. They'd known each other for years, and yet here he was dropping this bombshell.
"Brothers and sisters—why did you open a law firm?"