The morning meeting was in Hell's Kitchen, and David arrived twenty minutes early out of habit. The location wasn't accidental, James had specifically chosen a coffee shop three blocks from Nelson & Murdock, the tiny law firm that would eventually house one of New York's most effective vigilantes.
Not that David could do anything with that information yet. Matt Murdock was just a lawyer right now, blind and brilliant and not yet wearing a mask. Reaching out to him prematurely would be dangerous and probably counterproductive. But being aware of him, establishing patterns that might lead to natural contact later... that was just good planning.
"You're early," James observed, already seated at a corner table with impressive sight lines. Marcus's influence, probably.
"You're earlier."
"Couldn't sleep. The funding model keeps shifting every time I run new projections." James looked tired, his usually meticulous appearance slightly rumpled. "Do you know how many variables we're juggling? We're trying to scale up operations by a factor of ten while maintaining our principles and staying under the radar. The math is... challenging."
David ordered coffee from a barista who looked barely twenty and radiated cynical New York energy, then joined James at the table. "Talk to me. What's the biggest bottleneck?"
"Cash flow in year one of the expansion. We can make the model work long-term, the investments I'm planning will pay off, the real estate strategy is sound, but the initial capital requirements are brutal. We need to acquire properties, renovate them, staff them, and maintain operations while they're establishing themselves. That's before they generate any return."
"How much?"
James pulled out his tablet, swiping through spreadsheets. "Conservative estimate: forty million to execute your two-year plan. And that's assuming everything goes smoothly, no major setbacks, and our investment returns meet projections."
David kept his expression neutral, but internally he was calculating. Forty million. He had access to maybe fifteen million right now, carefully accumulated through three years of strategic investments. Bitcoin had been very good to him, and he'd sold at exactly the right moments. Some tech stocks, some real estate flips, some very careful sports betting that looked like luck but was actually temporal knowledge.
But twenty-five million short was a significant gap.
"Options?" David asked.
"Traditional financing, loans, investors, corporate partnerships. All of which compromise our independence and create oversight we don't want. Or we scale back the timeline, grow more slowly."
"Which gives us maybe six months after the invasion to have our infrastructure in place." David shook his head. "Not enough. We need to be established before everything goes sideways."
James studied him. "You're very certain something's coming. Not just general instability, something specific. In two years."
It wasn't a question, but David answered anyway. "Call it a strong intuition based on pattern analysis. You've seen the same signs I have: increasing Stark Industries activity, unusual government spending, certain military procurement patterns. Something's building."
"And you can't or won't tell me what."
"Would you believe me if I did?" David met his eyes. "Would any of them? Or would I sound crazy?"
James considered this. "Probably crazy. But I've learned to trust your instincts. They've been right too often to be luck." He paused. "There is one other option for funding. High risk, potentially high reward."
"I'm listening."
"We go loud. Not completely, we keep our organization's full scope quiet, but we make David Chen Architecture a premium brand. You're good, David. Really good. Your buildings are objectively better than what most firms produce, and you've got a portfolio of completed projects that all exceeded expectations. If we market you correctly, position you as the architect for sustainable, community-focused development with a cutting-edge design philosophy..."
"We attract big clients with big budgets," David finished. "Use their money to subsidize our real work."
"Exactly. I've been watching the market. There's appetite for what you're selling, socially conscious development that also looks impressive. Corporations want to burnish their images, wealthy developers want trophy projects, cities want signature buildings. You could charge premium rates and pick your projects."
It made sense. It also made David's skin crawl slightly. He'd been invisible for three years by design, avoiding attention, building slowly in the shadows. Going public, even partially, meant exposure.
But it also meant resources. And resources meant capability.
"I'd need a buffer," David said slowly. "The public face can't be directly connected to the Foundation's full operations. David Chen Architecture becomes successful, yes, but it has to look like a separate entity that just happens to do pro bono work through the Foundation."
"Already built into my model," James confirmed. "Corporate separation, different boards, arms-length transactions. You'd be the common thread, but legally and financially they'd be distinct."
"And it would attract attention. To me personally."
"It would. That's the trade-off. You'd have to do interviews, attend events, schmooze with clients. Be a public figure, at least in architecture circles."
David's coffee had gone cold while they talked. He stared into it, weighing risks against necessity. The path of least resistance would be to stay hidden, grow slowly, avoid notice. But slow growth meant inadequate preparation. And inadequate preparation meant people would die who didn't have to.
"Set it up," he decided. "But carefully. I want our first major client to be someone we choose, someone whose project aligns with our values enough that it doesn't look purely mercenary. And James? I need you to be perfect on the financial separation. No one can trace the full scope of what we're doing through money trails."
"Understood." James made notes on his tablet. "I'll start developing a list of potential targets. Probably looking at municipalities first, urban renewal projects, public works. Less ethically complicated than working for corporations."
They spent another hour drilling into details before James had to leave for a meeting with potential investors for their VC arm. David remained, ordering a second coffee and pulling out his laptop to work through emails.
Most were mundane: contractor questions, permit inquiries, scheduling requests. But one caught his attention, forwarded by Isabella from a Henderson Park email address:
Mr. Chen,
My name is Elena Rodriguez. I'm a social worker at Henderson Park Community Center and I wanted to thank you for what you've built here. I've worked in community centers for fifteen years, and I've never seen one that feels like this. People don't just use the space, they connect with it and each other.
More importantly, I wanted to ask if the Foundation has any job openings. I've read about your other projects and I'd like to be part of that work. I've attached my resume and references.
Thank you for your consideration,Elena Rodriguez
David opened the resume. Impressive credentials: MSW from Columbia, a decade and a half of experience in underserved communities, specialized training in trauma-informed care. References from three different organizations, all glowing.
But what struck him was the language in her email. She didn't just like the building, she understood what it was designed to do. That kind of perception was rare and valuable.
He forwarded it to Isabella: Thoughts? She's in your world.
The response came within minutes: Already interviewed her informally. She's brilliant, deeply committed, and has connections throughout the social work community. Also has no patience for bureaucratic nonsense, which is why she's looking to leave her current agency. We should hire her.
Done. Bring her on as regional coordinator for social services. Work with James on salary, I want her compensated fairly.
You're going to make me cry. Do you know how rare it is to work somewhere that actually values social workers?
David smiled at his screen. This was why he was doing this, finding good people who'd been ground down by dysfunctional systems, and giving them resources to do what they did best.
His phone buzzed. Marcus: Need you in Red Hook. Situation.
The smile faded. Marcus didn't use the word "situation" lightly.
David made it to the Red Hook warehouse in twenty minutes, catching a subway and then jogging the last six blocks. Marcus was waiting outside, along with two people David didn't recognize, a woman in her early forties with sergeant's posture, and a younger man who looked barely out of his teens.
"What's wrong?" David asked immediately.
"Nothing's wrong," Marcus said. "Opportunity. David, this is Sergeant First Class Patricia Morrison, recently retired Army. And this is Tyler Banks, who... why don't you explain, Tyler?"
The kid, because despite being legally adult, he radiated youth, shifted nervously. "I, uh, I was squatting in one of your buildings. The one on Atlantic Avenue? I know I shouldn't have been there, but I didn't have anywhere else, and I thought it was abandoned, and I swear I didn't break anything, "
"Breathe," Marcus interrupted gently. "You're not in trouble."
Tyler sucked in air, then continued more slowly. "Right. So I was living there for like three weeks, and I started noticing things. The way the building's put together, the materials used, the structural elements. Mr. Webb, I know I don't look like much, but I'm good with buildings. My dad was a contractor before he died, taught me everything. And your building on Atlantic? It's built wrong."
David raised an eyebrow. "Wrong how?"
"Wrong as in too good," Tyler said, gaining confidence. "The foundation's overengineered for a three-story structure. The framing uses more steel than code requires. The electrical and plumbing are laid out like someone was planning for future expansion. It's subtle, you'd have to really know what you're looking at, but that building's designed to be upgraded into something bigger."
Marcus caught David's eye. "He's not wrong. I brought Patricia to look at it with me, and she confirmed his assessment. The kid has a good eye."
"I'm nineteen," Tyler protested.
"Like I said. Kid." Marcus almost smiled. "Point is, he figured out something he shouldn't have been able to figure out. And when I found him, yes, I patrol our properties, instead of running, he wanted to talk about architecture."
David studied Tyler more carefully. Skinny, clothes worn but clean, a backpack that probably held everything he owned. Homeless, skilled, and observant enough to notice the subtle traces of David's gift. Interesting.
"Why were you squatting?" David asked.
Tyler's defiance crumbled. "Foster care aged out six months ago. I was living with my girlfriend, but that fell apart. I've been trying to save enough for a security deposit on a real place, but between that and eating..." He shrugged. "Your building was warm and empty. I'm sorry. I know it's wrong."
"What do you want to do? Long term, I mean. What's your plan?"
"I want to be a contractor. Build things, like my dad did before the cancer. I've been doing day labor gigs when I can find them, taking online courses in construction management when the library's open. I'm good at it, Mr. Chen. I know I don't have credentials or whatever, but I'm good at it."
Patricia spoke up for the first time. "I spent two hours testing him yesterday. He knows his way around construction, theory and practice. Raw talent, needs refinement, but the foundation's solid." She paused. "No pun intended."
David looked at Marcus, who gave the slightest nod. They'd worked together long enough that David could read the message: This kid is worth it.
"Tyler, how would you like a job?" David asked.
The kid's eyes went wide. "Seriously?"
"Seriously. You'll start as an apprentice on one of our construction crews. We'll pay you a living wage, enough to get you into stable housing, and you'll work under our contractors to develop your skills. You'll also take formal classes; we'll cover the costs. In exchange, you work hard, you learn, and when you see things about our buildings that seem unusual, you keep them to yourself. Can you do that?"
"Yes. Yes, absolutely. Mr. Chen, I, thank you. I won't let you down."
"See that you don't." David turned to Patricia. "And you? Marcus said you retired from the Army. What are you looking for?"
Patricia's assessment was direct and measuring. "Marcus told me about your organization. What you're trying to build. I spent twenty-two years in the Army, most of it in logistics and operations. I'm good at moving people and materials, at establishing supply chains, at planning for contingencies. I was looking for private sector work, but most of it's morally questionable, working for defense contractors who prioritize profit over the mission, or corporate security that's really just union-busting dressed up."
"And what Marcus described didn't sound morally questionable?"
"It sounded too good to be true," Patricia admitted. "Which is why I told him I needed to see your operation firsthand, talk to you directly, and make my own assessment. So here I am, Mr. Chen. Make your pitch."
David appreciated the directness. He gestured toward the warehouse. "Let's talk inside."
The warehouse felt different with five people in it instead of eleven. More intimate, more focused. David led them to a small office space he'd set up in one corner, just a desk, some chairs, and a whiteboard covered in logistics planning.
"Coffee?" David offered. Everyone nodded except Tyler, who looked too nervous to accept anything.
While David worked an old but functional coffee maker, Marcus gave Patricia and Tyler a condensed version of the Foundation's history and mission. David listened with half an ear, gauging their reactions.
Tyler looked increasingly amazed. Patricia remained skeptical but interested.
"Questions?" David asked, distributing mismatched mugs.
"Why?" Patricia asked bluntly. "You're obviously educated, skilled, could make serious money doing conventional work. Why build all this? What's your endgame?"
It was the right question. David leaned against the desk, cradling his coffee.
"I believe systems are broken," he said simply. "Not just flawed or imperfect, fundamentally broken. The social safety net has holes you could drive a truck through. Healthcare is inaccessible to millions. Housing is increasingly unaffordable. Education is stratified by zip code. And the people with power to fix these things either don't care or actively benefit from keeping them broken."
"That's not a controversial opinion," Patricia observed.
"No. But most people who recognize the problem either give up or spend their energy fighting the system directly, protests, advocacy, political campaigns. All valuable work, but it's trying to reform institutions that are designed to resist reform."
David set down his coffee and moved to the whiteboard, grabbing a marker.
"I'm taking a different approach. Instead of fighting the broken system, I'm building an alternative alongside it. Infrastructure that serves communities directly, without requiring permission from or reliance on the existing power structures."
He sketched quickly: a simple diagram showing traditional hierarchies, government, corporations, institutions, and next to it, a web of interconnected nodes.
"Traditional power is hierarchical. Top-down. Fragile, take out the top, the whole thing collapses. What I'm building is networked. Distributed. Resilient. Remove any single node and the network adapts and continues functioning."
"You're describing mutual aid networks," Patricia said. "That's old-school organizing. Predates the welfare state."
"Exactly. I'm not inventing anything new. I'm applying proven principles with modern resources and a long-term strategic vision." David added more details to his diagram. "Each community center, each housing development, each clinic is a node. Self-sufficient but connected. They share resources, information, support. And as the network grows, it becomes increasingly valuable to the communities it serves and increasingly difficult to dismantle."
"And your endgame?" Patricia pressed.
David met her eyes. "To prove it's possible. To create an existence proof that you can build power structures based on mutual aid and community resilience. And to have that infrastructure in place when it's needed most."
"When will it be needed most?"
"Soon," David said quietly. "I can't give you specifics, but I believe we're heading toward a period of significant instability. Economic shocks, political upheaval, possibly worse. When that happens, the existing systems will fail or prove inadequate. I want alternatives ready."
Patricia studied him for a long moment. "You sound like a prepper."
"Preppers plan for themselves and maybe their families. I'm planning for communities. For networks. For the chance that ordinary people can take care of each other even when everything else falls apart."
"That's either visionary or delusional," Patricia said. "I haven't decided which."
"Give it six months working with us," Marcus suggested. "Make your own assessment."
Patricia nodded slowly. "I could do that. What would my role be?"
"Operations and logistics," David said immediately. "Marcus is building our security infrastructure and emergency response capabilities. I need someone who can handle the logistical complexity of running dozens of properties across multiple boroughs, coordinating supply chains, managing personnel, and planning for rapid scaling. You'd be his counterpart, he handles security, you handle operations."
"Salary?"
David named a figure that made Patricia's eyebrows rise. "That's more than I was expecting."
"We pay fairly. Our people are our most valuable resource."
"And him?" Patricia gestured to Tyler, who'd been silent throughout the exchange, eyes wide.
"Apprentice wages to start, with scheduled increases as he develops skills. Plus housing stipend, education support, and a clear path to advancement." David turned to Tyler. "You'll be working hard. Our standards are high. But if you meet them, you'll have a career, not just a job."
Tyler looked like he might cry. "When do I start?"
"Monday. Report to the Atlantic Avenue property, 7 AM. Ask for Jorge, he's the foreman. Tell him Marcus sent you."
After Tyler left, practically floating with relief and excitement, Patricia remained, nursing her coffee and studying David with professional assessment.
"I have one more question," she said. "And I need you to be honest, because this is a deal-breaker for me."
"Go ahead."
"Are you building a cult?"
The question was so unexpected that David actually laughed. "What?"
"Charismatic leader with a grand vision, recruiting vulnerable people, building an insular organization with its own infrastructure and ideology." Patricia ticked off points on her fingers. "I've seen this pattern before, Mr. Chen. It doesn't usually end well."
David sobered, recognizing the legitimate concern. "Fair question. Here's my honest answer: No. I'm not building a cult, and I'll tell you how you can verify that."
He counted off on his own fingers. "One: We pay market or above-market wages. Cults extract value from members; we compensate them fairly. Two: People can leave anytime, no pressure, no punishment. We've had three people move on to other opportunities in the past year, we threw them going-away parties and wrote recommendations. Three: We encourage outside connections, not isolation. Our people have lives outside the organization. Four: We're transparent about our goals and methods with our members. No hidden doctrine, no secret levels of initiation. And five: We're building public infrastructure that serves communities, not private compounds that serve me."
Patricia considered this. "Those are good answers."
"More than that, they're falsifiable. Work with us. Watch how we operate. If you see cult-like behavior, call it out or leave. I'll even put it in your contract: you have unilateral authority to walk away, no notice required, if you determine we're operating unethically."
"You'd really do that?"
"I'd really do that. Because I'm not building a cult, Patricia. I'm building something that needs to be legitimate, transparent, and ethical to function. Cults collapse. I'm trying to create something sustainable."
She extended her hand. "Six months trial. If I like what I see, we'll talk about long-term."
David shook it. "Deal. Welcome to the Foundation."
After Patricia left to handle her transition logistics, Marcus and David stood in the warehouse, the space feeling empty again after the bustle of activity.
"Good instincts," David said. "Both of them."
"Patricia's going to push back on your decisions," Marcus warned. "She's not a yes-person."
"Good. I don't want yes-people. I want people who'll tell me when I'm wrong or missing something."
"And the kid?"
"Reminds me of myself," David admitted. "Talented, overlooked, trying to build something from nothing. Besides, we need people who can notice the subtle details of what we're building. Better to have them inside the organization than outside asking questions."
Marcus nodded, then shifted topics. "Sofia sent me her security assessment. It's thorough and terrifying. Did you know we're vulnerable to about forty different vectors of compromise?"
"I did not. But I'm not surprised."
"We need to tighten up. Which means more security personnel, more protocols, more expense. I'm working on a budget to present to James."
"Do it. Security can't be an afterthought." David paused. "Marcus, real talk: Patricia asked if we're building a cult. Are we?"
Marcus considered the question seriously, which David appreciated. "No. But we're building something that could become cultlike if we're not careful. Charismatic leadership, shared mission, increasingly insular operations. The ingredients are there."
"How do we guard against it?"
"Same way you guarded against it today: transparency, fair compensation, freedom to leave, external accountability. Also, and this is important, you need to build checks on your own power. Right now, you're the final decision-maker on everything. That's necessary at this stage, but it won't scale. Eventually, you need governance structures that can override you if necessary."
David rubbed his face tiredly. "I know. It's on my list for Phase Three. We need to survive Phase Two first."
"Fair enough." Marcus headed for the door, then paused. "David? Thanks for trusting my judgment on Patricia and Tyler."
"Always have, always will."
After Marcus left, David remained in the warehouse, surrounded by the physical manifestation of three years' work. The space felt charged with potential, not his gift exactly, but the accumulated momentum of good people working toward a shared goal.
His phone buzzed. A news alert: "Stark Industries Stock Hits Record High Following Clean Energy Announcement."
David pulled up the full article, scanning quickly. Tony was pivoting the company away from weapons, leaning into arc reactor technology. Right on schedule. Which meant, somewhere in the timeline, other events were proceeding as expected.
Steve Rogers would be found soon. Thor would arrive. Loki would make his play. The Chitauri would come.
Two years was simultaneously forever and no time at all.
David locked up the warehouse and headed back to Queens, mentally cataloging everything that needed to happen: scaling up operations, establishing new properties, recruiting key personnel, building financial sustainability, creating security protocols, maintaining secrecy, and somehow doing it all fast enough to matter.
He passed a playground where kids were playing, supervised by tired parents. Ordinary people living ordinary lives, unaware that their world was about to get much stranger and more dangerous.
I'm going to do everything I can to protect you, David thought. All of you. The heroes will save the world. I'm just going to try to save the people in it.