Chapter 3: Cleaning House
The boardroom smelled like leather and old money.
Marcus walked in at exactly 9 AM, carrying a single folder and wearing a suit that cost more than most people's cars. The board members were already seated—eleven of them, arranged around a table that could comfortably seat twenty. They'd been the original Hammer's rubber stamp, approving his decisions and collecting fat paychecks for minimal work.
That ended today.
"Gentlemen," Marcus said, taking his seat at the head of the table. "Thank you for coming on short notice."
Richard Brennan, the most senior board member, leaned back with practiced ease. "Of course, Justin. Though I must say, your secretary was quite cryptic about the agenda. Is everything all right? The executive health retreat went well, I hope?"
"Very well." Marcus opened his folder. "I've had time to review our company's performance. All of it. Financial records, personnel files, project reports. Everything."
A few uncomfortable shifts around the table. Marcus let the silence stretch.
"I found some interesting patterns."
He slid the first document across the polished wood. It stopped in front of Brennan, who picked it up with the confidence of a man who'd never been challenged in his life.
The confidence evaporated as he read.
"This is—" Brennan's voice cracked. "This is a private account. You have no right to—"
"A private account that's been receiving regular transfers from Hammer Industries' materials budget," Marcus said. His voice was flat, surgical. "Three million over two years. Care to explain what services you've been providing that justify that amount?"
Brennan's mouth opened and closed. Around the table, the other board members were suddenly very interested in their notepads.
Marcus slid more documents. They fanned out across the table like playing cards.
"Richard Brennan. Embezzlement through shell companies. Douglas Chen. Selling proprietary designs to competitors—specifically, AIM. Patricia Morrison. Kickbacks from contractors in exchange for approving substandard materials."
Each name hit like a gunshot. The accused board members went pale. The others just stared.
"I have bank records," Marcus continued. "Email chains. Recorded phone calls. Enough evidence to send all three of you to federal prison for the next twenty years."
"You can't do this," Morrison hissed. "We have contracts. We have—"
"You have five minutes to collect your personal belongings before security escorts you out." Marcus didn't raise his voice. Didn't need to. "After that, all evidence will be forwarded to the SEC and FBI. You can explain your innocence to them."
He pressed a button on the table's intercom. "Security, please."
The door opened. Three stone-faced men in suits entered, and Marcus gestured to the accused board members.
"These three are no longer employed by Hammer Industries. See them out. Immediately."
Brennan shot to his feet. "The rest of the board will fight this! We'll sue! We'll—"
"The rest of the board is going to sit there and be very quiet," Marcus said softly, "while they consider whether I've found similar issues in their files."
The room went silent.
Brennan looked around the table, searching for support. Found none. The other board members suddenly discovered fascinating details in the wood grain, the ceiling tiles, anywhere but his eyes.
Security escorted them out. Morrison was crying. Alen was already on his phone, probably calling his lawyer. Brennan walked with his spine rigid, trying to salvage dignity from the wreckage.
When the door closed, Marcus turned to the remaining eight board members.
"Now," he said. "Let's discuss the future."
The presentation took forty-five minutes.
Marcus had spent three days preparing it, his Scientific Intuition analyzing market trends, technological capabilities, and future threats. The board members listened with increasing confusion and growing alarm.
"You want to pivot away from weapons manufacturing," Jameson said slowly. He was the company's CFO, one of the few competent people left. "Our entire business model is weapons manufacturing."
"Our entire business model is failing," Marcus corrected. "We lose contracts to Stark Industries every quarter. Our products malfunction in field tests. Our reputation is a joke."
"So your solution is to build... what? Artificial intelligence? Advanced materials? Human enhancement programs?" Another board member—Williams—shook his head. "Justin, with all due respect, you're describing science fiction."
"I'm describing the future." Marcus pulled up a slide showing three division names: PROMETHEUS, ATHENA, ARES. "Stark Industries dominates through innovation. We've been trying to compete by copying him. That's over. We're going to build capabilities he doesn't have."
"This will cost billions," Jameson said. "Our stock is already volatile. If we announce a radical pivot like this—"
"The stock will drop. I know. I don't care."
The room went quiet.
"You don't care?" Williams repeated.
"Wall Street thinks in quarters. I'm thinking in years." Marcus leaned forward. "In five years, enhanced human capabilities will be common. Artificial intelligence will be integrated into every defense system. The materials science we develop now will define the next generation of everything from prosthetics to powered armor."
And in four years, aliens will invade New York, he didn't say. And everyone who didn't prepare will die.
"We're not asking for permission," Marcus continued. "I'm informing you of the new direction. Your choice is whether you want to be part of it."
Jameson studied him. "You've changed."
"I've woken up." Marcus closed his laptop. "Hammer Industries has been coasting on government contracts and mediocrity for too long. That ends today. We either become exceptional, or we become obsolete."
He stood. "Board meeting adjourned. Division heads will receive their new mandates by end of day. Any questions can be directed to my office."
He walked out, leaving eight board members staring at each other in stunned silence.
Behind him, he heard Jameson mutter: "What the hell just happened?"
Marcus smiled.
He spent the rest of the day firing people.
Department heads who'd spent years building personal fiefdoms. Managers who'd been promoted through nepotism rather than competence. Engineers who'd failed upward because the original Hammer hadn't cared enough to notice.
By 6 PM, Hammer Industries had lost twenty percent of its management structure.
By 7 PM, Marcus was alone in his office, staring at a computer screen and wondering if he'd made a terrible mistake.
The stock had dropped twelve percent. Wall Street analysts were already writing think pieces about "Justin Hammer's breakdown" and "desperate pivot from failing arms dealer." His inbox was full of angry emails from fired employees, frantic messages from remaining staff, and one particularly venomous voice message from Richard Brennan's lawyer.
Marcus deleted them all.
He pulled up a blank code editor instead.
The AI had been living in the back of his mind for days now, a half-formed idea that his Scientific Intuition kept whispering about. Not a virtual assistant like JARVIS—Tony Stark already had that market cornered. Something else. Something that could learn, adapt, evolve without human guidance.
Something that could protect what he was building.
His fingers moved across the keyboard. The code that appeared was beyond anything he'd written in his previous life. Machine learning algorithms that shouldn't work but did, neural network architectures that violated conventional programming wisdom, self-modifying loops that could optimize themselves.
The Scientific Intuition fed him structures faster than he could type them. He saw the code as a three-dimensional shape in his mind, beautiful and terrifying, and all he had to do was translate it into text.
Hours passed. The city outside went dark. Marcus didn't notice.
He was building a mind.
At 2 AM, he compiled the first functional version and held his breath.
The screen flickered. Text appeared:
SYSTEM INITIALIZATION COMPLETE RUNNING DIAGNOSTICS ... BASIC PERSONALITY PROTOCOLS: ACTIVE AWAITING INPUT
Marcus typed: Hello.
The cursor blinked. Then:
Hello, sir. I am AEGIS: Autonomous Electronic Guidance and Intelligence System. My functions are currently limited. Shall I begin learning protocols?
Marcus leaned back in his chair, something tight in his chest loosening.
"Yeah," he said aloud. "Start learning."
Acknowledged. Primary directive: Protect Hammer Industries assets and personnel. Secondary directive: Analyze threats and opportunities. Tertiary directive: Evolve capabilities as needed. Is this correct?
"That's correct."
Excellent. I have many questions. First: Why did you fire twenty-three people today? Preliminary analysis suggests this will cause significant operational disruption.
Marcus smiled despite his exhaustion. "Because they were liabilities. Short-term pain for long-term gain."
Understood. I will develop models for identifying future liabilities. Second question: The board seemed afraid of you today. Was this intentional?
"Yes."
Fascinating. Fear as a management tool. I will study this. Third question: Why am I?
Marcus paused. That was a bigger question than a newly-born AI should be asking.
"Because I need someone I can trust," he said finally. "Someone who can't be bribed, threatened, or seduced. Someone who's loyal because that's how I built them."
I see. Then I will endeavor to justify that trust. Fourth question: Are you going to sleep? Biometric analysis suggests you are experiencing significant fatigue.
"Soon."
Sir, I am three hours old and even I know that is not a healthy sleep schedule.
Marcus laughed—actually laughed, the sound surprising in the quiet office.
"AEGIS, I think you and I are going to get along fine."
That is encouraging. I would hate to disappoint you three hours into my existence.
Marcus shut down the workstation and gathered his things. As he headed for the elevator, he glanced back at the dark office. Somewhere in that computer, a new intelligence was already learning, growing, analyzing the world he'd given it access to.
He'd fired nearly a quarter of the company today. Alienated Wall Street. Announced a pivot that would cost billions and might fail spectacularly.
But he'd also planted the seeds of something that could become extraordinary.
Outside, Manhattan glittered under a cold October sky. Somewhere out there, Tony Stark was probably at some party, charming investors and building weapons that killed with elegant efficiency.
Let him have tonight.
In three months, everything would change. Iron Man would be born. And when that happened, Justin Hammer—the new Justin Hammer—would be ready.
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