The boardroom felt like a courtroom.
Twelve directors sat around polished mahogany, reviewing quarterly reports with the kind of suspicious intensity usually reserved for criminal trials. I stood at the head of the table, Maya beside me with her laptop open, while our corporate lawyer—Richard Chen, former DOJ prosecutor—sat ready to deflect legal landmines.
"Mr. Hammer," Thomas Wexler began. He was one of the original loyalists, but even his voice carried concern now. "We need to discuss the post-Battle expenditures. One hundred eighty million dollars in three months. That's... unprecedented."
"Necessary," I countered. "Manhattan was invaded by aliens. We responded. That response required resources."
"Resources like what?" Rebecca Torres leaned forward, tablet displaying itemized costs. "Fifty million in unaccounted personnel costs. Thirty million in black budget research. Forty million in private security expansion. The remaining sixty million disappears into classified projects with vague descriptions like 'advanced materials analysis' and 'threat assessment protocols.'"
"I can provide explanations for each line item."
"Please do." Her tone suggested she'd already decided the explanations would be insufficient.
I pulled up my own presentation. "Unaccounted personnel costs: ARES Division expansion. We went from fifteen enhanced operatives to thirty-eight, plus two hundred twenty support personnel. Recruitment, training, equipment, benefits—it adds up."
"Enhanced operatives," another board member—James Morrison—interrupted. "You mean super-soldiers. Private super-soldiers operating under corporate authority with no government oversight."
"I mean highly trained individuals with specialized capabilities protecting company assets and responding to extraordinary threats."
"That's a distinction without a difference."
"No, it's a distinction that kept two thousand civilians alive during the Chitauri invasion while official military response was still mobilizing."
Silence. Nobody could argue with results.
Torres shifted tactics. "The black budget research. What are you researching that requires thirty million dollars and absolute secrecy?"
"Advanced materials derived from recovered alien technology. Biological enhancement protocols that could revolutionize medical treatment. Energy weapon systems that could defend against future extraterrestrial threats." I met her eyes. "All of which would be stolen by competitors if we publicly documented our progress."
"Or by foreign governments," Maya added quietly. "The Chitauri technology represents decades of advancement. Whoever controls it controls the next generation of defense capabilities."
"Which brings us to your Ghost Network," Morrison said. "Forty million in six months on private intelligence gathering. That's CIA-level expenditure for a defense contractor."
"That's risk management in an unstable global environment. We need early warning on threats, technological developments, and political shifts that could affect operations." I pulled up sanitized intelligence reports. "Ghost Network identified seventeen potential security threats this quarter alone. Everything from industrial espionage attempts to terrorist cells planning attacks on our facilities."
"Or you're building a private intelligence agency to compete with SHIELD."
"I'm building capability to respond when official channels prove insufficient." I leaned forward. "Manhattan proved governments can't always protect their citizens. Official response time was four hours. Mine was immediate. If that makes you uncomfortable, I'm sorry—but I won't apologize for being prepared."
Wexler spoke carefully. "Justin, we understand the necessity. But this level of expansion, this rapid deployment of resources into classified projects... it makes the board nervous. We have fiduciary responsibility to shareholders."
"And I have responsibility to keep this company operational in a world where aliens invade major cities." I softened my tone slightly. "I'm not being reckless. Every dollar spent serves strategic purpose. But I need operational flexibility to respond to threats that don't follow quarterly earnings schedules."
The video screen flickered. Senator Stern's face appeared, perfectly coiffed hair and politician's smile.
"Mr. Hammer, members of the board. Thank you for including me in this important discussion."
I felt my jaw clench. "Senator. To what do we owe the intrusion?"
"Concern for proper oversight of enhanced individuals operating on American soil." Stern pulled up legislation drafts. "The Superhuman Registration Act will require all enhanced individuals to register with federal authorities, submit to monitoring, and operate under government jurisdiction. Your ARES Division would fall under this mandate."
"The Act hasn't passed."
"It will. After Manhattan, public opinion strongly favors enhanced oversight."
"Public opinion also strongly favors the enhanced individuals who saved Manhattan. ARES Division included." I pulled up approval ratings. "Seventy-three percent of New Yorkers view Hammer Industries favorably post-Battle. Attempting to federalize my operations would be politically unpopular."
"Politically necessary for national security."
"Says the senator currently under ethics investigation for financial irregularities and questionable lobbying contacts."
Stern's smile didn't waver but his eyes went cold. "Careful, Mr. Hammer. Regulatory agencies can make life difficult for companies that don't cooperate."
"And investigative journalists can make life difficult for politicians with questionable associations." I held his gaze. "Mutually assured destruction, Senator. You threaten my operations, I expose your... extracurricular activities. We both lose."
The boardroom went very quiet.
Stern stared at me for a long moment. Then his expression shifted to practiced neutrality. "I look forward to continued dialogue about proper enhanced oversight. Good day, directors."
The screen went dark.
Torres broke the silence. "Did you just threaten a United States senator?"
"I reminded a corrupt politician that transparency works both ways." I closed my presentations. "Any other concerns?"
Morrison stood. "I'm submitting my resignation effective immediately. I didn't sign on to be part of whatever shadow war you're waging."
"Accepted. Your shares revert to company control per your contract." I looked at the others. "Anyone else?"
Two more members exchanged glances, then stood. Torres and David Klein—both newer appointments, both clearly uncomfortable with the direction I was taking the company.
"We'll be tendering our resignations as well," Torres said. "With respect, Mr. Hammer, you're building something beyond a defense contractor. And we're not interested in being part of it."
"Understood. Thank you for your service."
They filed out, leaving nine remaining board members. Wexler looked tired.
"You're scaring people, Justin."
"I'm preparing for reality. If that scares them, they're in the wrong business."
"Are we? Because right now it feels like we're running a shadow government instead of a corporation."
"We're running an organization capable of responding to threats governments can't or won't handle. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
I didn't have an answer for that.
Maya found me in my office an hour later.
"Three board members in one day. That's got to be some kind of record."
"They wanted transparency I couldn't provide. Better they leave than compromise operations." I was reviewing replacement candidates, trying to find people who could handle classified work without constant panic.
"Justin." Maya closed the door, sat down across from me. "I don't know what you're really building. Don't know how you keep predicting threats before they materialize. Don't know why you're so convinced worse things are coming."
"But?"
"But I've watched you save lives that governments would have abandoned. Watched you build something that actually functions when official channels fail. Watched you make impossible decisions and somehow get them right more often than wrong." She leaned forward. "Whatever you're preparing for—whatever future you see that I don't—I'm with you."
My throat tightened. "You're trusting something you don't understand."
"I'm trusting the results. Two thousand civilians alive because of your preparation. Frank Castle enhanced and still himself. Three Widow defectors protected and rehabilitated. Extremis research that could heal millions." She held my gaze. "I don't need to understand the shadows to trust the light they're cast by."
"That's remarkably poetic."
"I have my moments." She stood. "Also, I'm recommending three new board members. People with security clearances, experience in classified work, and ability to handle uncomfortable truths. If you're going to keep running shadow operations, you need directors who can function in shadows."
"Approved. Send me the files."
She headed for the door, then paused. "One more thing. The void marks. They're spreading, aren't they?"
I instinctively touched my collar where geometric patterns had crept above my shirt line recently.
"Yes."
"How long?"
"Three to four years. Maybe less depending on power usage intensity."
"Then we don't waste time. Whatever you're building, we build it fast enough for you to see it finished." She left before I could respond.
I sat alone in my office, thinking about board members who'd resigned rather than accept uncomfortable realities. About Senator Stern's threats and my counter-threats. About Maya's loyalty despite not knowing the full truth.
The void marks pulsed beneath my shirt. Eleven percent corruption. Three to four years remaining.
And so much still to build.
Note:
Read the raw, unfiltered story as it unfolds. Your support makes this possible!
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/Whatif0
Timeline Viewer ($6): Get 10 chapters of early access + 5 new chapters weekly.
Timeline Explorer ($9): Jump 15-20 chapters ahead of everyone.
Timeline Keeper ($15): Get Instant Access to chapters the moment I finish writing them. No more waiting.