[The Hellfire Mansion. The VIP Lounge. 2:00 AM.]
The room smelled of stale smoke and arrogance.
Sebastian Michaelis stepped back into the lounge, carrying a silver tray. Resting on the polished metal was the bottle of wine he had selected from the cellar—a tart, inexpensive table wine with a hastily peeled label, decanted to look like the 1945 Romanée-Conti.
He poured a glass for Sebastian Shaw.
Shaw took a heavy gulp, swishing it around his mouth. He was already deeply intoxicated, his cheeks flushed with the heat of his impending victory.
"Magnificent," Shaw sighed, slamming the crystal glass down. "You can taste the history, gentlemen. That is the taste of power."
Across the table, Emma Frost took a delicate sip of her own glass. Her eyes met Sebastian's over the rim. She didn't gag, but her flawless eyebrow twitched.
"A truly... unforgettable vintage," Emma murmured.
"I am pleased it meets your standards, Sir," Sebastian bowed, his face a mask of perfect servitude. "If you will excuse me, I shall fetch a fresh box of Cohiba cigars from the humidor to accompany the rest of the bottle."
"Make it quick, English," Shaw waved a dismissive hand. "We have a board to break at dawn."
[The Server Room. 3:00 AM.]
The mansion's server room was located in the sub-basement. It was a fortress of blinking blue lights, humming with the cooling fans of a dozen supercomputers. This was the brain of the Hellfire Club. This was where Shaw kept his leverage.
Sebastian walked past the biometric scanners, which Emma Frost had conveniently disabled via a telepathic suggestion to the night-shift technician.
He approached the main terminal. He placed his silver tray down, setting a small, guillotine-style silver cigar cutter next to it.
He pulled a diamond-encrusted flash drive from his pocket—Emma's key—and inserted it.
His fingers flew across the keyboard in a blur of motion. He didn't just type; he played the console like a grand piano. In minutes, he located the encrypted files containing the blackmail material on the Stark Industries board members. Embezzlement, affairs, offshore accounts. The chains Shaw used to control them.
Delete.Wipe.Overwrite.
"Pardon the intrusion," Sebastian whispered to the glowing screens. "But the Master disliked messy ledgers."
[The Confrontation. 4:00 AM.]
The heavy steel door of the server room hissed open.
"Hey!" a rough voice barked.
Sebastian didn't stop typing. He merely glanced over his shoulder.
Three of Shaw's elite mercenaries stood in the doorway. They were massive men, heavily armed with Stark-tech kinetic rifles—stolen prototypes.
"Step away from the console," the lead mercenary leveled his rifle. "Hands where I can see 'em."
Sebastian hit the final Enter key. A progress bar appeared on the screen: Data Purge 10%.
He turned around slowly. He picked up the silver serving tray in his left hand and the small cigar cutter in his right.
"I am afraid I cannot do that," Sebastian smiled warmly. "I am in the middle of a rather delicate chore. Furthermore, smoking is strictly prohibited in the server room."
The leader sneered. "Fire."
The mercenary pulled the trigger. A kinetic blast, capable of punching through a brick wall, erupted from the barrel.
CLANG.
Sebastian didn't dodge. He brought the silver tray up. He didn't just block the shot; he angled the tray with mathematical precision, deflecting the kinetic blast straight up into the ceiling. The impact shattered the overhead lights, plunging the room into strobing emergency red.
Before the mercenaries could fire again, Sebastian vanished.
He reappeared directly in front of the second guard. With a flick of his wrist, he used the silver cigar cutter not to stab, but to cleanly snip the primary power cable connecting the guard's rifle to its battery pack. Sparks showered the floor.
The guard blinked in shock. Sebastian drove the edge of the silver tray into the man's throat—not hard enough to crush the windpipe, but precisely enough to strike the vagus nerve. The man collapsed instantly, unconscious.
The third guard swung the butt of his rifle. Sebastian caught the weapon with his bare hand, the metal groaning under his grip. He pulled the guard forward, side-stepping gracefully, and tapped the back of the man's neck with the heavy silver tray.
Thud. Two down.
The leader drew a combat knife, roaring as he lunged.
Sebastian sighed. He sidestepped the thrust, grabbed the man's wrist, and twisted it with a sharp, agonizing crack. As the man dropped the knife, Sebastian spun him around and slammed the flat of the silver tray against the side of his head.
The room fell silent, save for the hum of the servers.
Sebastian stood amidst the three unconscious mercenaries. His suit was perfectly unwrinkled. His breathing was even.
He looked at his silver tray. It had a minor dent in the center from the kinetic blast.
"What a shame," Sebastian tutted, using a handkerchief to wipe a smudge from the metal. "Good silver is so difficult to find these days."
He turned back to the monitor. Data Purge 100%. Complete.
He retrieved the flash drive, picked up a fresh box of Cohibas from a nearby shelf, and walked out, stepping carefully over the bodies.
[The VIP Lounge. 5:00 AM.]
Sebastian returned to the lounge. The generals were asleep in their chairs. Shaw was leaning back, his eyes half-closed, swirling the last of the cheap wine.
Emma Frost was awake, her posture perfect. She looked at Sebastian as he entered. She noted the faint smell of ozone and the minuscule dent in his tray.
A tiny, satisfied smile played on her lips.
"Your cigars, Sir," Sebastian announced, clipping the end of a Cohiba with his silver cutter and offering it to Shaw.
"About time," Shaw grunted, taking the cigar. "Light it."
Sebastian struck a match, the flame illuminating his fuchsia eyes for a brief, terrifying moment. He lit the cigar, then stepped back into the shadows.
"Checkmate," Sebastian murmured softly, so only Emma could hear.
[Stark Tower. The Boardroom. 6:00 AM.]
The sun rose over New York City, casting a golden light through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Stark Industries boardroom.
Pepper Potts sat at the head of the long glass table. She looked pale. Happy Hogan stood behind her, arms crossed, glaring at the twelve board members seated around them.
The digital clock on the wall clicked to 6:00 AM.
"The time has come, Madam CEO," said an older board member, checking his gold watch. "The motion is on the floor. A vote of no confidence. It is time for Stark Industries to pivot away from charity and back to security. We vote to open Vault 4."
Pepper swallowed hard. She knew they were being blackmailed by Shaw. She knew she didn't have the votes.
"Before we vote," Pepper said, her voice shaking slightly. "You need to understand what you're doing to Tony's legacy."
"Tony is dead, Pepper," another board member said coldly. "The world is moving on."
Suddenly, the heavy mahogany doors of the boardroom swung open.
Every head turned.
Walking into the room, carrying a tray with a silver French press and a single porcelain cup, was Sebastian Michaelis.
He ignored the stunned board members. He glided smoothly to the head of the table and began to pour the steaming, dark coffee for Pepper.
"I apologize for the delay, Mrs. Stark," Sebastian said, his voice ringing clearly in the silent room. "The traffic from the Upper East Side was frightful."
Pepper stared at him. "Seb?"
Sebastian placed the cup down. He leaned in slightly.
"The board," Sebastian whispered, his eyes gleaming, "has suddenly found its courage. Proceed with the vote."
[End of Chapter 74]
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