Arthur’s Beverly Hills manor gleamed beneath the California afternoon sun, its wide glass windows catching the light like polished mirrors.

Inside, the Hayes family had gathered in the spacious living room, having walked through the vanishing cabinets that now linked their two homes. Arthur could have opened a portal, and Winky could have transported everyone with a snap, but occasionally… it was healthy to change things up.

Two days had passed since Arthur had pulled Tony out of that desert alive. Tony was scheduled to arrive back home today, and the entire household had been buzzing in anticipation.

In the living room, Elena sat cross-legged on the carpet, a rolled canvas clutched protectively against her chest. Beside her, Tristan held a flat, carefully wrapped package in both hands, his little face set in a seriousness impressive for a one-year-old.

“When can we see Uncle Tony?” Elena asked for what must have been the twentieth time.

“After his press conference, darling,” Eileen said, settling onto the sofa beside Arthur. “He has important things to say first.”

“More important than us?” Elena demanded.

Eileen smiled. “Not more important. Just… a different kind of important.”

Arthur had his phone pressed to his ear as he watched the muted CNN broadcast. The camera showed the crowd outside Stark Industries headquarters. Reporters milled about like sharks sensing blood.

“Arthur, I need you to repeat that,” Daniel said on the phone. “Because it really sounded like you said to sell everything.”

“That’s exactly what I said,” Arthur replied calmly. “Sell all our Stark Industries holdings. Every share.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

“Arthur, Stark stock is about to explode. Tony’s back, the market’s going to rally—”

“Daniel.” Arthur’s tone sharpened just a fraction. “Sell it. All of it. Now. Before the press conference starts.”

A resigned exhale crackled over the line. “Yes, boss.”

“Good man. And Daniel?” Arthur’s smile held no warmth. “After you’ve closed those positions, I want you to open a short position. Maximum leverage within our risk parameters.”

The silence this time was long enough that Arthur could practically visualize Daniel pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You want me to bet against Stark Industries?” he finally breathed. “The day Tony comes home?”

“It’s going to crater.”

“How could you possibly—”

“When have I ever steered you wrong?” Arthur asked, leaning back.

Another sigh. “Never. Not once. Fourteen years and counting.” Another pause. “I should stop doubting you… but the trader in me is screaming bloody murder, but that’s just… occupational disease, I suppose.”

“Arthur,” Daniel added quietly, “what’s about to happen?”

“Just watch the press conference.”

“…Understood. I’ll make the calls.”

Arthur ended the call and unmuted the television just as the CNN anchor’s voice came back into focus.

“—and Tony Stark has just arrived inside Stark Industries. The press conference should begin momentarily. Jim, what’s the mood like down there?”

Eileen glanced sideways at her husband. “You seem very confident about what he’s going to say.”

Arthur spoke simply. “When a man stares into that particular abyss, he doesn’t come back unchanged.”

On screen, the feed cut to the interior of the press conference room. Tony Stark walked to the podium, looking gaunt but determined. Obadiah Stane hovered nearby, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

“There he is!” Elena bounced excitedly. “Uncle Tony!”

“Shh, sweetheart. Let’s listen.”

The press corps erupted in a cacophony of shouted questions, voices overlapping into meaningless noise:

“Mr. Stark, what happened over there?”

“Can you describe your captivity?”

“Is it true you were tortured?”

Tony lifted a hand, and the chaos died instantly.

“I never got to say goodbye to my father,” Tony said. The room fell silent. “There’s questions I would have asked him. I would’ve asked him how he felt about what his company did, if he was conflicted, if he ever had doubts.”

Arthur leaned forward.

“Or maybe he was every inch the man we remember from the newsreels.” Tony’s voice was steady, but Arthur could see the weight behind his eyes. “I saw young Americans killed by the very weapons I created to defend them and protect them. And I saw that I had become part of a system that is comfortable with zero accountability.”

Obadiah Stane stepped forward, reaching for Tony’s arm. “Tony, this isn’t—”

But Tony pulled away.

“I had my eyes opened,” Tony continued. “I came to realize that I have more to offer this world than just making things that blow up. And that is why, effective immediately—”

The room erupted in a fresh wave of shouted questions. Stane tried again to intervene, moving into the frame, but Tony spoke over him, his voice cutting through the chaos.

“—I am shutting down the weapons manufacturing division of Stark Industries until such time as I can decide what the future of this company will be. What it should be. What it needs to be.”

The press room exploded in noise—camera flashes, voices rising, utter chaos. Obadiah looked as if someone had kicked his knees out from under him.

But Tony wasn’t finished.

He raised his hand again. This time the room quieted faster, sensing something heavier coming.

“There’s one more thing.”

The doors at the back of the press room burst open. A dozen men in dark suits strode in—FBI, their badges visible, their expressions stone.

“Tony, what is this?” Obadiah’s voice carried over the microphones, suddenly uncertain.

“Uncle Obadiah,” Tony said, his voice flat and emotionless as a judge reading a sentence, “you’re about to find out.”

The agents moved with practiced efficiency. Two of them flanked Obadiah while a third produced handcuffs.

“Obadiah Stane,” the lead agent declared, “you are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, illegal arms trafficking, and multiple violations of the International Traffic in Arms Regulations. You have the right to remain silent—”

“Tony!” Obadiah’s composure shattered. “Tony, what are you doing? This is insane! I’m your godfather! I helped raise you! I was there when your father—”

Tony watched impassively as the cuffs clicked shut.

“You also tried to have me killed.”

The words cut through the chaos like a blade. The room went deathly silent.

“I heard them, Obie.” Tony’s voice was quiet now, almost conversational. “The terrorists. They were supposed to kill me. The ransom was never the point. You paid them to make sure Tony Stark never came home.”

Obadiah’s face cycled through denial, fear, and finally something ugly. “You can’t prove—you have no evidence—this is slander—”

“The FBI can. They’ve already been through your personal computers.” Tony’s smile was razor-thin. “You really should have used better encryption.”

As the agents dragged Obadiah away, Tony turned back to the stunned press corps.

“That’s all for today. I trust you’ll have plenty to write about.”

He walked off the stage without looking back, without another word. The room erupted behind him, but he was already gone.

Arthur sat back on the sofa, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across his face.

“Well,” Eileen said faintly. “That was… unexpected.”

“Was it?” Arthur picked up his phone.

A text from Daniel was already waiting:

WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST WATCH

Followed immediately by:

You magnificent bastard.

Arthur chuckled and pocketed the phone.

“Daddy?” Elena tugged at his sleeve. “Is Uncle Tony okay? And why did those men take the other man away?”

“Uncle Tony is perfectly fine, sweetheart,” Arthur said, smoothing her hair. “The other man did something very bad, and now he has to answer for it.”

“Like a time-out?”

“Something like that.” Arthur smiled. “A very long time-out.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep