The perfect atmosphere was ruthlessly shattered by call.

Tony and Pepper snapped out of it, exchanging slightly awkward smiles.

“Pick it up,” Tony said, a bit pissed.

“Hey, Tony! How are you holding up?” Rhodes’ voice came through.

“Rhodes!” Hearing his old friend, Tony felt a spark of joy.

Like Tony, Rhodes had been fucked up by Jason, battling mental demons that sidelined him in the military. Word was he’d been suspended for psych treatment. Now, his tone sounded normal, like he’d pulled through.

The two buddies caught up, and Rhodes said, “Tony, I’m sorry about the Obadiah mess. I was already benched, and even if I wasn’t, I couldn’t sway the brass.”

Rhodes was talking about the military backing Obadiah to kick Tony out of Stark Industries.

Months ago, that would’ve pissed Tony off, but now? He didn’t give a shit.

The Iron Man suit gave him a purpose worth fighting for—corporate bullshit was beneath him.

“That was my fuck-up,” Tony said. “I mouthed off to the general, and I ate the consequences.”

Rhodes, relieved his friend wasn’t holding a grudge, said, “But here’s your shot.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “What shot?”

Rhodes laid it out. “After the L.A. shitshow, the military was pissed at you. Obadiah stepped up, promising to take control of Stark Industries, restructure, and churn out weapons to crush the Joker Organization.”

“The brass, still salty, went along with it. They used the media to fuck with the board’s judgment and got you ousted.”

“Obadiah took over and, like he said, went hard on Jason, developing new weapons. The brass was eating it up.”

“But they’re idiots. It’s *Stark* Industries—*Tony Stark* is the fucking soul of it.”

Tony grinned at the ass-kissing. “So, Obadiah’s been churning out duds.”

Rhodes confirmed. “Yup. He’s rolled out a few weapons—total shitshows. Some got shot down on the spot by the brass.”

“They know weapons take time, not just at Stark but everywhere. But with the Joker Organization running rampant, they’re desperate and can’t wait.”

Tony chuckled, dripping sarcasm. “So, the brass suddenly remembers the guy they thought was bedridden.”

Rhodes ignored the jab. “Exactly. Obadiah’s dumb enough to push your Jericho missile to them. The brass saw it and thought of you. If anyone’s gonna build a weapon to fuck up Jason and his clowns, it’s you.”

Rhodes wasn’t wrong, and Tony ate up the praise, then went quiet, thinking.

If Jason was the fucker he most wanted to bury, Obadiah—his backstabbing “uncle”—was a close second.

The moment Obadiah teamed up with the military to screw him over, years of friendship turned to pure rage. Tony dreamed of kicking Obadiah out, letting him taste betrayal.

Now the military was handing him the knife. No way he wasn’t taking it. Plus, the Iron Man suit needed serious cash, and his personal funds would only go so far.

Taking back the company was a no-brainer.

Tony asked, “What’s the brass planning?”

Rhodes, seeing he wasn’t shutting it down, knew he was in. “The board kicked you out; they can kick Obadiah out and bring you back. First, you gotta fix your image in the media.”

“Obadiah’s pushing the Jericho missile, right? The brass agreed, but they want you, the designer, to demo it at the Afghanistan base. That’s your comeback.”

Tony smirked. “Obadiah won’t like that.”

Rhodes scoffed. “Fuck him. His honeymoon with the military’s over. If he blocks you from Afghanistan, Stark Industries loses Defense Department contracts. Guess how the board’ll handle him.”

Tony got the picture. The brass were setting him up.

“Got it. I just wait for Obadiah’s call.”

Rhodes laughed. “Yup. The path’s paved, and with the brass backing you, you can fuck shit up however you want.”

Tony stayed cool, knowing it all hinged on delivering a weapon the military loved.

If he didn’t, he’d end up like Obadiah—screwed.

…

After the call, Tony dove back into work.

Half an hour later, Pepper relayed through Jarvis that Obadiah was at the door.

Tony paused, surprised. Obadiah didn’t call—he showed up. The military must’ve hit a nerve. He was desperate.

Tony changed and headed to the living room. Obadiah was on the couch, chatting with Pepper.

Seeing Tony, he stood, grinning, and went for a hug. “Tony! You look great, man.”

Tony shoved him off, ice-cold. “Yeah? Thanks for kicking me out of my company.”

Obadiah’s smile faltered. “I told you, Tony, it was to protect you. Stark Industries is yours—no one can take it.”

He grabbed a pizza box from the table. “Try some. New spot in L.A.—damn good.”

Tony snatched a slice, sat by Pepper, and cut to it. “So, what the fuck do you want?”

Obadiah sat across, deflated. “Tony, the company’s in deep shit.”

From his side, he spun the same story Rhodes told: without Tony, Stark Industries couldn’t deliver. The Defense Department was eyeing competitors whose weapons, while not great, were better than Obadiah’s flops.

The board, obsessed with profits, panicked. They’d ditched Tony for Obadiah when he was a liability, forgetting he was the company’s core.

Without him, Stark Industries fell from grace, outclassed by Lockheed Martin and Raytheon, barely scraping by against second-tier players like Hammer Industries.

The board was ruthless. They backed Obadiah to oust Tony, but now, with the company tanking, they’d make him fix it by bringing Tony back.

Tony bit into his pizza, mumbling, “Sorry, I’m bedridden with psychological issues. Can’t handle company shit.”

Obadiah grinned. “You look plenty lively to me.”

“Nope,” Tony said, dead serious. “I’m traumatized, stuck in bed. That’s what you told the media, right?”

Obadiah laughed awkwardly, then got earnest. “Tony, I fucked up. I was selfish. But you know I built Stark Industries with your dad. It’s like my kid—I can’t watch it die.”

Tony smirked. “Well, your kid’s sick. Be a good dad and fix it.”

Obadiah’s smile faded. He sighed. “Fine, Tony. I get you’re pissed, but you’re the biggest shareholder. If the company tanks, you lose the most.”

He stood to leave.

As he grabbed the door handle, Tony finally spoke. “I’ll come back, but you resign from all your roles. I’ll tell the world you’re stepping down for health reasons—bedridden.”

Obadiah froze, chuckling bitterly. “That’s your revenge, huh?”

Tony’s face was stone. “Yup. That’s my offer. Take it or I’ll have the board vote you out, like you did to me.”

“No need for a vote,” Obadiah said. “I’ll submit my resignation tomorrow.”

He walked out, his face cold and fucking vicious.

In his Mercedes SUV, he leaned back, stewing. After a long silence, he grabbed a satellite phone.

Tony’s first move back at the company was a Jericho missile demo in Afghanistan, where Stark Industries had old clients—jihadist groups dreaming of overthrowing the local regime, buying Stark weapons in bulk.

Slip them cash and Tony’s route, and he was a dead man.

Fuck it, Obadiah thought. Even if Stark Industries became second-rate, as long as he held the reins, he’d claw back eventually.

Tony, you digged your own fucking grave.

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You can read advance chapters and view R-18 images of the characters on pat reon page.

pat reon.com/GreenBlue17

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep