Marvel's Iron Lady

In no time, the S.H.I.E.L.D. SUV assigned to the agents—a large Chevy Suburban—had crossed from Queens into Brooklyn.

Eventually, the vehicle was stuck in traffic on the Brooklyn Bridge, the main artery connecting Brooklyn to Manhattan's Midtown.

As she gazed at the Brooklyn Bridge, a structure famously destroyed countless times in various movies and TV shows, Miss Stark felt an inexplicable sense of disdain.

She'd crossed this iconic New York landmark countless times during her temporary stays in the city, so why did she suddenly feel this surge of dislike?

The answer quickly revealed itself—something had happened. It seemed strange but not entirely out of the ordinary.

From ahead, the grating sound of twisted steel reached her ears, causing many drivers to step out of their cars to investigate. Maria Hill did the same.

Miss Stark followed Hill through the crowd and vehicles, making their way to the Manhattan side of the Brooklyn Bridge.

Sure enough, a commotion had broken out because of a large creature, its body covered in yellowish, rocky chunks, engaged in a standoff with the New York City police.

The thing had completely mutated. Though it still had a humanoid form, its skin was a parched yellow, and its muscles were piled like slabs of rock.

Its fingers were at least as thick as Miss Stark's wrists, but each hand had only four oversized, thick digits.

Aside from its head, the creature's body and limbs barely retained any human features.

It resembled something straight out of a fantasy tale—a stone elemental summoned by a mage.

But Miss Stark knew who, or rather what, it was—Ben Grimm.

Even though Ben, as the Thing, had no intention of harming anyone, the New York police were visibly terrified.

"Hands up! Drop your weapon! Now!"

Several inexperienced NYPD officers nervously shouted at Ben Grimm, shaking as they held their guns.

The problem was—Ben wasn't holding any weapons. His only weapon was the stone muscles covering his entire body.

"What's going on?"

Maria Hill came around from the other side of the car, still unaware of what was happening up ahead.

"You wouldn't believe it if I told you."

Miss Stark shrugged, shaking her head as she took in the scene ahead with a look of helplessness.

"To make a long story short, some guy who accidentally gained powers caused a massive traffic accident while trying to save a pedestrian."

Saving lives is unquestionably a good thing—no one would deny that. But when saving someone causes a massive traffic jam, does it still count as a good deed?

Who would be responsible for the property damage? What about the injuries caused by the chaos?

From a rough glance, it was clear that at least 60 or 70 vehicles had sustained varying degrees of damage in the confusion.

And the Peterbilt semi-truck that Ben Grimm had pinned to the ground—the poor Autobot leader Optimus Prime—was completely wrecked due to Ben's sheer strength.

So who would be held accountable for all the damage? Should the vehicle owners be left to fend for themselves?

Two hours later, Miss Stark found herself at a private hotel owned by the Osborn family, located in Manhattan's Upper East Side.

"Not bad taste, I must say. Not bad at all."

She sat on the plush, luxurious bed in the hotel room, carefully examining the room's decor.

Unlike many hotels, this private establishment—belonging to the Osborn family—exuded a gaudy opulence that bordered on nouveau riche.

Though the decor had a bit of that flashy, over-the-top feel, it was hard to find any real flaws. It was evident that professionals had designed the space.

The hotel, nestled among the city's towering skyscrapers, had only four stories. Though it seemed modest in size, appearances could be deceiving.

This was a private hotel owned by the Osborn family, usually not open to the public and reserved only for special occasions to host select guests.

With just four stories, the hotel had a limited number of rooms, but not just anyone could stay here.

Each room featured hardwood floors, silk tapestries, handcrafted Moroccan lamps, and a minibar stocked with local products.

The bathrooms were equally luxurious, with marble floors, soaking tubs, and brass rain showers.

Despite the relatively small size of the rooms, they were meticulously designed, offering a sense of refined luxury.

Miss Stark had decided not to return to the Stark Tower tonight and instead checked into this hotel.

To be honest, she enjoyed this type of vintage-style private hotel—it had apartment-like small rooms, a rooftop garden with flower trellises, and even a small bar in the lobby serving hand-ground coffee.

If needed, professional massage therapists, manicurists, and makeup artists could come directly to her room to provide services.

It was indeed a lovely place, and her glowing review did not go unnoticed by her host, Norman Osborn, who sent her a platinum membership card as a token of appreciation. With this card, she could enjoy all the hotel's services whenever she wished.

On another note—the events of the afternoon played out exactly as they had in the fragmented memories Miss Stark had recalled.

The traffic incident on the Brooklyn Bridge had attracted firefighters, who nearly tumbled off the bridge thanks to Ben Grimm's presence.

In the end, it took the newly formed Fantastic Four, New York's latest superhero team, to prevent further disaster.

Soon after, a bunch of fearless New Yorkers began cheering and applauding, as if the firetruck were supposed to plunge into the river.

Regardless, the four individuals became known as the city's new superheroes, though Miss Stark couldn't quite comprehend the citizens' enthusiasm.

If Ben Grimm hadn't thrown a tantrum, none of this would have happened in the first place, right?

This enormous traffic jam shut down the Brooklyn Bridge for an entire afternoon—was it supposed to be written off as a natural disaster?

Would insurance companies foot the bill, or would the city government have to take responsibility?

By now, several New York media outlets had arrived, with reporters and cameramen making their way to the scene on foot.

Perhaps to avoid any legal consequences, the fire chief even held a press conference right there on the bridge.

Normally, New Yorkers are always in a rush, claiming they're too busy for anything—but suddenly, they all seemed to have time to attend a press conference in the middle of a bridge.

"The new era has arrived—now is the era of the Fantastic Four!"

Johnny Storm, also known as the Human Torch, spread his arms wide and loudly proclaimed this as the conference concluded.

Miss Stark was indifferent, though she couldn't help but notice that Johnny bore a striking resemblance to Steve Rogers.

"Rich in tech, poor in mutations. Where on earth did that saying come from?"

As a representative of the bourgeoisie, Miss Stark found herself reluctantly agreeing with that sentiment.

But the problem was that she hadn't yet inherited the family business, so she couldn't access a large sum of money.

"No, I need to make sure the Extremis virus fetches a good price."

Having made up her mind, Miss Stark left for the Osborn family's hotel as soon as the traffic cleared.

The reason she accepted Norman Osborn's invitation to his party was simple—she planned to exploit the situation.

To ensure the success of her next plan, she needed to secure funding somehow.

As the saying goes, "No money, no talk." Without funds, nothing would get done.

Although the company sent her millions of dollars in monthly allowances, it wasn't enough.

Technology, while lucrative, was also incredibly costly. The returns were great, but the time and money invested were astronomical.

Especially since she had already spent all of the $3 billion she earned from S.H.I.E.L.D.—yes, all of it.

Last week, Ulysses Klaue's men had met with her security team in Switzerland to conduct the vibranium transaction.

Klaue may have been a villain at heart, but he had a business relationship with Miss Stark.

At least, there was no double-crossing involved; Happy Hogan successfully brought the vibranium back.

Along with it, he brought 50 grams of a special alloy known as Adamantium, placed beside the vibranium samples.

This unique metal was forged using a combination of a special alloy and vibranium.

One glance was all it took for Miss Stark to realize this was Klaue's way of currying favor.

Why else would the man extend an olive branch unless he was trying to gain access to Stark Industries' channels?

But thinking back, she regretted not noticing the presence of the Thing sooner.

The arrival of the Fantastic Four caused a shake-up in the stock price of DoomTech, the company where Reed Richards—Mr. Fantastic—worked.

The Fantastic Four had mutated due to cosmic radiation while aboard a space station, which had crashed as a result of that radiation.

To the public, the space station's destruction symbolized the failure of DoomTech's project, leading to a steep decline in the company's stock price.

Had Miss Stark noticed them sooner, she could've pulled some funds to short DoomTech stock.

Unfortunately, by the time she realized it, the opportunity had passed, thanks to the distraction caused by this group.

Speaking of stocks—Miss Stark had already repurchased a small portion of Stark Industries' floating shares.

However, the total she had managed to reclaim only amounted to roughly 1%.

Stark Industries was still on the rise, and not many people were willing to part with their shares.

Even if she added the 50% shareholdings she had yet to officially inherit, it only gave her just enough to be considered a major shareholder.

Sure, her father, Howard, was quite the moneymaker, but the Stark family's true wealth came from inheritance.

Stark Industries had risen from the military-industrial complex, with Howard making a fortune during World War II and the Cold War.

The long-standing relationship with the U.S. military ensured a stable financial chain for Stark Industries.

And after more than half a century of growth, Stark Industries had expanded its business worldwide.

Even at the most conservative estimate, the company's $100 billion valuation placed her family at the top of the world.

Of course, all of this would only come to fruition once her inheritance officially took effect.

At the moment, she was just a scientist urgently in need of a massive amount of funding.

Caught in a whirlwind of thoughts, Miss Stark stood up and left her hotel room decisively.

She was done waiting. Although Norman's family illness might make it difficult for him, she couldn't wait any longer.

As she made her way to the hotel's top-floor office, she encountered an unexpected but unsurprising figure.

"Miss Stark, a pleasure to see you—good afternoon. How's your stay?"

Standing before her was Harry Osborn, the Osborn family's young heir, and a decent kid.

Despite his elite upbringing, Harry was surprisingly down-to-earth and polite in his interactions.

Still, knowing what her fragmented memories held for him, Miss Stark couldn't help but pity the boy.

His girlfriend would eventually be stolen by his best friend, leaving him heartbroken. Later, he'd suffer the onset of a hereditary illness.

When he sought out his former friend, Peter Parker, for a sample of blood for research, he'd be rejected, driving him down the same villainous path as his father.

In Harry's eyes, Peter was the cause of all his misfortune.

So, Stark had decided to offer some form of selective compensation to the father and son—after all, she was responsible for mentoring Spidey.

Of course, even if she was compensating them, it would still come at a price. Nothing was free.

"Good afternoon, Harry. It's nice to see you. Is your father in his office?"

Returning Harry's greeting with a smile, Miss Stark nodded.

Her Extremis Virus was far superior to the genetic-enhancement drugs Osborn Industries had been working on.

And the best part? The Extremis Virus not only cured illnesses but also prevented the patients from looking hideous.

A few minutes later, with Harry Osborn leading the way, Miss Stark arrived at Norman Osborn's office.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Osborn. I'm glad to be here at your invitation."

"Good afternoon, Miss Stark. It's a pleasure to see you."

Naturally, their meeting started with the usual pleasantries, or what one might call polite, meaningless chatter.

It was the kind of empty formalities typical of the elite class.

But Miss Stark soon decided to get straight to the point. She wasn't in the mood to wait any longer.