Marvel's Iron Lady

Driven by financial motivations—or perhaps to secure a larger profit at a strategic time—the $50 billion arms deal between Stark Industries and the U.S. Department of Defense was kept under wraps.

After consulting with Miss Stark, Obadiah Stane, who had returned as acting CEO, similarly withheld news of her safe return to New York City. Within Stark Industries, only Obadiah and Pepper Potts, Miss Stark's fiery-tempered assistant, knew she was back.

These two pieces of information were her trump cards. Only by revealing them at the right moment could she extract the most benefit, so she remained hidden, allowing stock prices to plummet while waiting for shareholders to sell.

To get Obadiah to cooperate with her plan, she promised to transfer a small portion of her shares to him once it was over, rewarding his decades of dedication to the company. Money talks—she knew this all too well. She had long mastered the art of using profit as bait to stir others' hidden desires to achieve her own ends.

Dr. Yinsen's identity was still too sensitive to disclose. She had Jarvis prepare a fake identity for him, transforming him from a Middle Eastern scholar into a full-fledged American citizen with a green card. He temporarily stayed in a top suite at a private hotel under Obadiah's company, with a credit card loaded with a monthly allowance of $30,000, leaving him well-provided-for and the envy of others.

Unfortunately, Dr. Yinsen, though now free from material concerns, couldn't stay idle. He bought numerous books on design from the bookstore, staying holed up in the hotel, diving deep into his studies. Miss Stark shook her head in resignation but chose not to disturb him, knowing how important meaningful interests and goals were to a person.

He was not blinded by American wealth, which pleased her immensely, so she let him be. She herself returned in secret to her penthouse atop Stark Tower to prepare for her next steps and consider a more crucial matter.

"Jarvis, tell me—if I were to shut down the weapons research division, halt arms sales to crash our stock prices, then buy up shares during the plunge and later restart sales, would that be considered commercial fraud?"

When she asked Jarvis this question after much deliberation, the AI, for the first time, fell silent for over ten seconds.

"...There's no explicit regulation against it within the financial statutes I've reviewed. However, such an about-face could easily spark resistance from various interests. The final outcome is difficult to predict, Miss."

Jarvis was quiet, perhaps shocked by her proposal or merely sifting through databases, finally offering her an ambiguous response.

"You know, dear, our weapons sales aren't based on affordability and volume—they're based on the irresistible allure of our technology."

Seated on the sofa, Miss Stark crossed her arms, slowly shaking her head as she spoke. As she said, Stark Industries' weapon sales never relied on sheer volume but on the irreplaceable cutting-edge technology they provided.

After completing initial capital accumulation through arms sales during World War II, Howard had steered Stark Industries down an innovative path, away from low-cost industrial goods. Numerous new weapons technologies had been developed and deployed on battlefields, turning Stark Industries into a corporate powerhouse.

Take, for instance, the Jericho missile she'd sold to the U.S. military. With a production cost of under half a million dollars, it had been sold for five hundred million. This staggering markup was justified by the missile's unrivaled technology and Stark Industries' shameless business acumen.

With destructive power comparable to nuclear weapons yet devoid of radiation or treaty restrictions, the Jericho missile became an irresistible choice for the U.S. military, no matter the cost.

If she announced the suspension of weapon R&D and sales, it would mean cutting off Stark Industries' lifeblood, burning down everything her father had built over his lifetime. Within hours, media coverage would label her a "profligate heiress."

Her reputation wasn't the issue. The issue was that, as a defense conglomerate, Stark Industries halting its arms business would signal a feeding frenzy for competitors. Who would hold onto their shares or risk their own ruin as the company collapsed?

"Jarvis, get me Obadiah. Wait—have Pepper arrange for a trusted makeup artist. I need to fake my injuries, and after the makeup's done, secure the artist. I don't want word of this leaking. We'll pay them off generously once this is all over."

With that, Miss Stark took out her phone and dialed Obadiah's number. After a half-hour conversation, she hung up.

Within hours, media glued to Stark Industries broadcasted a bombshell announcement: The CEO of Stark Industries had returned safely to the U.S. That night, she would hold a press conference at the Stark Industries headquarters, with the media invited to attend.

The news shocked the board but exhilarated employees. Her return meant a rebound in stock prices and perhaps even a higher surge, prompting everyone to spread the news to as many as possible.

Financial markets are closely tied to the news, with any development causing waves. And this announcement exploded like a bombshell across the media.

With Stark Industries' cooperation, the news spread across America. The press conference that evening became a must-see event.

Human curiosity drives people to gossip. Everyone wanted to know what the stunning CEO had endured in the war zone and if the terrorists had done unspeakable things to her.

Yet, they cared more about their investments and the stock market's reaction to her return.

Numerous nationwide cable networks announced live coverage, and several online news outlets planned to stream the event, making it available to millions.

The mere announcement of the press conference lifted Stark Industries' declining stock, which now showed signs of rebounding. Watching this, Miss Stark's only response was a sardonic smile.

"Fly high, because the higher you go, the harder you'll fall."

She tossed her tablet onto the seat of the Rolls-Royce, her gaze landing on Pepper sitting nearby.

"How's that makeup artist?"

"They've been secured, and all communication devices confiscated. But…isn't this a bit overboard?"

Pepper blinked in surprise, then replied, her face showing worry.

Following Miss Stark's instructions, Pepper had found a trusted makeup artist who applied various wounds to her body. They even consulted a doctor, who issued a medical report and set her arm in a fake cast, secured with a sling around her neck.

However, all these individuals had been taken into custody by Miss Stark's security team, and their communications devices confiscated. She wasn't about to risk this charade being exposed and turned into leverage against her.

She'd seen enough mobster movies where a godfather-type character would pull people aside to intimidate them into silence. Little had she imagined that she'd one day employ the same tactics.

Of course, they would be compensated afterward, with an offer generous enough to ensure their silence.

"For now, you'll just have to endure, dear."

At Miss Stark's words, Pepper nodded, though her expression was subdued, with a touch of resentment.

Sensing Pepper's simmering anger, Miss Stark gently placed a hand on her waist, resting her head on Pepper's shoulder with a mischievous grin.

"Alright, don't be mad. We'll head to Dubai later for a belated birthday party to make it up to you. How about that?"

Pepper turned her head, surprised. She knew her boss all too well. Someone who could hardly remember her credit card PIN surely couldn't remember her assistant's birthday.

Pepper's reaction was noncommittal. She knew her boss wanted the party more for herself, using her birthday as an excuse.

When the Rolls-Royce finally arrived at the Stark Industries headquarters, a crowd of reporters had already swarmed the entrance, snapping photos as security held them back.

Hours after her journey from New York to Washington, it was time for the press conference to start. Journalists and camera crews from every corner were jostling for a story, eager for breaking news.

Miss Stark's car was the last to arrive, signaling the event's imminent commencement. As she emerged, she recognized several familiar faces in the crowd.

Colonel James Rhodes, wearing his dress uniform, looked at her with concern, having evidently returned from the Middle East. Also in attendance was New York's Mayor Norman Osborn, along with several city officials, likely to show solidarity or even loyalty.

Nearby, she spotted Matt Murdock, head of legal affairs at Disaster Control Corp., in a dark red suit. Next to him stood Captain Steve Rogers, whose presence here puzzled her.

Beside Rogers was a familiar face, Phil Coulson, conversing with his idol. As SHIELD Director Fury's right hand, Coulson was likely here as SHIELD's representative, a sign of official interest—or something more…

When she noticed the lone figure in the crowd—a bald man with a single eye—her expression froze.

"Oh, damn. Nick Fury? What's he doing here?"

Dressed in an elegant black gown, Obadiah Stane stood among the board members with a practiced smile. When Miss Stark's car arrived, his smile grew even more radiant. Ignoring the other board members' opinions, he strode over, opened her door, and helped her out.

With a brilliant smile, he held her only functional arm as they stood shoulder-to-shoulder, basking in the camera flashes and the photographers' clicks.

"To play this game with you, I put up my last savings, girl. If you lose, you'll owe me for my retirement."

He leaned in, whispering into her ear so only she could hear, though his face remained calm as if nothing had happened.

"Don't worry, old man. Just sit back and watch me make money—it'll be worth the shock."

Miss Stark shrugged, extracting her arm from his hold, replying quietly so only Obadiah could hear.

Her body was marked with convincing fake injuries, courtesy of a professional makeup artist. Only those with a close look would notice the ruse. And since she wouldn't let people get too close, everyone would assume her wounds were real.

Her status as a world-renowned CEO, kidnapped in a war zone and returning to the U.S. under mysterious circumstances, had piqued everyone's curiosity.

Half an hour later, with the guests seated and media representatives and cameras set up, Obadiah assisted her to the podium in the conference hall.

"Many of you know what happened to me—or have an idea. Yes, I was kidnapped."

As she opened the conference, she dropped a bombshell. In the crowd, nearly everyone looked on in shock.

"I was kidnapped by a terrorist group known as the Ten Rings. They weren't after ransom, nor did they let me contact home. They wanted me to create weapons for them—the third in Stark Industries' Freedom series, the Jericho missile."

A video of the Jericho missile's test had been uploaded anonymously to numerous video platforms following her kidnapping. No one knew exactly what had happened, but the missile's power was evident, stirring shock and even fear.

Since the Cold War, the U.S. military had possessed cluster bomb technology, though it was rarely used due to technical and material constraints, and its collateral impact on civilians. The world largely condemned cluster munitions, though less than it did nuclear weapons, which are subject to non-proliferation treaties.

The Jericho missile packed a nuclear-level punch without the radiation risks or treaty restrictions, and anyone who knew of its existence would fear what would happen if terrorists controlled it.

"They forced me to build weapons, but I didn't. Instead, I used the materials they provided to build a new weapon and escaped from that hell, sending them to the afterlife along the way."

Miss Stark's performance was impeccable. She leaned against the podium, feigning frailty, evoking sympathy from her audience.

In her words, the events she described had those listening astonished and awed.

"I once asked Howard if he had ever considered that our weapons might be turned against us. I asked if he ever felt conflicted, ever doubted. He didn't answer me. In those few days in that chaotic place, I saw many lives lost to the very weapons I made to protect them."

Hearing this, some in the audience appeared thoughtful. On stage, Miss Stark looked around, her gaze brushing over the board members' faces, noting their rapt attention.

She mentally sneered but kept her composure. Soon, she would reveal her trump card, disrupting the entire market and shaking Stark Industries to its core. The board would bear the consequences.

"Perhaps what I've gone through sounds like fantasy to you all. But for me, it's very real."

"I'm here today, the sole survivor of a nightmare drenched in blood."

She took a deep breath, composing herself as the reporters below perked up, sensing a revelation.

"Because of what I went through, I am now here to send a message to the world. From today onward, Stark Industries will disband its weapons division, ceasing all arms sales and manufacturing. I will destroy our entire weapon stock and end all contracts."

As her words landed, the audience erupted as if she had lobbed a grenade into the crowd. Reporters surged forward, microphones held high, cameras flashing. Emotions ran high—she had caught them off guard.

Most guests shared a single thought—Did I hear correctly? Did Stark Industries' CEO just announce that she was shutting down their arms sales and quitting the business? Is this real? This isn't April Fools' Day, is it???

The media, smelling blood, rushed toward her like sharks. They sensed a major scoop, a career-defining story.

In one corner of the hall sat Stark Industries' board, their expressions cycling through horror, confusion, and despair.

Her actions had severed Stark Industries from its very roots, torching her father's lifelong work.

Was she mad, were they mad, or had the world gone mad?

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