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To Simon Boren's credit, he hadn't technically lied to Nick Fury. Up until this exact moment, his professional reputation had been absolutely flawless.
Over the years, he had performed delicate mental surgery for a long line of high-profile clients. He had worked with corrupt politicians hiding dirty campaign money, power-hungry CEOs burying corporate scandals, ruthless crime bosses erasing paper trails, and A-list celebrities covering up catastrophic mistakes. Through all of it, Simon had never leaked a single secret.
His clients trusted him blindly because Simon Boren wasn't just a person; he was a vault. In the glitzy penthouses of the elite and the dark alleys of the criminal underworld, his discretion was legendary. Normally, no amount of money could ever tempt him to ruin his spotless record.
But this situation was an entirely different beast.
The secret currently burning a hole in Simon's brain wasn't some embarrassing celebrity affair, a hidden offshore bank account, or a typical corporate cover-up. It was a straight-up nuclear bomb capable of shattering the entire world if it ever leaked.
Captain America's golden-boy best friend had personally and brutally murdered Iron Man's parents. It wasn't an accident or collateral damage; it was a cold-blooded execution.
The reality of it was so completely insane that Simon still had trouble wrapping his own mind around it. But every single time he replayed that bloody memory in his head, he didn't just feel horror. He saw a mountain of cash, a truly ridiculous, mind-boggling, life-changing amount of wealth that could buy private tropical islands and total freedom.
Ever since he had escaped Fury's creepy underground bunker, Simon hadn't been able to focus on anything else. His brain was stuck in a loop, constantly scheming on how to find Tony Stark, sell him the devastating truth, and retire filthy rich.
It sounded perfect in theory, but the real nightmare was actually getting within breathing distance of the man. The billionaire lived in a dimension entirely different from that of ordinary citizens. You couldn't just stroll into Stark Tower, flash a smile at the front desk, and ask for a quick meeting with the boss because security would throw you onto the pavement before you even reached the elevator.
So, Simon played the long game. He waited, watched, and tracked Stark's public schedule like a professional hound. One day bled into three, three days became a week, and before he knew it, two entire weeks had slipped by with zero openings.
Just when Simon's patience was about to snap, Lady Luck finally threw him a bone with rumors that Tony Stark had just rolled into a high-stakes gambling salon operating under the luxurious Wynn Resorts banner.
The moment Simon heard the news, he nearly burst out laughing. Corporate headquarters were locked down tighter than Fort Knox, and private tech labs were even worse, but casinos were beautiful. In a place like that, as long as you had a fat stack of cash to buy into the game, nobody cared who you were, and the front door was wide open.
A few hours later, Simon smoothly crossed the threshold into the gaming lounge.
The sprawling VIP floor practically radiated obscene wealth. Massive crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceilings, casting a glittering glow over polished marble floors, custom-tailored suits, and breathtaking designer dresses.
Finding Tony Stark didn't take any detective work at all, though. Men like Stark were like black holes, automatically becoming the center of the universe wherever they went.
The billionaire inventor was occupying the center spot at a wildly crowded craps table, completely surrounded by an absolute army of beautiful parasites. Models, high-society influencers, and professional opportunists were packed shoulder-to-shoulder, hanging onto his every word and roaring with laughter at his jokes before he could even hit the punchline. Tony sat comfortably right in the thick of it, looking less like a scientist and more like a king holding court.
Simon let out a heavy sigh, adjusted his collar, and accepted that nothing in his life could ever just be easy. After several minutes of aggressively shoulder-checking his way through the velvet ropes and the dense crowd, Simon finally managed to wedge his way into the inner circle just in time to witness Tony doing exactly what Tony Stark did best.
He was effortlessly flirting with a stunning brunette who was currently leaning her entire weight against his shoulder.
"Hey, gorgeous," Tony purred, flashing a dazzling, million-watt grin. "Do me a massive favor and blow on these for me. My luck is running a little low tonight."
He held out a pair of shiny red dice. The woman let out a low, teasing laugh, a playful glint appearing in her eyes.
"Only if you promise to split the jackpot with me," she countered.
Tony dramatically clapped a hand over his heart as if he'd just been shot. "Now that is an incredibly expensive service fee. You drive a brutal bargain, sweetheart."
Another wave of predictable chuckles rippled through the surrounding crowd. The brunette rolled her eyes playfully, cupping the dice loosely between her palms. She blew across them with theatrical seriousness before dropping them back into his hand with a smirk.
"There," she warned him. "Now you have absolutely zero excuses if you lose the roll."
Tony caught them, giving her a quick, devastating wink. "That's where you're wrong, beautiful. I always have an excuse."
Another wave of loud laughter broke out around the craps table, but standing just a few feet away, Simon felt his heart rate start to spike. He was finally within striking distance of the genius billionaire.
Tony flashed a brilliant, cocky grin, rolling the red cubes between his fingers with practiced ease. "I can already feel probability bending to my will. Watch and learn, people."
With a casual, theatrical flick of his wrist, he sent them tumbling across the green felt.
*Clatter! Clatter!*
The dice bounced sharply off the back wall, spun wildly for a second, and finally died. Three. Two. Three.
Tony stared down at the disappointing numbers for a beat, his jaw dropping slightly. Then, he threw his hands into the air, looking utterly betrayed.
"Oh, come on, that is just straight-up disrespectful," he complained, drawing a massive burst of laughter from the crowd. He pointed a dramatic, accusing finger at the dice. "Seriously, I've spent years contributing to global technological advancement, international security, and the occasional act of literal world-saving heroism. The least the universe could do is reward me with a decent roll."
"Mr. Stark."
A calm, serious voice suddenly cut right through the lingering chuckles.
Tony barely glanced over his shoulder. The exact millisecond his brain registered that the speaker wasn't a supermodel, a famous influencer, or a tech billionaire he already knew, his interest completely evaporated. Another stranger. Another random guy looking for an autograph, a selfie, or a handout.
Without missing a beat, Tony turned his attention right back to the gaming table.
Simon took a step closer, intentionally narrowing the distance between them. He lowered his voice, dropping it into a quiet, firm register that commanded attention. "I have something incredibly important to discuss with you. Something you actually need to hear."
Tony picked up another heavy stack of high-value casino chips, stacking them idly in his palm. "That's fascinating, buddy," he said, his voice dripping with so much sarcasm it could have melted the ice in his drink. "Unfortunately, as you may have noticed, I'm currently very busy losing a small fortune."
He gestured vaguely at the table with his free hand, giving the crowd another show. "Try visualizing the situation. If you look closely, you'll see my schedule is completely packed."
A few socialites nearby giggled at the dismissal, but Simon didn't even crack a smile. He was done playing around, and he didn't have time to dance around Tony's massive ego.
"It concerns your father," Simon said clearly.
The effect was instantaneous.
Tony froze mid-motion, the chips in his hand going completely still. The easygoing playboy smile vanished. The witty joking, the effortless charm, the carefree billionaire act, every single bit of it shattered and disappeared in less than a second.
Slowly and deliberately, Tony turned his head and locked his gaze directly onto Simon.
The look in his dark eyes made Simon's stomach twist into a tight, nervous knot. Just a moment ago, Tony had looked like a relaxed guy having a fun night out. Now, he looked dangerous, cold, calculated, and terrifyingly sharp.
"What did you just say?" Tony asked. His voice wasn't loud at all. In fact, it had dropped to a quiet, dangerous whisper, which somehow made the threat level skyrocket.
Simon suddenly understood exactly how terrified those corporate boardrooms must feel when Tony Stark stopped playing the clown and started acting like the ruthless genius who built a global empire. Forcing himself to breathe and maintain direct eye contact, Simon stood his ground. "I said it concerns your father, Howard Stark."
For several long, suffocating seconds, nobody at the table dared to utter a word. The entire atmosphere around the high-stakes game became incredibly tense, the playful energy completely dying out. Even the dense socialites and models realized they were standing on a landmine.
Everyone in the world knew Howard Stark had died decades ago in a tragic, horrific car accident. It was ancient history. So why on earth was this random stranger bringing it up to Tony's face in the middle of a casino?
"Do you have any actual idea what you're implying right now?" Tony's voice was razor-sharp, cutting through the silence. Every single syllable felt deliberate, measured, and packed with a quiet fury.
Simon swallowed hard, the adrenaline spiking in his veins, but he had come way too far to back down now. "I know exactly what I'm implying," he met Tony's intense stare head-on. "And I'm telling you right now, if you turn around and walk away from me, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."
The flashing neon lights and roaring background noise of the main casino floor suddenly felt miles away, completely muted.
Tony just stared at him, his genius brain working at hyper-speed, searching Simon's face for any sign of a scam, a con, or a cheap lie. But whatever he saw in Simon's terrified yet dead-serious expression apparently convinced him that this wasn't an ordinary hustle.
"If you're wasting my time," Tony murmured, his voice steady and chillingly calm, "then you're going to regret it a whole lot sooner than the rest of your life."
Simon forced his muscles not to flinch under the weight of the threat.
Tony didn't say another word to the crowd. He just jerked his head sharply toward the VIP exit, turning on his heel. "Move. Come with me."
A massive wave of relief flooded through Simon's entire body. The hardest part of the plan was officially over; he had managed to grab Tony Stark's absolute attention. Now, he just had to actually survive the conversation.
Keeping a brisk pace to match the billionaire's angry strides, Simon followed him through a maze of private hallways, biometric-secured elevators, and restricted-access corridors that standard tourists didn't even know existed.
Eventually, the elevator doors slid open, and they emerged into the massive, dimly lit underground VIP parking structure. Rows of pristine, multi-million-dollar luxury vehicles lined the polished concrete floor, looking like a dream garage. But none of them could even compare to the machine waiting at the very far end of the facility.
The vehicle waiting in the shadows looked less like a traditional sports car and more like a top-secret military project stolen straight from a stealth hangar. It was low to the ground, aggressively wide, and looked absurdly, mind-bogglingly expensive. The sleek, matte-black carbon-fiber frame practically radiated power.
Simon stopped in his tracks, staring open-mouthed. "That's... a car?"
Tony didn't even break his stride as he walked up to it. "Depends," he muttered, pressing a button on a sleek metal key fob.
Instantly, the vehicle's futuristic LED headlights purred to life, illuminating the dark garage. "Do fighter jets count as cars if you add enough cupholders?"
With a soft, mechanical hiss, the dramatic butterfly doors swept majestically upward. Simon quickly climbed into the passenger side, sliding into a low, custom leather bucket seat. The cockpit looked like it had been designed by a team of elite aerospace engineers who had been handed an unlimited budget.
A second later, Tony settled behind the wheel, his face a mask of pure concentration. The doors sealed shut with a heavy, pressurized click, completely cutting off the outside world.
Without warning, Tony slammed his foot down on the accelerator.
*VROOOOM!*
The hidden engine erupted with a deafening roar, sounding like a caged apex predator finally being unleashed into the wild. Simon's eyes widened in sheer panic as a split second later, the brutal G-force slammed his entire body backward into the leather seat.
The hypercar launched out of the underground garage like a heat-seeking missile.
The bright neon lights of the Las Vegas Strip, instantly blurred through the tinted windows, formed a chaotic streak of color. Massive luxury hotels flashed past in a blink, traffic dissolved behind them into a distant memory, and the car cut through the night air with terrifying speed.
As the city lights raced past at a dizzying pace, Simon suddenly realized a horrifying truth. He was now officially trapped inside a speeding rocket with one of the smartest and potentially most lethal men on the planet. And he still hadn't dropped the world-shattering secret that was about to ruin everything.
"Alright." Tony's dark eyes remained fixed on the asphalt ahead as the hypercar weaved through the late-night traffic at a speed that definitely violated several major laws of physics. "Let's hear it."
He switched lanes with an alarming amount of casual confidence, barely missing the bumper of a stray sedan. "What's so incredibly important that you felt the need to completely hijack my evening?"
Simon tightened his grip on the leather door handle until his knuckles turned completely white. He glanced out the passenger window at the terrifying blur of neon lights rushing past them.
"Here?" Simon managed to choke out, his voice vibrating with the motion of the car. "Now? You want to do this right now?"
The man was driving like he was trying to qualify for a Formula One race, and meanwhile, they were apparently about to discuss a dark, potentially world-shattering conspiracy. The environment felt a little less than ideal.
"That's usually how human conversations work," Tony replied, his tone sounding completely relaxed and unbothered as he made another sharp turn that sent Simon sliding against his seat. "People talk. Other people listen. It's a classic system."
Simon felt his stomach threaten to violently resign from its position. "Mr. Stark, the information I have isn't exactly the kind of casual gossip you discuss while flying down a public highway at whatever suicidal speed this is."
"That's fair," Tony said, nodding along like a reasonable man. Then, he deliberately pressed his foot down harder on the accelerator. "But my daily schedule doesn't usually include spontaneous private road trips with complete strangers, either. Consider this a strictly limited-time offer, buddy."
"Then we need to pull over. We need a secure room, a private environment, a lawyer, a priest, or maybe even a therapist," Simon stammered, his mind racing as fast as the engine.
Tony let out a dry, amused snort. "Interesting pitch, really. Unfortunately for you, you're officially running out of time."
"What?"
"Originally, I planned to give you a generous five minutes," Tony said, casually tapping the glowing digital clock on the sleek dashboard. "But you've managed to talk a lot without saying anything, so you're down to three."
Simon's left eye twitched with pure frustration. "Three minutes?"
"Actually, it's closer to two and a half now," Tony corrected with a careless shrug. "Time flies when you're having fun, and it flies even faster when people refuse to just get to the damn point."
For a fleeting second, Simon seriously considered the logistics of throwing himself out of the moving vehicle. He couldn't understand how he was completely losing control of this negotiation. He was the one holding the ultimate secret, the one who was supposed to have all the leverage, yet from the moment they met in that casino, Tony Stark had effortlessly dictated every aspect of the conversation. He controlled the pace, the high-pressure setting, the rules, everything.
Worse yet, Simon genuinely believed that the billionaire would kick him out onto the side of the road if he kept stalling. Tony's legendary reputation for having zero patience wasn't a secret to anyone.
'Take a breath,' Simon told himself. Enough buildup. Enough games. It was time to drop the nuclear bomb and see how the genius liked it. He inhaled sharply, braced his feet against the floorboards, and spoke. "Stark… Do you actually know how your parents died?"
The reaction was instantaneous and violent.
*SCREEEECH!*
The hypercar came to an immediate, brutal halt. It wasn't a gradual deceleration or a controlled stop; it was a vicious, screeching slam that made physics everyone's immediate problem. The ultra-expensive carbon-ceramic brakes screamed in protest, and the high-performance tires bit desperately into the asphalt.
Simon's entire body lurched violently forward. The seatbelt locked up instantly, digging brutally into his chest and knocking the wind right out of his lungs. A split second later, his neck snapped back against the headrest, and bright, flashing stars exploded across his vision. For a long, disorienting second, he wasn't entirely sure what planet he was currently on.
When his eyesight finally cleared, he discovered that the car had stopped dead in the exact middle of an empty, dimly lit side street. The roaring engine had dropped to a low, ominous purr.
And Tony Stark was staring at him.
He wasn't just looking. He was staring. The difference was massive, and it was absolutely terrifying. The playful, arrogant billionaire was completely gone. The sarcastic, quick-witted genius was gone. Even the carefree playboy persona had utterly vanished into thin air. What remained sitting in the driver's seat was something infinitely colder, sharper, and deadlier.
"What," Tony said, his voice was quiet. Very quiet. "What did you just say to me?"
His hands tightened around the steering wheel so hard that the expensive leather began to loudly creak and groan under the sheer pressure. Simon noticed the subtle movement and felt a small, dark surge of satisfaction wash through his panic.
There it was. That was the exact, raw reaction he had been waiting for. For the first time since he had stepped into this ridiculous car, Simon finally had total control of the conversation.
"You heard me," Simon said, adjusting his rumpled suit jacket and forcing his voice to remain steady and calm. "The official story that the entire world believes says it was a tragic car accident. A sudden tire blowout on a deserted road. A horrible stroke of bad luck."
Tony didn't blink. He didn't move a single muscle.
"A tragic loss," Simon continued, leaning forward just enough to invade Tony's space. A slow, knowing smile began to spread across his face. "The only problem is... that's not what actually happened, Stark."
Something dark and tumultuous flashed deep behind Tony's eyes. For the very first time, genuine, raw human emotion cracked through the billionaire's perfect composure, and Simon saw it immediately. It was a messy, painful cocktail of hope, fear, and absolute rage all tangled up together.
"The accident was completely staged," Simon whispered, each word landing in the quiet cabin like a heavy hammer. "Your parents didn't die because of a bad tire or a slick road. Someone went out there and personally killed them."
The air inside the sealed hypercar felt heavily charged, like the suffocating tension in the atmosphere right before a lightning strike destroys the ground. Tony's lethal gaze never left Simon's face.
"Keep talking," Tony growled out, the words vibrating low in his throat like a warning from a predator.
Simon's smile widened. He finally held the absolute winning hand, and the power dynamic had completely flipped.
"Do you want to know," Simon asked softly, his voice echoing in the silence, "who actually pulled the trigger?"
And for the first time in his entire life, the infamous Tony Stark didn't have a single sarcastic remark ready.
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Next Chapter: A Billion Dollar Truth
Next Next Chapter: Some Debts Can Only Be Paid in Blood
Next Next Next Chapter: Iron Man Storms the S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Black Site
Visit my P@tr3on or K0‑fi ''Isopuff'' page and unlock +20 extra chapters and daily updates!