Stephanie pressed the doorbell and began to wait. Though she was no stranger to New York's luxury penthouses, this was her first time at Solomon's residence in the city. Last time, she had only arrived via a teleportation portal directly into his wardrobe. That decision had meant Solomon would now have to reduce his appearances at the university, but it didn't mean he could detach himself from Eternal City's affairs. Stephanie had brought along a stack of documents he had requested—essential for working from home.
It was Dyna, wearing a short dress, who opened the door. Stephanie's eyes instinctively assessed the artificial woman's figure and attire rather than the oil paintings hanging along the corridor or the seemingly casual placement of marble sculptures. She speculated on Solomon's actual tastes. Dyna said nothing, simply leading her forward. Stephanie caught a glimpse of a room with an open door where two scantily dressed, beautiful women were lounging as a vinyl record played music from the 1950s. Another room was packed with equipment fit for a chemical laboratory. Some rooms were larger than the entire apartment itself. Others, despite having their curtains drawn open, remained dark and impenetrable by sunlight—blood-freezing cries echoed faintly from the shadows within.
Stephanie quickly picked up her pace behind the maid. They passed numerous sealed doors and stepped over a gray, chubby cat sprawled arrogantly in the middle of the hallway. Finally, Dyna brought her to the study, where she found the magus dressed in pajamas.
Stephanie took a quiet, deep breath.
"Perfect timing, dear Stephanie," said Solomon, twirling a fountain pen in his hand as his sharp eyes crinkled cheerfully. "I've spent the whole morning studying finance and have completely fallen in love with this number game." Even while speaking, his gaze never strayed from the computer screen. The dancing numbers and shifting curves there influenced the fates of millions. "The likelihood of a Fed interest rate hike keeps increasing. Continued monetary injection would only trigger another financial crisis and shrink the oligarchs' assets. That's unacceptable. So we short the stocks, and convert the cash into what we truly need."
He glanced up. "I think next year is a good time to bottom-fish for commodities—oil, grain, precious metals, industrial metals."
"That's what you hire brokers for, to make money for you—not to do it yourself."
"I know, I know. Getting my hands dirty isn't always wise, but I just wanted to play a little." Solomon smiled at Stephanie's scolding. "There's something irresistible about beating Goldman Sachs and JPMorgan Chase at their own game. I know these companies represent America's investor class—they could even sic the SEC on me. But so what? By the time they react, I'll have switched identities and be stirring up new chaos in the market."
"That'll make accompanying you to the Columbia University banquet very awkward, my lord. The Frankfurt School crowd—those Jewish thinkers—represent the very capitalists you're talking about. Even the Malik family has to maintain good relations with them."
Stephanie frowned and handed him the documents, carefully covering the sheepskin parchments covered with geometric diagrams and complex runes—just looking at them could make someone dizzy.
"Our infiltration efforts have been too slow. Eternal City's seized assets haven't made a dent in the oligarchs' control over the world."
"Eternal City spends eighty percent of its budget on military expenses, Stephanie." Solomon's gaze made the Hydra-born woman pause. "While those oligarchs turn their wealth into stocks, mansions, yachts, jewelry, and parties, we turn ours into aircraft, tanks, guns, ammo, trained soldiers, and advanced weapons. No matter how closely tied the oligarchs are to the military-industrial complex, they don't command a real army. Our takedown of the Clinton family's private army proves Eternal City is a different beast. They're oligarchs—we're warlords. And when you put a gun to someone's head, it's your voice they'll listen to."
"That's too crude—and inappropriate. Have you forgotten how Kennedy died?" Stephanie replied. "We already hold shares in several banks and investment firms. At least maintain the appearance of cooperation—it benefits Eternal City."
In all her scenario planning, Stephanie had excluded the Avengers. So long as no solid evidence was exposed, they had no reason to intervene against Eternal City. And part of the intelligence division's job was to erase such evidence—including anything related to Solomon. Even if exposed, Natasha Romanoff, their mole within the Avengers, could still provide aid. Though Stephanie disliked the unstable double agent—she preferred Hydra-style tactics: assassination, bribery, whatever worked. Efficiency came first.
"It is inappropriate, yes. We haven't declared war yet," Solomon nodded. "I just wanted you to consider another perspective. Our recent actions have left U.S. intelligence agencies too busy to act as watchdogs for the oligarchs. Maybe a Middle Eastern terror group will claim responsibility, and then the U.S. will start another war to stimulate the economy. But that's for later. Even before any war starts, we'll be ready to devour the Pentagon's military contracts and resources. After all, it wouldn't be fair for the oligarchs to eat all the meat while we're left with uncooked fat."
"Sit with me. Let's see what happened after I got off work yesterday."
"And after that, explain why you commissioned someone to forge a battle axe."
"Well... it's true I can't go to Europe right now, but that doesn't mean I can't take part in local New York events—or those on other planets. The Sisterhood's new recruits need training. Zero needs training. Other candidates for the Royal Guard, now post-surgery and cultivated with the Time Stone, also need fieldwork." He explained, "I've sent them to alien planets so that temporal dilation gives them more time to train. That's the kind of knowledge no simulator can teach. And when it comes to hacking people down, nothing beats the simple, direct efficiency of an axe. I need a little stress relief too."
"And what's that supposed to be?"
"Oh, that's a sweater I knitted myself!" Solomon said proudly, lifting his chin. The colors of the yarn were horrendous, but he didn't care. He even called it art. He'd found that the term "postmodern art" worked wonders—it explained away all manner of poor craftsmanship. No wonder a bunch of incompetent painters used it to defend themselves.
"I was going to make you one too! Pick a color—I'll knit you gloves."
"Please don't, my lord." Stephanie sighed. "Just focus on our finances. Funding Lara Croft costs a fortune. We might even get accused of destroying cultural relics. If preserving history is the goal, the money we've spent could've built a small museum. I just don't understand what makes her so important. Her figure?"
"Don't be upset, my dear secretary. Money has never been the issue. Lara Croft has her importance—but the time isn't right yet." Solomon replied. "Once the mining ships on Mars are finished, we'll begin operations in the asteroid belt. If you're impatient, I can transfer some of Kamar-Taj's secular assets to you for management."
"Fine. Then let's talk about General Hale. The negotiations are tomorrow. We need to figure out how to get the most out of her."
Damn it. The Witcher Season 2 screenwriter blocked me.
(End of Chapter)
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