Cathy Webb wasn't the particularly talkative type. Naturally, Henry wasn't about to bluntly ask her whether she had no parents, or whether she had grown up in an orphanage or foster home.
Questions like that would be terribly rude when you didn't know someone well.
Cathy Webb's lack of interests actually stemmed from the financial difficulties she had experienced while growing up. Naturally, she hadn't had the means to pursue many hobbies, nor the opportunity to explore much of anything. Unless she had chosen to go down a self-destructive path, there were plenty of ways she could have sought excitement. But she hadn't gone down that road.
Now that she was much more financially comfortable, her personality had more or less settled into its shape. Unless some major upheaval occurred in her life, she would probably spend the rest of it living this quiet, unremarkable way.
But when the topic turned to emergency medical care, this woman who claimed she didn't know much suddenly became much more talkative.
Whether it was cutting-edge first-aid techniques or improvising at an emergency scene, she could not only offer theories and the reasoning behind them, but sometimes draw on her own experience to share insights that were a little different.
Frontline emergency responders like her were comparable to emergency-room doctors and nurses. They were all-purpose assistants who had to know a little about everything and understand a little of everything.
At the very least, when they encountered a situation, they needed to know what direction to investigate instead of stubbornly insisting that someone with a head injury had a sore foot. The harm caused by a misdiagnosis was far more serious than simply having inadequate medical skills.
Henry, who had once worked the streets of Los Angeles as a jack-of-all-trades, naturally had plenty to discuss with her on this subject. He could even talk about caring for the elderly, which fit quite well with his current line of work.
Before they knew it, Cathy Webb had enthusiastically talked about all sorts of things, eaten a great deal, and gone through several refills of champagne.
Although he still didn't know whether the past of this woman who might one day become Madame Web was really what he remembered, he could be certain of one thing: Cathy Webb was genuinely a good person.
She worked as a paramedic not simply because it was a job, but because she wanted to help people.
At one point, she had planned to use the job to save up enough money for medical school. Now, she felt that the work itself was important. Helping people on the front lines wasn't any less important than saving lives in an operating room.
Sometimes, when she saw a cat or dog injured on the street, she would feel compassion and want to bandage its wounds.
The basic first aid itself wasn't a problem for these animals. The real difficulty was figuring out how to earn the trust of an unfamiliar animal so that it would willingly stay still and let her treat it.
So most of the time, there was nothing she could do but leave the matter unresolved.
Cathy Webb was also one of the people who knew about what Henry had done during the first two days after 9/11. At the time, she had been stationed at an emergency medical post, working around the clock with barely any opportunity to rest.
And the culprit behind that was the man who had used nothing more than a walkie-talkie to drive the efficiency of on-site personnel deployment to its absolute limit. The name Henry Brown had naturally earned a little more of her attention.
The two of them occasionally talked about what they had done in their respective positions during that dark period, why they had made those decisions, and whether, looking back afterward, there might have been better ways to handle those problems.
Just as the two had found a topic and were deep in conversation, an unwelcome guest interrupted them and sat down in an empty chair beside the small table.
"Phew. Finally, a chance to catch my breath. Why do I feel like facing a room full of generals at the Defense Department's year-end party was less exhausting than today? Hi, beautiful. I'm Tony Stark. And you are...?"
"Cathy. Cathy Webb. Hello, Mr. Stark. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"What do you do?"
"I'm a paramedic with the New York City Fire Department."
"Oh, a noble profession."
Just as Tony Stark leaned forward, preparing to continue his questions, the bashful Cathy Webb suddenly spoke in a restrained but slightly louder voice.
"Mr. Stark."
"Yes?"
"...Please don't."
The usually unstoppable Tony Stark had just been given a flat rejection.
Henry, who had been watching the show from the side, couldn't help shaking his shoulders as he desperately tried to suppress his laughter.
"What did you say to this lovely lady?" the young master demanded angrily, glaring at Henry as he struggled not to laugh.
"Do you really need me to? Tony Stark's reputation speaks for itself. I don't need to advertise you. Everyone already knows what you're like, right?"
The Kryptonian mercilessly twisted the knife.
As though unable to handle being around such a powerful industrial magnate, Cathy Webb suddenly stood up.
"Sorry, I need a drink."
Then she ran off, leaving the young master staring blankly after her.
Henry burst out laughing like a pig.
The sound was particularly grating to Tony Stark's ears. He regretted not bringing a gun with him. His fists couldn't hurt this guy, so maybe a bullet would have worked.
"Well, well, Young Master. Did you ever imagine that one day you'd see a woman running away from you in terror?"
"Shut up! If you can't speak like a civilized human being, I hereby grant you permission not to speak at all."
Henry made a zipping motion across his mouth with one finger. This little bit of dirt could be used against him for the rest of his life. There was no need to exhaust its entertainment value today.
In a foul mood, Tony Stark gave his head of security a look. Happy Hogan immediately brought over a glass of champagne on a silver tray and carefully placed it on the table.
Because of its low alcohol content, the young master treated it like an ordinary drink and downed it in one go. The glass was promptly taken away, and Happy Hogan went to prepare another.
Every drink or alcoholic beverage that reached Tony's lips was personally watched by the head of security, who poured it from the bottle into a clean glass. There was no opportunity for an outsider to add anything or tamper with it.
After calming himself down somewhat, Tony Stark once again rested one hand on the table, pretending not to care.
"Let me ask you something."
"So you came here today to ask me questions instead of celebrating Kate's birthday? I'm going to tell Kate on you."
"Are you in elementary school? I came here to celebrate Kate's birthday. Seeing you just reminded me that there was something I could ask you while I was here."
The weak comeback and explanation made it obvious that Tony Stark was still a little afraid. Still, at least he didn't sneak a glance in Katherine Hepburn's direction. Instead, he put on a serious expression.
"Do you know Abstergo Industries?"
Henry answered casually, "Of course. Founded in 1937, its business spans everything from historical research and archaeology to pharmaceuticals, healthcare, high technology, and entertainment. It also has banking operations, foundations, and, most importantly, shipping companies.
"You could say it's a company that has everything from manufacturing, healthcare, and high technology to finance and logistics. Its business is remarkably comprehensive. It has practically built a complete ecosystem internally, so it doesn't have to share a single penny of profit with anyone else."
Tony Stark looked at him strangely. "How do you know all that so well?"
"I've been trading stocks with the Hepburn family these past few years, so of course I've looked into publicly listed companies and other well-established companies with registered operations. I can't just know nothing and blindly invest while staring at numbers."
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