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"You haven't even tried—how do you know?" Tony Stark shot back stubbornly.
Henry raised a brow. "You need to try something like that? Calm down and think it through. Do you really believe you could've extracted anything useful from that couple?"
"Even if they weren't directly involved, they had to know something. Even scraps—casual talk among those old bastards in their little circle. Anything! But I know nothing. Do you understand? Nothing!"
The more he was told to calm down, the more agitated Tony became. Fortunately, the conference table between them kept him from grabbing Henry by the collar and spitting in his face.
Still, Henry was momentarily overwhelmed by the intensity.
So it wasn't indifference after all…
This obsession—this fixation on his father—was turning into something deeper.
Maybe it was because his mother had died too?
Henry recalled the funeral: everyone else placed a single flower for each parent. Tony had placed both of his flowers on his mother's coffin. His father hadn't received even one.
Hatred that deep didn't come from apathy. It came from something else entirely.
Raising both hands in surrender, Henry said, "My mistake. I should've left them alive so you could interrogate them."
Without a verbal sparring partner, Tony gradually calmed down instead.
"No," he said. "You did the right thing. Even if they were alive, I wouldn't have gotten what I wanted—unless I used illegal methods."
Henry nodded. "And using illegal methods on people of that status? Only two outcomes. Either they get silenced, or you do. There's no third option. That's basically a declaration of war."
"I know." Tony looked exhausted, head lowered, one hand pressing against his forehead. "The only chance was to bait them into slipping up. What you heard—that might've been the limit."
Henry said, "Sounds like you've gotten pretty familiar with how cunning those old men are."
Tony lifted his head, resting his chin on his hand, thinking. "People who aren't cautious don't live that long—or climb that high.
"If they were directly involved, the only ones they'd talk to… would be the dead. Brag a little before killing them, maybe.
"The fact that he said that while trying to intimidate and recruit you means he probably just heard rumors. He was using it as leverage—not speaking from firsthand involvement.
"If things blew up, it wouldn't trace back to him. The real question is—how much do they actually know? You were the last one to see them. Any thoughts?"
Henry replied, "Honestly, your reasoning is already solid. My take is—what if your parents' 'accident' was something a group of people allowed to happen?
"They weren't the killers, but they didn't stop it either. So the people who knew wouldn't just be James Arden.
"And that same pattern extends to you. None of them are executors—they just see an opportunity and rush in afterward to grab what they can. Just like what you all did today."
Tony tapped his fingers on the table. "So who do you think the actual executors were?"
Henry pointed upward. "The one percent?"
Tony immediately snapped, "That's a non-answer!"
Henry shrugged. "You're not exactly calm right now. If I throw out a name and you go probing recklessly, do I really need to explain how that ends?"
"I am calm."
"Have you ever seen a crazy person admit they're crazy? Everyone says they're fine."
"I have," Tony shot back. "I've seen someone clearly admit they were insane."
"Exactly," Henry said. "Which means their condition was already severe."
"You—!" Tony suddenly felt the urge to design a new kind of armor-piercing round capable of penetrating bulletproof targets.
Depleted uranium shells. Fragmentation designs. Even a handheld tactical nuclear launcher—with burst-fire capability.
When damage isn't enough, increase the yield. Classic American thinking.
Completely unaware he had just been mentally nuked several times over, Henry continued:
"I think you should focus on investigating your parents' car accident—if you really believe something was wrong with it.
"As for rumors from that circle, don't chase them too hard. They might just be bar talk—half-truths, exaggerations.
"It's like hearing someone mention nuclear weapons and assuming they know how to build one, then launching a full investigation—only to find it was drunken nonsense.
"Plenty of people love discussing geopolitics—throwing around Iraq, Iran, aircraft carriers—but they're just outsiders talking big."
Tony frowned. "So what do you want me to do? Hire a private detective? Those guys are good at catching cheaters—not digging into something like this. They'd probably end up at the bottom of the Hudson the next day."
His words already assumed the accident was suspicious.
Henry followed that line. "You mentioned someone had investigated the crash before. I'm guessing it was an organization your father was involved with."
Tony nodded.
"A covert intelligence group?"
"Exactly." Tony's eyes sharpened. "You think the problem was internal?"
Henry quickly waved his hands. "I'm not saying that. Just that if one person can't find answers, it might be because they're limited by their perspective and channels.
"So why not bring in someone else—someone looking from a completely different angle? No preconceived notions."
"FBI? CIA?" Tony grimaced. "That sounds like a terrible idea."
Henry thought for a moment—about Cruella, about certain possibilities in this world. Even if that particular person didn't exist, it might still work.
Then he said, "You have a good relationship with the military, right?"
Tony smirked. "Not bad."
The way his ego practically lifted him out of his chair made it clear just how "not bad" that was.
Henry continued, "I've heard the Army's Military Police have specialized investigative units—top-tier investigators. Think you could get a general to loan you a few for some… private work?
"Your father's death was a major loss for the military too. This might not even be as 'private' as you think. They might just be waiting for you to ask."
Tony's tapping finger suddenly struck the table hard—then stopped.
He stood up abruptly, already heading for the door.
Henry had to call after him, picking up the jammer from the table. "Boss—you forgot your 'pen.'"
"Keep it. Charge it for me. I'll grab it next time," Tony's voice came from afar.
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