They met at the usual place — the private clay court behind the old estate on the French Riviera. It overlooked the sea, away from prying eyes and long lenses. Martin Stem had insisted on playing there since the early '90s. Quiet. Respectable. Untouched by headlines.
Today, though, the match was short. Alexander, younger and faster, let the game end politely.
They sat afterward, side by side under the ivy-covered shade.
Cold water. A bowl of olives. Silence.
"You've been harder to reach lately," Martin said at last, wiping sweat from his brow.
"I've been busy."
"You've always been busy. This is different."
A few more seconds passed before the older man added, carefully:
"Cain told me."
Alexander didn't react. He reached for the glass. "What exactly?"
"Not everything. Just enough. That you've built something offshore. Bought materials through back channels. Staffed it with people off the grid."
He set the glass down.
"You know I keep eyes on you," Martin said. Not a threat — just a fact.
"I expected nothing less."
There was a pause. The sea wind moved through the hedge.
"I have to ask," Martin continued, "why not just go legal? You've got the resources. The connections. Why Black Market transactions? Why avoid corporate fronts?"
Alexander leaned forward slightly.
"Because Hydra didn't go legal. SHIELD doesn't play by the rules. Half the groups with global influence don't. They just wear a nicer badge when they do it."
Martin tilted his head. "So this is about protection? About balance?"
Alexander met his eyes. "It's about preparation. You've been in politics long enough to know. The world's not run by governments. It's run by leverage. Soft power, hidden hands."
"Do you think I don't know that?" Martin asked. "I negotiated trade between people who staged coups with one phone call. I've walked out of meetings knowing I just gave clearance to monsters."
"And what did you do?"
Martin didn't answer immediately.
"I did what I could," he said finally. "Within the rules I was given."
"That's the difference," Alexander replied. "I'm not waiting to be handed rules."
There was no arrogance in his voice. Just calculation.
"I've seen the reports. I've seen the footage they never showed on the news. The satellites. The coverups. The alien attack in '95. The experiments in Sokovia. The strange seismic readings in the Pacific that 'never happened.'"
His father's eyebrows lifted. "Where did you get all that?"
"I made a network," Alexander said. "Digital sources. Former analysts. Some of the people your generation cut loose when the Cold War ended. The ones who disappeared, but didn't die."
"Why?"
"Because one day, something bigger is going to land here again. And the only people who'll survive won't be the loud ones. They'll be the ones who already saw it coming."
Martin looked at his son with something between concern and recognition.
"You've changed," he said finally.
"I've focused."
He exhaled through his nose. "And you're funding this operation… how?"
"Mostly black-market buys. Some through shell companies. Cain handles the logistics."
Martin gave a small nod. "You're laundering your own war chest. Smart."
There was a long silence before he added, almost reluctantly:
"I'll say this clearly — I don't approve of the secrecy. But I understand it. Just be careful. The people who build fortresses this early in life tend to forget why they started."
Alexander said nothing for a moment. Then:
"You're worried I'll become the enemy I'm preparing for."
Martin didn't deny it. "You don't build something that complex for nothing."
"I didn't build it for nothing," Alexander said. "I built it for when everything else fails."
⸻
Later, they moved to the shaded terrace, where lunch had been laid out by the house staff. No guests. Just the two of them — as always.
They talked about neutral topics for a while. Market volatility. The upcoming elections. Supply chain tightening in Eastern Europe.
Then Martin sipped his wine and said quietly, "You know, I always hoped you'd take over the family holdings. Build something visible."
"I am building something," Alexander replied.
"Yes. Just not visible."
The older man gave a wry smile. "Though I admit… it impresses me. Most boys your age buy sports cars and gamble away inheritance. You're investing in geothermal shielding and data encryption algorithms."
"I don't want to be a boy."
"That much is obvious."
Another pause.
"Just tell me this," Martin said. "Is this going to spiral? Are you going to start crossing lines that can't be uncrossed?"
"Not yet," Alexander answered honestly. "Not unless I have to."
That seemed to satisfy the older man — or at least settle him.
"Fine. Then here's my position," he said, standing. "I won't help you, and I won't stop you. But if you ever need something that can't be bought — time, distraction, pressure — tell me."
He placed a hand on his son's shoulder.
"And don't forget why you started. I raised a man. Not a weapon."
⸻
That evening, as Martin's car pulled away from the estate, Cain appeared beside Alexander near the olive trees.
"You told him?"
"He already knew."
Cain raised an eyebrow. "How much?"
"Enough to be worried. Enough to be proud."
Cain smirked. "Complicated man."
Alexander nodded slowly, watching the road disappear into the trees.
"Yeah," he murmured. "But now he's watching. Which means… others will be too."
Cain looked toward the sunset. "Then it's time to move quietly."
Alexander didn't respond. He just turned back toward the villa, mind already on the next step — the next piece on the board.