It had been some time since Roland Phils last saw Tony Stark. Today, that was about to change.
"Tell them I'll be there right away," Roland said calmly after a pause.
Effie inclined her head in acknowledgment, her graceful movements betraying both respect and the quiet charm she exuded these days. "Understood, young master." She turned, her silhouette swaying as she left the room.
Roland chuckled softly as he watched her disappear. "She has grown more and more radiant since I brought her into my service. Truly delightful."
Without another word, his figure blurred, and he vanished from the Phils estate. When he reappeared, it was at the very entrance of Stark Industries' boardroom.
The door swung open. Inside, a dozen men and women in crisp suits sat around a long table, papers stacked neatly before them. At the front, a man lounged in his chair, legs propped on the polished surface of the boardroom table, sunglasses hiding his eyes, chewing gum with deliberate insolence.
Tony Stark.
In ordinary circumstances, Tony would have been the focal point of such a gathering. But these weren't ordinary circumstances.
Roland stepped through the doorway, and the atmosphere shifted instantly. Whispers died. Chairs scraped as executives sat straighter. Even Tony himself lowered his feet from the table, adjusting his posture with forced nonchalance.
That was the weight Roland Phils carried. The silent authority of money, of power built not through invention or fame, but through centuries of compounded fortune.
"Phils," Tony called with a wide grin, his tone laced with his usual bravado. "Been a while. You've grown taller, sharper, more impressive every year."
Roland's gaze slid to him, cool and assessing. "Tony, how long has it been? A few years at least. And you… you're still the same. Carefree as ever."
Tony arched a brow. "Careful, that almost sounded like an insult. Last time we saw each other, you were still at university, fresh-faced and idealistic. Your father was alive then. Strange how time flies." He leaned back with a smile that softened just a little. "Now look at you. Running things on your own. Not bad at all."
There was no denying the truth. Compared to Tony, Roland was younger by more than a handful of years. But in the game of capital, age mattered little. What mattered was leverage, and Roland had more of it than Tony could dream of.
"Let's get to the point," Roland said evenly. "We can talk afterward."
The meeting began.
At this time in history, Tony Stark had not yet experienced his infamous kidnapping in the Middle East. He was still the flamboyant genius, championing his weapons division and talking proudly about the future of military contracts.
Roland listened, but he had no strong feelings about the direction of Stark Industries. The family fortune behind him wasn't built on micromanaging their holdings. They were backers, not managers. What mattered was profit, and Stark Industries was profitable.
But Roland's priorities lay elsewhere. Money was no longer his obsession. Not since he had awakened as the Lord of Life. Now, the currency he valued most was faith.
Across the world, his following had already grown to thousands. Among them, more than five hundred had risen to the level of fanatics, willing to sacrifice everything for him. If he ever needed wealth, he could simply whisper to them, and their fortunes would flow into his hands without hesitation.
He didn't come to this board meeting for money. He came for Tony.
From his knowledge of this universe's story, he knew what was coming. Soon, Tony Stark would leave for the Middle East to close a deal. That trip would change him forever. The carefree billionaire would be reborn as Iron Man.
Roland wanted a piece of that transformation. More specifically, he wanted the first Iron Man suit, the crude but brilliant armor Tony would forge under captivity. If he could acquire that relic and offer it as a divine sacrifice, the power he might gain from it was immeasurable.
The meeting ended an hour later. The executives dispersed, muttering about projections and budgets. Tony, however, made his way directly to Roland.
"Phils," Tony said, grinning as he clapped him on the shoulder. "Drink with me?"
"Of course."
The two retreated to Tony's private office, a lavish space filled with modern art and scattered pieces of Stark's unfinished projects. A bar gleamed in one corner, and Tony poured generously into two crystal tumblers.
"Phils, you've changed more than I expected," Tony said as he handed over a glass. "I remember you as the type who hated board meetings. Yet here you are, front and center."
Roland raised his glass slightly. "People grow up. You of all people should understand that. After all, New York's most famous playboy is here, attending meetings and making business plans. If you can change, so can I."
Tony smirked and clinked his glass against Roland's. "Fair enough. Cheers."
"Cheers."
They drank.
Tony set his glass down and stretched. "Much as I'd love to linger, I'm heading to the Middle East soon. Big contract waiting for me there. When I get back, we'll celebrate properly."
Roland tilted his head. "The Middle East is volatile right now. War everywhere. Be careful."
Tony chuckled. "For a weapons dealer, war is just another marketplace. It's not danger, it's opportunity. It's good business."
Roland's lips curved in a knowing smile. "Perhaps. Still, you look troubled, whether you realize it or not. Here." He reached into his coat and withdrew a card, sliding it across the desk. A stylized image of a divine figure was etched upon its surface.
Tony picked it up, brows raised. "And this is?"
"The sigil of the Lord of Life," Roland said plainly.
Tony's eyes lit with curiosity. "That's the deity everyone's talking about lately? The one worshiped by this new Church of Life?"
"That's right."
The faith was no longer a secret. In New York and across Virginia, word had spread of miraculous healings and transformations. The United States prided itself on freedom of belief. Another god in the mix barely raised eyebrows.
"And what, you're a believer now?" Tony asked with a grin.
Roland's expression didn't change. "Is there a problem with that?"
Tony twirled the card between his fingers. "Not really. But you know me. I don't believe in God. Never have. And I'm not about to start with your Lord of Life."
"Faith isn't the issue. Just keep it with you. Trust me. One day, you'll be glad you did."
Tony studied him for a moment, then shrugged. "Alright, why not. Consider it a good luck charm." He tucked the card into his jacket pocket without another word.
Soon after, he and his friend Colonel Rhodes boarded a sleek private jet, bound for the Middle East.
Roland watched them go, his mind already racing ahead. Destiny was moving. The first armor was about to be born, and with it, a new era.
And Roland intended to claim a share of that power for himself.
____
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