"Listen, although I am a very expensive Doctor—so expensive that many billionaires can't even get an appointment with me—for you, my lifesaver, I think I can make an exception."
He winked, still the same sharp-tongued and proud person, but his eyes were full of the sincerity of someone who had experienced life and death.
"In the future, whether you have a headache or a fever, want to get an appendix removed, or want to find someone to chat about how to fly in the sky—I mean, how to ride a roller coaster—call me anytime. Free for life."
Alice took the business card, which read: Stephen Strange, M.D., Neurosurgeon. And a line of small text: New York Presbyterian Hospital.
"Thank you, Doctor. I hope I never need to find you to remove my appendix." Alice solemnly put away the business card.
This was a promise from the future Sorcerer Supreme; its value was immeasurable.
Dr. Banner also walked over.
Unlike the spirited Dr. Stephen Strange, Dr. Banner still looked a bit awkward and downcast.
He was wearing an oversized plaid shirt, with a pair of S.H.I.E.L.D.-issued black-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose, and he was tightly clutching a small notebook.
"Alice, I don't have much money, nor am I famous. But I know a little physics and biology. If you have any problems with your studies in the future, or if you need, uh, need to repair some complex electronic equipment, you can come to me."
Dr. Banner pushed up his glasses, smiled embarrassedly, and tore a page from the small notebook, on which was written an encrypted email address and a prepaid phone number.
Alice looked at this honest man who would become the Hulk, feeling some emotion in her heart.
The current Dr. Banner was still just a scientist, having not yet experienced that gamma-ray accident.
"I will, Dr. Banner. Take care of yourself, and don't get too angry." Alice said meaningfully.
Dr. Banner was stunned, not understanding, but he still smiled.
Finally, there was Barton.
This senior Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. did not walk over to join the group chat. He stood by the railing in the distance, his back to the sunset, his silhouette stretched very long.
He was talking to Rumlow about something, his expression not looking very good.
Seeming to sense Alice's gaze, Barton turned his head.
He didn't speak, just nodded slightly at Alice, then made a simple gesture.
That was the safety gesture they had agreed upon while on the island.
Alice also smiled and nodded, returning the same gesture.
Everything went without saying.
Barton owed her a life; this favor, to a tough guy like Hawkeye, was heavier than any promise.
"Goodbye, everyone."
...
A few hours later, New York, John F. Kennedy International Airport.
Alice did not get the family's private lawyer and luxury helicopter as expected; she only waited for three people.
One was wearing a cheap and ill-fitting suit, sweating profusely, holding a briefcase, looking like a fat man who had just squeezed out of the subway.
The name tag read: Public Defender, George Banks.
The other two were a man and a woman wearing crisp black uniforms, expressionless, with eyes colder than Rumlow's.
On their chests hung the IRS badge that made all Americans tremble with fear.
The atmosphere was even heavier than in the S.H.I.E.L.D. interrogation room.
"Ms. Alice Mason."
One of the female IRS Agents pushed a document forward, her tone as cold as if she were reading a death sentence, without any inflection.
"We regret to inform you. Confirmed by a joint investigation by the Federal Bureau of Investigation and the IRS, your parents, Mr. and Mrs. Mason, were involved in a massive cross-border financial fraud case and a decade-long period of huge tax evasion."
"What?" Alice was stunned.
Where was the billionaire start that was promised? Where was the rich girl with money-power?
This script wasn't unfolding correctly, right?
"That wrecked yacht, the Charlie, was not a family vacation trip." The sweating public defender wiped the sweat from his forehead, looking at the little girl with sympathy. "It was a tool your parents used to try to escape the country with the last of their funds, only to unfortunately encounter a storm."
"In short, the Mason Group has declared bankruptcy."
The IRS Agent coldly interrupted the lawyer's tenderness.
"All real estate, vehicles, stocks, trust funds, and overseas bank accounts under your parents' names were frozen and sealed by the federal court yesterday to repay victim debts, back taxes, and fines."
"What about my house, even that Villa in Long Island?" Alice opened her mouth.
"Seized." The Agent spat out the word ruthlessly.
"My trust fund?"
"Frozen. In fact, if not for the fact that you are a minor, and the investigation showed you were unaware of the fraud, you might even need to cooperate with the Federal Bureau of Investigation to investigate the flow of assets, or even face jail time."
"Now, your legal status is homeless and penniless."
The lawyer sighed and pushed the last document to Alice.
Alice sat blankly in the chair, looking at the "Notice of Asset Forfeiture" in front of her, and suddenly had an urge to laugh.
People really do laugh when they are speechless.
"Fine."
Alice took a deep breath and pushed the notice back.
In her deep blue eyes, there were no tears of collapse as the Agents had expected.
"Then where can I go, an orphanage?"
"No." The fat lawyer flipped through the documents. "Although your immediate family is gone, we found a legal guardian for you in the files, your mother's older sister."
"Ms. Sarah Wilson." The lawyer pointed to an address on the document. "She lives in Queens, although she, uh, expressed some strong emotions on the phone about adopting you, but legally, she is the only person who can take you in."
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