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For smoothing over a situation like this, Owen Davis had plenty of experience. He spoke without missing a beat:
"Mr. Stark, my agents were misled by incorrect intelligence, which is why they approached Mr. Brown.
"Misunderstandings like this can easily be resolved as long as Mr. Brown explains things during our investigation. If Mr. Brown is unable to go with us, we can also step aside and talk briefly to clarify the situation."
"Oh?" Tony Stark turned back to face the FBI regional head. "Speaking of which, I also happen to have some information. I've heard that something… troubling has occurred near the border between Alaska and the Yukon, close to the Arctic Ocean."
"Troubling in what way…?"
"I don't know," Tony replied lightly. "That's why I'd like you to investigate it. You should come up with a reassuring conclusion, shouldn't you? Otherwise I might get so scared that I wouldn't dare come to the West Coast again. I do have a villa on Malibu Beach, after all."
"Rest assured, Mr. Stark. I'll dispatch two of our finest agents to put your concerns to rest."
Tony patted the FBI chief—who was considerably older than him—on the arm.
"With outstanding federal officials like you, my confidence in West Coast security has really gone up.
"Come on, let's raise a toast to my newly appointed CEO. He'll be based right here in Hollywood, on your turf. I wouldn't want him to end up in some scandal that affects Stark Industries' stock price. You'll have to keep an eye on him for me."
"That's our duty, Mr. Stark. No reminder necessary."
"Mm." Tony then turned and instructed, "Happy, buy the reporters' film. Anything that might damage Stark Pictures' image shouldn't see the light of day."
"Yes, boss."
Happy naturally didn't do this personally. With a gesture, he sent Stark's PR team to handle negotiations with the entertainment reporters.
There was a standard price for things like this. It wasn't an exclusive scoop anyway, so the reporters obediently removed the film from their cameras and handed it over.
As for photos of the inauguration banquet itself, Stark's PR team would provide official images. Everyone could just publish according to the prepared template.
Only when both sides were openly clashing—and had no attention left for the press—would an incident become newsworthy. Now that an agreement had been reached, who would dare fan the flames?
And besides, Stark Industries and the FBI were forces far beyond what a bunch of entertainment reporters could withstand. If anyone thought they could make a name for themselves by refusing to cooperate or surrender their film, they should think carefully about how that would end.
There was no need for murder, or even Stark Industries to lift a finger. The FBI's dirty tricks alone would be more than enough to make their lives miserable. Better to take the money and let everyone walk away happy.
The only ones who were truly unhappy were the two FBI special agents—Jack McCann and Maris Horvath.
It didn't take much imagination to know who the "top agents" being sent to the Alaska–Yukon border would be. It could only be the two of them.
In the exchange between Tony Stark and Owen Davis, they hadn't even been given a chance to speak. They'd been abandoned without hesitation.
Of course they were furious. But what could they do? The recording in Henry Brown's possession was more than enough to drag both of them down.
If they were implicated in Assemblyman Mike Liddell Horton's unsolved disappearance, it could trigger the Continental Hotel's cleanup procedures—and that would mean two more missing agents, their files tossed into the cold-case archive.
Just like Special Agent James, who had vanished inexplicably more than a year ago.
After being reassigned to a desk job, he had stopped showing up one day and never returned.
The FBI had launched an investigation and discovered that someone had erased traces of Agent James's movements. Digging deeper, they found that the person who'd cleaned up those traces… was Agent James himself.
Whether the man had encountered a problem he couldn't solve and deliberately disappeared, or whether a third party had engineered the situation—it didn't matter.
That was not the ending Jack McCann and Maris Horvath wanted.
Watching the smug group raise their glasses and celebrate as if victorious, rage surged through Maris Horvath. His hand slipped into his jacket, gripping the special collar designed to suppress mutant abilities.
To be fair, when the target had reached into his pocket earlier, he and Jack had drawn their guns impulsively. In the moment, they'd forgotten that the man was a bulletproof mutant.
But once they'd gone that far, there was no easy way down. They could only keep their guns raised, trying to bluff him with words.
And they'd failed.
Now, though—if they could just snap the suppressor collar onto him and strip away his invulnerability, wouldn't controlling him be easy?
Maris's small movement didn't go unnoticed. Jack quickly pressed down on his partner's hand and shook his head.
"Why? If we just restrain him—"
"Not here," Jack whispered urgently. "Even if you don't care about the reporters, how many of Stark's bodyguards are armed?
"You think they'd let us move against someone standing that close to their boss, right in front of them? Regardless of whether that person is Tony Stark himself?"
"So what, we just let this go?"
"If you rush in now, you'll be riddled with bullets on the spot. No flag-draped coffin. No name on the honor wall. That guy isn't someone we can deal with using petty tricks anymore. If we want to bring him down, we need solid evidence."
"You think after being sent to Alaska we'll even get the chance to come back?"
Jack McCann pulled Maris away from the banquet hall as he spoke.
"Our careers at the FBI are over. Owen won't save us—but he can't stop us from resigning either. This isn't prison.
"We'll go to Alaska, hang around for a couple of days, then submit our resignations. We obey his assignment, save his face. Even if Tony Stark asks about it later, there'll be an explanation."
"And after we resign?"
"Local police. CIA. Private security firms. There are plenty of ways to feed our families. But if you charge in now and cause a scene, you can forget all of that. If you don't get shot dead on the spot, you'll be lucky."
Jack McCann was far clearer-headed than Maris Horvath. What he hadn't expected was that the timid mutant who'd obediently gone with them after a few stern words would cause such enormous trouble.
But things hadn't reached the point of flipping the table yet. They couldn't afford to destroy their own escape routes in a moment of rage.
As they left, Maris Horvath cast a hateful glance back at the central crowd.
"So what about him? We just let him off?"
"We use our connections. Have someone keep an eye on him. I don't know how he won Tony Stark's favor, but that circle isn't easy to get into. He'll make a mistake sooner or later.
"When that happens, we take him down cleanly. No one will be able to say a word."
It was the best possible plan—but swallowing that anger was still suffocating.
Reaching the car, Maris Horvath kicked the door hard.
"Fuck!"
"Fuck!" Jack McCann shouted as well—but for a very different reason. Staring at the dent in the door, he yelled,
"That's not a bureau car, you idiot—that's my own car! What the hell are you kicking it for?!"l
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