Fox pulled up financial data on her tablet, fingers swiping through charts and numbers. "Combined with our initial five million position, we're now short sixty-eight million in Stark Industries shares. We executed the trades just before the announcement hit."
She zoomed in on a price chart. "When news of Tony's return first broke, the stock spiked, typical dead-CEO-is-alive rally. Then his announcement crashed it. We're already seeing paper profits."
"But?" Smith prompted, hearing the hesitation in her voice.
"Obadiah Stane's damage control is working," Fox admitted. "A lot of institutional investors and retail traders are taking a wait-and-see approach. They think the board will block Tony's decision. That he can't unilaterally shut down the weapons division."
They're wrong, Smith thought. Tony owns controlling interest. What Tony wants, Tony gets. But let them doubt.
"Sell everything," Smith ordered. "Dump all sixty-eight million worth as quickly as possible without triggering circuit breakers. Drive the price down further."
Fox's eyebrows rose. "That's aggressive. If we flood the market, "
"That's the point. Create panic. Make the optimists question their positions." Smith leaned forward. "And after we've sold our initial borrowed shares, borrow more if institutions will lend. Keep shorting as the price falls. Repeat the cycle."
"You want to amplify the crash," Fox said slowly.
"I want to profit from reality," Smith corrected. "Tony's not backing down. The weapons division is dead. We're just... helping the market recognize that faster."
Fox nodded, making notes. "I'll coordinate the sales. Might take a few hours to execute without disrupting trading too much."
"Good." Smith shifted topics. "We need to discuss real estate. Find us a large property, something with significant acreage, away from dense population centers. We need room to build a proper headquarters and research facilities."
Fox set down her tablet. "I can start searching, but our liquid capital is tied up in the stock positions. We won't have funds to purchase property until we close these trades and take profits."
She paused, considering their financial situation. "Honestly, we need new revenue streams. The Fraternity has steady income, but we're not exactly cash-rich. The High Table left us some assets when we eliminated them, but most of that went into converting Continental Hotels into regional offices."
Smith knew she was right. The League's wealth was tied up in real estate, art, antiquities, the accumulated assets of a thousand-year-old organization. Liquid capital was more limited.
"We have the textile factory," Fox continued, "but that barely turns a profit. It's more historical preservation than business. Our most valuable liquid asset is probably the wax treatment, we could monetize that, turn it into a luxury healing service. With the old Continental network, we could establish locations globally. Target wealthy clients, charge premium rates."
"That's long-term," Smith said. "We need faster returns."
He'd been considering this problem. Money was about to become critical, Bulma's laboratory expenses, the gravity chamber construction, new headquarters, ongoing operations. The League needed serious capital, and soon.
An idea crystallized. In the original Dragon Ball series, Bulma had reverse-engineered damaged Scouters, creating her own versions. If she could replicate his Scouter, even a stripped-down version, they could sell the technology.
SHIELD would pay a fortune for power-level detection technology. So would other agencies, corporations, anyone dealing with enhanced individuals.
Smith reached up and retrieve his Scouter, setting it on the desk. "Take this to Bulma. Her next project is reverse-engineering it."
Fox's eyes widened. "Your Scouter?"
"We don't need full functionality," Smith continued. "Have her create a simplified version. Strip out advanced features, keep basic power level detection and maybe life sign tracking. Make it producible with Earth technology."
He met Fox's gaze. "That becomes our next major revenue stream. We'll market it to organizations dealing with enhanced individuals, SHIELD, private security, corporate R&D divisions. Exclusive technology, limited production, premium pricing."
Fox picked up the Scouter carefully, examining it with obvious envy. "I've wanted one of these since I first saw you wearing it."
"You'll get one of Bulma's reproductions once she perfects the design," Smith promised. "But the prototypes are for sale, not personal use. We need capital."
Fox smiled. "I'll take it to her immediately. Though I have to say, that girl is terrifying. Sixteen years old and she makes Tony Stark look ordinary. I don't think even Stark was that brilliant at her age."
"Bulma's... special," Smith agreed diplomatically. "Just make sure she understands the priority. We need working prototypes within two months."
"I'll make it clear." Fox stood, carefully pocketing the Scouter. "Anything else?"
"Start the property search tonight. I want options on my desk within a week. Large plots, private access, minimal zoning restrictions. Money isn't a constraint, we'll have plenty once we close the Stark positions."
Fox departed, already making calls.
Smith turned his attention to the window. Outside, New York continued its evening routine, oblivious to the financial chaos about to hit Stark Industries.
Phase one: crash the stock, take profits.
Phase two: manufacture Scouters, establish revenue.
Phase three: acquire land, build proper facilities. Phase four...
He smiled slightly. Phase four would depend on how the timeline developed. But he'd be ready.
The Hand Headquarters – Undisclosed Location
Madame Gao surveyed the assembled leadership of the Hand with satisfaction. Getting all five Fingers together was difficult, they operated independently, spread across continents, pursuing their own agendas. But she'd insisted this warranted a full gathering.
Alexandra, Sowanda, Bakuto, Murakami, and Gao herself, the five elders of K'un-Lun, exiled for their crimes but still powerful, still hungry for life.
Bakuto spoke first, impatience evident. "What's so important that you called all of us here, Gao? I was in the middle of recruiting, "
"Patience," Gao interrupted smoothly. "This concerns all of us equally."
She settled into her chair, ancient despite her youthful appearance. "I've been working with Wilson Fisk in New York recently. Shipping certain pharmaceuticals through the Rand Corporation's logistics network."
The others showed no reaction. They knew about the drug trade, it was one of many revenue streams. Not worth a full meeting.
"Through Fisk, I learned something interesting," Gao continued. "Our old rivals, the Fraternity, recently destroyed the High Table. Completely. Eliminated six elders, absorbed their resources, consolidated control over global underworld operations."
Murakami frowned. "So? The Fraternity destroyed a competitor. That's hardly unprecedented. And from what I understand, they're diminished. Only three remain with the ancient bloodline. They shouldn't pose a significant threat to us."
"If that were all, I wouldn't have gathered you," Gao said patiently. "But as I investigated their war with the High Table, I discovered something... extraordinary."
She paused for effect, letting tension build.
"Dragon Balls. Seven of them. In the possession of the Fraternity."
Silence crashed over the room like a physical force.
Then chaos.
"Impossible!" Sowanda surged to his feet. "Dragon Balls? How could, "
"That's not possible," Murakami said flatly. "We would have heard, "
Alexandra's breath caught audibly. "Are you certain?"
There it is, Gao thought with satisfaction.
They all knew the significance. As former elders of K'un-Lun, they understood what Dragon Balls represented. They'd consumed dragon bone for centuries, extending their lives through the fossilized remains of the great beasts. But Dragon Balls, the concentrated essence of a living dragon, those were legend.
Even in K'un-Lun, Dragon Balls were rare beyond measure. When a dragon died, its orb was passed to the next generation, maintaining the cycle. The elders had spent centuries in K'un-Lun and never possessed even one.
"Seven Dragon Balls," Bakuto whispered. "That's not just life extension. That's power. Real power."
"More than enough for all of us," Alexandra said, her eyes distant with hunger. "We could crush the Chaste. Eliminate Stick and his disciples permanently."
Sowanda paced, agitated. "With that kind of enhancement, we wouldn't need to hide anymore. We could operate openly. Take whatever we wanted."
Murakami remained skeptical, his analytical mind working through implications. "Gao, are you absolutely certain this information is reliable?"
Alexandra's breathing had quickened. The possibilities were overwhelming. "Answer him, Gao. Are you certain?"