I arrived at Midtown High School of Science and Technology, where Harry studied, at 2:30 PM—ten minutes before his classes ended. I spent that time sitting on a bench near the parking lot, enjoying the pleasant weather.
Harry and Peter emerged from the school building and immediately headed toward me.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Osborn. It's been a while, but I've been following your published work in scientific journals," Peter greeted me politely, while Harry stood silently beside him.
"Hello, Peter. Let's get in the car right away. I have a lot to do today and don't want to waste time," I said, rising from the bench and walking toward my limousine.
"The car?" Peter asked, surprised.
"Come on, Pete, don't drag your feet. We're just giving you a ride home," Harry urged.
"I can take the bus..." Peter mumbled, but Harry, ignoring his protest, practically pushed him into the car.
"Harry has told me a lot about you lately, especially how you've been helping him with his studies," I said to Peter as the car pulled away.
"Harry always exaggerates. He's actually quite good at school, and my help was minimal," Peter replied modestly.
"Yes, I know Harry is smart, but he doesn't always apply himself where he should," I said, patting Harry on the back.
"Yeah, right, Dad. I'm totally focused on my studies," Harry said with a smile that suggested otherwise.
"Sure, sure. And someone else is paying for your club memberships, not me," I replied, shaking my head.
"But I'm more interested in your plans. You'll both be graduating in a couple of months. What are your future plans? Let's start with you, Peter," I asked.
"Well, I haven't decided yet... I enjoy science, but photography is also a passion of mine," Peter said.
"I think you should focus on your studies and, eventually, science, Peter. Photography can remain a hobby for your free time," I suggested, steering him in what I believed was the right direction.
"I've thought about it, but university is expensive, and... my family might not be able to afford it," Peter admitted, clearly struggling with the words.
"Don't worry about the money. We'll discuss it after graduation. I think I can solve that problem," I assured him.
"Mr. Osborn, I'm sorry, but I can't accept your money..." Peter began, but I interrupted him.
"Oh, Peter, you think I'd just hand you money? No, I have another proposal. Let's wait until you graduate, and I'll explain everything in detail," I said with a smile.
"Alright, Mr. Osborn. I'll look forward to that conversation," Peter replied seriously.
"What about you, Harry? What are your plans?" I asked my son.
"Well, I thought I'd take a break from studying and... maybe work at the company and take some business courses at... well, some business school," Harry answered, watching me carefully to gauge my reaction.
"I see, Harry," I said, still smiling lightly.
For the next ten minutes, we chatted about trivial things—their studies, a few amusing anecdotes from my dual life, and even the recent drop in Oscorp's stock prices.
"Thank you for the ride, Mr. Osborn," Peter said as the car stopped in front of his house.
"It was no trouble. The driver was taking us anyway," I replied with a smile.
"See you tomorrow, Peter," Harry said.
"See you tomorrow, Harry," Peter replied and headed toward his uncle, who was mowing the lawn at that moment.
As the car drove toward the Osborn mansion, I glanced briefly at Peter's uncle. I could save him and prevent his death. But he had to die for Peter to become the true Spider-Man. I only hoped Peter would never learn about this difficult decision I'd made.
"Harry, I'd prefer if you didn't go to work at the company after school," I said, shocking him slightly. After all, the original Norman had always encouraged him to follow in his footsteps.
"But why, Father?" Harry asked.
"Harry, you know about my illness, but you don't know everything," I said, taking another dose of pills and washing them down with water from a bottle I kept nearby for this purpose.
"What does your illness have to do with what I do after school?" Harry asked, confused.
"You see, Harry, this disease is hereditary. And though I'd hoped otherwise, it's manifested in you as well," I said with a sad smile.
"Manifested? So that's why I've been giving blood every month for the past few years..." Harry whispered. "But I can live with it for a long time. You've lived with it for twenty-five years, and you'll live twenty-five more," he added, more confidently.
"The doctors give me a year, at most. But that's not the point—" I began, but Harry cut me off.
"A year? Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asked, shocked.
"That's not important. The important thing is, I've found a path to a cure—not just for me, but for you as well."
"And what is this path?" Harry asked skeptically.
"That's not important right now. I'll tell you later. To make the treatment effective, we need to strengthen your body as much as possible. I'll find you a mentor to oversee your training and people to design a diet plan for you. You'll balance this with school at first, but after graduation, you'll focus entirely on training," I said in my sternest voice, without a trace of a smile.
"But what about you, Dad? Will you be able to strengthen your body enough for the treatment to work?" he asked—a question I didn't have an answer to myself.
"Don't worry about me. I'll find a way. Just do as I say," I replied.
"Alright, Father. I won't let you down," Harry said with determination in his eyes.
There were four days left until Midtown High's field trip to Oscorp, and I planned to spend those days discreetly poaching Oscorp employees for my new, not-yet-formed company. I had to act carefully to avoid raising suspicions from the board. There were still people in the company who remembered who had founded Oscorp—people loyal to me, not to whoever held the most shares.
Speaking of shares, I had an important meeting scheduled for tonight—one that could significantly impact my future plans.
After work, instead of going home, I went to the Grand Central Oyster Bar & Restaurant. This was where I had arranged to meet Adam Hall, the CEO of Quest Aerospace.
I had expected small talk about the weather and politics over dinner before getting down to business, but Adam seemed displeased with me. After exchanging greetings, he skipped the pleasantries and got straight to the point.
"Norman, if you called me here to ask us to back out of the military contract, there's nothing to discuss," he said firmly.
"No, that's not why I called you. I want to discuss selling my shares," I said.
"Shares..." he repeated, clearly caught off guard by this turn in the conversation.
"Yes. Everyone knows I'm sick and don't have much time left. I want to sell my shares while the price is still high, to leave as much as possible for my son," I explained, emphasizing my words by taking another dose of pills.
"But why come to me? You could sell them within the company," Adam said, surprised.
"Yes, I could sell to Balkan or dump them on the market, but would I get a fair price? No, I wouldn't," I answered rhetorically. "You, on the other hand, are aggressively acquiring Oscorp, and you already have some of the board in your pocket."
"How did you—" Adam began, but fell silent under my mocking gaze.
"So, what's your offer for my 14 percent?" I asked.
"Norman, I can't make that decision alone. I need approval from Quest Aerospace's major shareholders. Let's have dinner tonight and talk specifics tomorrow. But I can tentatively say we're willing to pay the full market value of your shares, plus at least 10 percent on top," Adam replied.
"Fine. I'll wait for your call tomorrow," I said. We placed our orders and waited for the oysters to arrive.
But we didn't reach an agreement the next day, or the day after. It wasn't until the third day that we came to a consensus. I would receive the full market value of my 14 percent of Oscorp, plus an additional 18 percent, on the condition that I keep the deal confidential until Quest Aerospace secured the Defense Department contract—or for thirty days if they failed. Since this didn't interfere with my plans, I agreed.
The day had arrived—Operation "Catch the Spider" was a go, and Arthur would assist me.
"Arthur, today is a crucial day for me, and yet the board is hounding me: When will this thief finally be caught? And I don't even know what to tell them, because the head of Oscorp security hasn't briefed me," I said, feigning frustration.
"Norman, I understand, but what can I do? This thief is like a ghost. He's robbed two of our warehouses without leaving a trace. My brother George, a police captain, is personally handling the case, and even he's at a loss," Arthur replied.
"Fine. I hope he's caught soon. I don't need this headache right now. Tell me, how's our other matter coming along?" I asked.
"Today, students from Midtown High and Empire State University are scheduled for a tour of Oscorp," Arthur informed me.
"We proceed as planned. I'll monitor everything via the cameras, and when I give the signal, you and your team will evacuate the demonstration lab under the pretense of a drill," I reminded Arthur, though we'd gone over this multiple times in the past few days.
"Yes, and, Norman, despite my gray hair, I don't have dementia," Arthur sighed. "Though I still don't understand why we can't just catch this spider now. The cameras show it's not in place," he added, clearly puzzled by my insistence on this approach.
"You might as well ask how I knew something would happen today, days in advance," I said with a smile.
"Come to think of it..." Arthur muttered, but seeing my smile, he realized he wouldn't get an answer.
"Arthur, you'll understand everything eventually—just not now," I said.
"Fine, Norman. But remember, you promised," Arthur sighed.
Hours later, the students from Harry and Peter's school entered the demonstration lab, while the Empire State University students were led by another guide, already halfway through his lecture. The moment I'd been waiting for was approaching... Soon, Peter would be bitten by the spider, and then we could secure it for thorough study.
"Everyone, get ready," Arthur said into his radio to his subordinates, who would handle the evacuation and then the spider's capture. They didn't know about the spider yet—I'd only told them the lab contained extremely valuable samples that must not be damaged.
Watching the cameras, I saw Peter jerk as the spider bit him. I gave the command: "Go," and Arthur relayed it to his team over the radio.
The alarm blared in the demonstration lab, and Arthur's team entered, quickly and professionally calming the crowd before beginning the evacuation.
During the evacuation, I heard a loud female scream, but I paid it no mind. I was more concerned that someone might step on the spider and crush it, which would complicate my plans. Not that I didn't have a backup.
Once the lab was empty, it was time for the next phase.
"Attention, everyone. We've been informed that a rare and highly venomous spider has escaped in the lab. It must be captured alive. Whoever catches it gets double the bonus," Arthur announced, adding the incentive to motivate his team.
Remarkably, it took twenty minutes to find the spider. But finally, it was cornered into a plastic cup and brought to Arthur, who had joined the search ten minutes earlier. I wanted to go down and help, but Norman Osborn searching for a spider would attract too much unwanted attention.
With the spider secured, I immediately headed to the lab where Dr. Mendel Stromm and I had been working on the Oz Serum. While I only spent part of my time there—managing the company was still necessary—Stromm practically lived in the lab, sometimes staying overnight.
"And what is this?" Mendel asked, eyeing the plastic cup containing the spider.
"It's a spider from the demonstration lab, and I want us to work with it," I said.
"But weren't the spiders sent there deemed useless?" Stromm asked.
"Yes, but I have a feeling about this one," I replied.
"I think this line of research is a dead end. We should go back to the beginning," Stromm said, shaking his head.
"Dr. Stromm, we don't have time for that. You heard General Slocum. If we don't produce results in the next few weeks, the funding goes to Quest Aerospace," I reminded him.
"Fine, Dr. Osborn. We'll work with the spider. After all, you're the director of Oscorp, not me," Mendel sighed. "But I'll say it now—I think this is a waste of time."
"Fine. This is on me," I said, and we began analyzing the spider.
"Dr. Stromm, I'm starting a new company. Would you like to leave Oscorp and join me?" I asked him three hours into our work together.
"Dr. Osborn, I know more about your health than anyone, and I don't think starting a new company in your condition is a good idea," Mendel said, frowning.
"I think I can still resolve my health issues with the Oz Serum," I replied.
"I suppose it's possible, but developing a working version of the serum will take years. And, forgive me, Mr. Osborn, I don't think you have that kind of time..." Mendel continued his work as he spoke.
"So, that's a no?" I asked.
"That's a no. Besides, I'm quite content at Oscorp. Changing everything at my age doesn't seem wise," he said, making his answer perfectly clear.
"I hope this conversation stays between us?" I asked.
"Of course. We've worked together for so many years, and I respect you immensely. I don't need extra trouble," he said, and we dropped the subject, focusing on our work.
After four days of nonstop work—during which we practically lived in the lab—we obtained the first results.
"As I said, Dr. Osborn, this version of the serum is a dead end. Although we've resolved the issues of aggression and madness in test subjects, the serum itself is too aggressive and alters DNA too drastically. It kills during transformation. And these are just computer simulations and a few mouse trials. With this mortality rate, we can't even consider human testing," Mendel said wearily.
Yes, the result surprised me too. This version of the Oz Serum didn't induce madness and might cure my illness, but we had to wait for the simulation to complete. Oscorp had built a massive computer to run simulations based on given parameters; without it, the serum research would have taken a hundred times longer.
"I don't entirely agree. Let's wait for the simulation results for me and Harry. They might surprise us," I said.
"I wouldn't count on it," he replied, shaking his head.
A few hours later, we received the results:
Subject: Norman Osborn
Chance of successful serum application: 0.3%
Chance of curing retroviral hyperplasia: Error—calculation impossible due to high probability of subject death.
Subject: Harry Osborn
Chance of successful serum application: 2.1%
Chance of curing retroviral hyperplasia: 97% if serum application is successful.
This was clearly not the outcome I'd hoped for. It seemed Mendel was right—if I injected this serum, I would die. That meant I needed another solution, and I thought I knew how to improve the serum's success rate.