In Marvel With Unique Skill Great Sage (MCU)

Seated at the driver's position was a large, muscular Caucasian man: Happy Hogan. He was Tony's chauffeur and part-time bodyguard. 

In Lemu's memories—of future events, no less—Happy would go on to have a close relationship with Spider-Man's Peter Parker, acting almost like an uncle figure. 

Now, though, he looked more fit than chubby, with a firm build that spoke of his boxing background.

"Where to, sir?" Happy asked, glancing at Tony in the rearview mirror.

"Three things," Tony said with a decisive nod. "First, get us some cheeseburgers. Pepper, arrange a press conference. And let's make sure this little hitchhiker"—he looked at Lemu—"gets somewhere to wash up and change."

Tony's gaze settled on Lemu again. "After that, you and I need to talk. Something important."

Pepper frowned slightly. "A press conference? For what?"

"We'll get into it on the way, Pep," Tony replied, lightly tapping the metal arc reactor on his chest. The hollow clang resonated in the enclosed space. "Happy, step on it. I'll explain everything once we're on the road."

….

Stark Industries—a multinational American corporation, listed under the ticker symbol SIA on the NYSE and STRK on NASDAQ.

Founded in the 1940s by Howard Stark, it began as a weapons manufacturer built on a simple philosophy:

"Peace means having the biggest stick."

This was Howard Stark's creed.

For two generations, the Stark family—Howard and his son, Tony—proudly proclaimed themselves patriots and protectors of peace. 

Yet, their pride often veered into arrogance. Both believed in their own vision of the world and dismissed anything that contradicted it.

Then there was Obadiah Stane, Stark Industries' senior executive and Howard's former business partner.

Obadiah cared little for ideals like peace. His devotion lay with two things—wealth and power.

In the early days, he and Howard had fought tooth and nail to establish Stark Industries, enduring hardship and sacrificing comfort to build an empire from the ground up.

Obadiah had been the sharpest blade and the strongest spear, cutting through opposition and driving away predators. 

He had fought in the blood-soaked trenches of corporate warfare, seizing opportunities and eliminating rivals. He was a kingmaker—and he knew it.

And the results spoke for themselves.

Now in his sixties, Obadiah had everything most men could ever dream of—immense wealth, respect, and influence. But one thing still eluded him.

Absolute power.

With Tony Stark presumed dead, Obadiah had finally gotten a taste of what that felt like.

For months, he had effectively ruled Stark Industries. From the comfort of the CEO's office, he enjoyed fine cigars and top-shelf whiskey, flipping through reports and magazines while the company's profits continued to pour in by the minute.

It was a perfect life—or so he thought.

That morning, his world came crashing down.

Tony Stark wasn't dead.

Not only that—he was coming home. Today.

The news hit Obadiah like a bombshell, shattering the serenity of his carefully curated kingdom.

His expression darkened as he slammed his magazine onto the desk and crushed his half-smoked cigar against the keyboard, leaving a trail of ash and smoke curling through the air.

A snarl twisted his lips.

Why? Why did you have to survive? Who the hell do you think you are, Tony Stark?

Stark Industries—this empire—was his creation. Obadiah Stane's legacy.

The throne belonged to him. Only to him.

Stark Industries Headquarters

The front entrance of Stark Industries buzzed with activity. Executives, employees, journalists, and curious bystanders filled the space, forming a sea of people eager to witness Tony Stark's dramatic return.

Reporters jostled for position, cameras flashed, and murmurs rippled through the crowd.

Leading the welcoming committee was Obadiah Stane himself, standing front and center.

The older man wore a carefully practiced smile, radiating warmth and charm. His tailored suit fit like a second skin, his polished shoes gleamed, and his round sunglasses gave him an effortlessly cool demeanor.

His bald head practically shone under the California sun, framed by a full, snow-white beard that gave him an air of wisdom and authority.

To an outsider, he looked every bit the benevolent patriarch—welcoming his prodigal heir with open arms.

But behind the mask of geniality, Obadiah's mind churned.

I built this empire. You're not taking it from me.

Obadiah Stane was the picture of a proud, cool-headed elder—the kind of relative everyone wished they had. He exuded charisma, effortlessly blending warmth with authority.

When Tony Stark stepped out of the car, Obadiah jogged toward him with surprising agility for a man his age, his arms waving animatedly as though showing off his long-lost son to the crowd.

"Look who's back!"

The gathered crowd erupted into applause, their cheers echoing through the courtyard. Cameras flashed as reporters captured the moment, immortalizing the return of Stark Industries' prodigal heir.

Obadiah spun dramatically, throwing his arms wide before pulling Tony into a bear hug. "Tony! I thought you'd still be in a hospital bed. Look at you—better than ever!"

For all his theatrics, Obadiah's embrace was met with an icy reception. Stark stood stiffly, his face blank. He had known Obadiah for years, but this sudden flood of affection felt overplayed.

Tony didn't bother to hide his discomfort. He simply tolerated the hug until Obadiah let go.

Meanwhile, Happy Hogan handed Tony a paper bag filled with cheeseburgers. Obadiah spotted it and grinned.

"Oh, burgers! Did you bring one for me too?"

Tony shot him a deadpan look as he strode toward the building's entrance. "Uh… sorry, last one. All mine."

Obadiah laughed, brushing it off as Tony disappeared into the building, where reporters had been waiting impatiently for hours.