Marvel's Iron Lady

With less than six months left until the estate transfer takes effect, Miss Stark had already been invited to participate in Stark Industries' commercial operations.

Perhaps the board was using the excuse of familiarizing her with the company's affairs, but everyone, including Miss Stark, knew this was just the board's way of showing goodwill.

After all, the board had previously treated the company like their private domain, excluding her, the rightful heir, from everything. Now, things had shifted.

Allowing Miss Stark to participate in company operations before officially inheriting the group was a decision pushed through by Obadiah Stane, the acting CEO, who suppressed all opposition and forced the board to agree.

Despite being excluded from the company's operations for the past two years, Miss Stark had managed to secure a large portion of Oscorp's shares and had successfully built a majority stake.

At the same time, she joined forces with other investors to establish Damage Control, a company that, while appearing to focus on using new technologies for construction, in reality, integrated the capital of individual investors through commercial insurance. With her keen eye, she invested in other industries.

By leveraging this "using the chicken to lay eggs" strategy, Miss Stark earned a continuous stream of income, and the investors backing Damage Control also benefited, maintaining a circle of influence centered around her.

The rapid recovery of Oscorp after its stock collapse also bore the marks of Miss Stark's involvement behind the scenes.

The board wasn't stupid, and they were quite shrewd—they saw that she had proven herself as a competent businesswoman, and no one could challenge her eventual inheritance of the group.

Since Miss Stark was going to inherit Stark Industries no matter what, why not extend an olive branch now and make money together?

As for Miss Stark, she had no special feelings about the board's gestures. Although she privately loathed these short-sighted, old-fashioned executives, she outwardly maintained a polite and cooperative demeanor.

Even though she planned to clean house and replace the board with her own loyal people once she officially inherited the company, there was no rush until the estate transfer went into effect. For now, she was content to bide her time.

When Miss Stark abruptly left the meeting, the atmosphere in the boardroom cooled noticeably. The board members, well aware of her quirky personality, didn't expect her to leave so blatantly without regard for anyone's opinions, leaving them all slightly embarrassed.

After all, they were all heads of major companies themselves—who was she to show them such disrespect?

But Miss Stark didn't care what the board thought. She walked straight out of the meeting room, down the hallway, and into a lounge at the other end of the building.

As a large corporation, Stark Industries didn't skimp on employee benefits, providing lounges on every floor. However, since this was the board's domain, no regular employees would dare use the lounge on this level.

Seeing that no one was around, Miss Stark entered the lounge, poured herself a small cup of coffee from the machine, and sat down on a soft couch, pulling out her phone again.

Once she connected to her satellite array, a glowing blue world map appeared on her phone screen. A tiny red airplane icon, trailing a dotted line, was shown flying out of Florida, crossing the U.S. border, and heading towards Central America.

"How long until they reach Brazil, Jarvis?"

"If they don't stop for refueling, they're about four hours away."

"Keep monitoring them. Notify me when they arrive in Brazil."

At this moment, General Ross, flying over the Caribbean Sea, had no idea that his movements had been completely exposed and were being tracked via satellite. His only concern was reaching Brazil as quickly as possible to meet his "son-in-law," Robert Bruce Banner, who had fled to Rio de Janeiro's industrial district.

Just how eager General Ross was to reunite with his "son-in-law" could be seen in the fact that this U.S. military transport plane hadn't made a single refueling stop, flying directly from the U.S. to a U.S. military base in Rio de Janeiro.

Brazil, after all, was a nation closely aligned with the United States. Politically, the two countries were very tight-knit—despite most Brazilians viewing the U.S. as an exploiter of their resources, the Brazilian government continued to follow Washington's lead in many matters.

When the U.S. Department of Defense requested permission for high-ranking military officials to lead a mission in Brazil to apprehend a dangerous fugitive, the Brazilian government didn't dare object and even offered full cooperation.

However, when the Brazilian authorities learned that General Ross's target was hiding in Rio's most lawless industrial area, they promptly backed down.

It was well known that Brazil's internal situation was incredibly complex, and the government's lack of effective law enforcement was largely due to economic difficulties. The worst places for public safety were Rio de Janeiro and São Paulo.

The Brazilian government didn't mind allowing the U.S. military to operate on their soil but had no desire to be America's errand boy. They would much rather let the U.S. forces clash directly with the heavily armed gangs and drug lords entrenched in the slums and industrial areas.

If the U.S. military succeeded in their mission, it would weaken the criminal factions in those regions, allowing the Brazilian government to send in police and troops to restore order, reclaim the area, and drive out the impoverished residents.

If the U.S. military failed or suffered casualties, Brazil could shift the blame to the delayed economic aid it had been promised.

Meanwhile, Dr. Banner remained oblivious to the fact that he had already been targeted. As usual, he woke up in the small, rented room in the slums, listening to the creaking of the old fan he'd bought at a flea market.

He was once a celebrated graduate of several prestigious American universities, a top expert in atomic physics and radiation theory. But after the accident that changed his life, he fled his country in a panic.

With his bank accounts frozen and his identity flagged as wanted, penniless, Banner had been drifting and eventually found temporary refuge in Brazil. Deep down, he harbored a sense of bitterness.

It had been 278 days since he last transformed into the Hulk, and he constantly regretted agreeing to help the government with their bio-enhancement project. He especially regretted the reckless ambition that had turned him into the monster he was now.

He got up, changed his clothes, and began his day as usual. But not before checking his computer. That's when he noticed a new email in his inbox—an email from an online contact he'd been communicating with.

As a fugitive, Banner couldn't afford to make friends like an ordinary person. He was seeking help to rid himself of the green monster inside him, and his mysterious contact, Mr. Blue, had reached out, claiming he might be able to help.

Banner had no idea who Mr. Blue really was or how he had access to classified U.S. military data, but at this point, Banner was desperate and had little choice but to collaborate with him.

All of Banner's anti-surveillance tactics, his new accounts, and his means of evasion were taught to him by Mr. Blue. This had helped him narrowly escape several deadly encounters with U.S. special forces, building a cautious sense of trust between them.

Of course, Banner wasn't naive enough to trust Mr. Blue completely. Mr. Blue wanted to use Banner's blood for research, and Banner wanted to leverage Mr. Blue's resources to solve his own problem. It was a mutual exchange, nothing more.

The email read:

"I've got some good news for you, Mr. Green. The gamma radiation levels in the blood sample you sent me last time have significantly decreased. If we increase the dosage, we might be able to suppress that thing inside you. However, the available data is still insufficient. I need more information on the extent of your cellular infection and further gamma radiation analysis."

"Oh, by the way, your father-in-law is on his way to Rio. It seems your location has been compromised. You should make arrangements to move as soon as possible—Your sincere collaborator, Mr. Blue."

Staring at the email, Banner froze for a moment. His expression quickly darkened. He hadn't expected to be found out so soon. Perhaps the incident at the factory had exposed him to the Department of Defense's radar.

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