Chapter 137: Civil Language

Seeing Tony's determination to smash the table unless he destroyed it, Henry quickly stopped him: "Hey hey hey, don't smash the table—you'll have to pay for it."

"If you want to start over from the garage, your bank savings are your only capital. Believe me, you absolutely don't want to waste money on unnecessary compensation. The best practice is to break nothing at all."

Tony Stark stopped pounding the table, bared his teeth, and pointed at Henry. He made tiger-claw gestures with both hands, as if trying to strangle him, extending his arms several times only to retract them each time.

Even the two Lady He Bens beside him looked stunned—they had never imagined one could "advise" someone this way.

It's like someone lies dejectedly on the ground, utterly unwilling to get up, so someone else keeps stabbing them with a knife until the pain forces them to jump up and stop lying there.

To be fair, this method seemed to work well on Tony, this stubborn little brat.

After holding back for a long time, Tony Stark finally gritted his teeth and said: "Can't you speak without being so abrasive?"

"Why not?" Henry looked curiously at the furious Tony Stark. "I'm not your father, so I don't need to educate you. I'm not your mother, so I don't need to coddle you. I'm not your brother, so I don't need to cooperate with you."

"I'm not your wife, so I don't need to assist you. I'm not even your son or grandson, so I don't need to spare your face. I'm certainly not your employee, so I don't need to consider your interests as my boss."

"I don't even know if we're friends—we've only met a few times. But even if we were close, this is exactly how I confront my friends. And I only speak the truth—I never lie."

"So if you think my words are harsh, that's only because your ears are too sensitive. You need to look for the problem within yourself, not in others."

"Besides, what did you mean when you first met me and said you were going to abandon Stark Industries? Do I have the authority to decide that? Or the right to choose?"

"In my view, your behavior is like preparing a scapegoat for future mistakes. If you mess things up later, you can write in your memoirs: 'Ah, when I was young and naive, I listened to some lowly driver and made that decision.'"

"Then you casually reveal my name. Your evaluation shifts from 'foolish' to 'blindly trusting others.' That's still foolish, but it feels less foolish than ruining Stark Industries yourself."

"And I'm the kind of bad person everyone recoils from, dogs turn away from. I'm probably not so bad that everyone shouts 'Catch him!' in the street—but who knows what shape it'll take then?"

Though Henry had little experience in this life, in his past life he'd met many such people. No matter how close or distant the relationship, whenever they could shift blame, they never missed the chance.

"You!" Tony Stark once again looked like he wanted to bite. Seeking support, he turned to the two women. "Can I strangle this sour radish and eat him?"

Without a word, Catherine slapped the back of Tony's head. "Civil language!"

This scene made Henry's heart race with shock—and a secret thrill.

The genius mind, worth at least tens of billions of credits in the future, had just been slapped. No wonder Catherine He Ben, the Hollywood queen—the nemesis of both Stark generations.

If beings like Thanos saw this, they'd drool with envy.

Look at the future Iron Man, cowering like a scared child. Countless supervillains failed to achieve this—Catherine did it with just one slap. No concussion, but surely a psychological scar.

Henry regretted not having prepared some hidden recording device beforehand. If he'd preserved this moment, it would be the perfect lifelong blackmail material against Tony.

But Audrey He Ben had grown tired of her young assistant's cruel humor. Though it sounded like a method of persuasion, Audrey suspected Henry simply enjoyed provoking people—every word aimed straight at the heart.

She slapped Henry's arm and said with mild annoyance: "Can you really speak like that? Don't you think about how you could actually help Mr. Stark, Henry?"

Rubbing his arm with a look of wounded grievance, Henry said: "Boss, what advice can I possibly give? I don't know Mr. Stark Sr.'s will, and I don't know Stark Industries' situation."

"Instead of asking me, you'd be better off finding a Gypsy fortune-teller with a crystal ball—her predictions might be more constructive than my opinions. If Tony really wants to ask, he should speak to those close to Mr. Stark Sr. —they're the ones who truly know."

Henry had never intended to give foolish advice. As a seasoned keyboard warrior, when he insulted someone, he always targeted areas where he couldn't be easily refuted, lest the boomerang hit himself.

He didn't know Stark Industries' situation—if he gave random advice and accidentally hit the mark, fine. But if he messed up, the blame would be his alone.

But now Tony finally found his opening. He put on his usual condescending sneer, as arrogant as ever: "Oh? So you're so good at talking, I thought you were omniscient. Turns out you're powerless too."

Henry didn't care. He shot back: "Of course—I'm just a lowly driver's assistant; in Hollywood, I'm an unknown extra. I can't manage a big corporation—that's perfectly normal."

But even after replying, Henry wasn't satisfied. He pointed at Tony and said to the two women: "Maybe we should just leave this guy, whose brain is addled and logic broken, right here."

"Let him wander wherever he wants. I'm afraid if I take him in the car, listening to his nonsense the whole way, I'll end up as dumb as him. That would be terrible."

Catherine acted before she spoke, swatting away Henry's pointing finger: "Impolite! Since we brought him out, we must properly take him away."

"So when we pass an orphanage on the road, we'll drop him off. The old matron there will take good care of him. No need to leave money—this kid's worth more than all of us combined, even if you pluck a single hair from him."

Wow—if it came to stabbing with words, Grandmother Catherine was the true master. She didn't strike unless she struck hard—her words came with critical hits, armor penetration, and true damage.

Tony's arrogant pose, barely held for three seconds, shattered. He cried helplessly: "I'm twenty-one already—I'm legally allowed to drink! I'm not two years old!"

Another slap. Catherine glared: "Civil language!"

(End of chapter)