Chapter 84: Height Determines Perspective

"Who's the host?" Tony Stark asked.

Alex said honestly: "At my level, I don't know their identities. But two people are vying to be the public face."

"Who?"

"A kid named Epstein, and a nigga named Puff Daddy."

"A… nigga?" Tony was stunned.

"Yeah, that's just how unbelievable things are in this world. A nigga who used dirty tactics to seize a huge amount of Hollywood resources thinks he can stand equal to us."

"I remember that guy is…"

"A rising rap singer. This kid's smart, but lacks self-awareness."

Tony asked: "So the assassin is one of these two?"

"No no no, the assassin's connection to the island is purely contractual. Including those people you guessed were fake FBI—those are probably cleanup crew."

"Which assassin organization has this kind of power? CIA?"

"Maybe the CIA has some hidden involvement—I don't know. But I suspect the only group on the West Coast capable of using fake FBI identities to conceal the truth is one."

"Which one?"

"The Continental Hotel. Have you heard that name, Tony?"

"No, I haven't heard of it. How do I find them?"

"Why bother looking, Tony? They're just a tool. Even if you go to them demanding justice, as long as you can pay, your enemies disappear the next day—but the whole organization remains. You can't destroy them unless you just want to vent."

"Can't anyone do something about this!" Tony said angrily.

Alex, sipping his wine, spoke blunt truth: "That's also part of America. Just like this Earth we live on—you can't keep only daylight and make night vanish forever."

Tony Stark fell silent. After a moment, he drained his whiskey glass and asked: "I want to know one more thing."

"Ask. But I can't guarantee I'll answer."

"Are these businesses… Howard… my father… involved in them?"

"I won't ask whether you're worried he's involved or surprised he isn't—I won't probe your feelings. But I can tell you this: the answer is no."

"You're sure?"

"Let me put it this way, Tony: these businesses have existed for a long time. Howard was a genius, yes, and used his genius to gain military support. But he wasn't qualified to enter these businesses."

Alex added: "I hope this answer doesn't offend you, but it's the truth. Howard was smart and accumulated considerable wealth, but he still wasn't on the same level as those people."

"Perhaps if you take over and develop it for three or five generations, you'll maintain Stark Industries' current success—or even improve it. Then you won't need to apply; the Stark family will naturally rise to their level."

"Who are they?" Tony asked again.

Alex raised his glass and replied: "Whether you've heard these names or not—the Red Shoe Society, the White Robe Society, the Freemasons, the Illuminati, Yale's Skull and Bones, Old Money, Blue Blood aristocrats, Hydra, and so on."

"Some remain today, some vanished from history, some merely went into hiding. But they're all just small groups within a vast collective."

"The collective has no name, no gatherings, no oaths. When you reach that height, your perspective naturally reveals those sights."

"It's disgusting. They don't really think everyone wants to join them, do they?" Tony criticized.

"Of course not everyone is interested in such conduct. That's why they must remain hidden beneath the surface, never becoming official power or organizations. That's the only thing worth celebrating," Alex said, following Tony's line of thought.

As the two were about to continue speaking, the villa's servant knocked and said: "Master Tony, dinner is ready."

After draining his glass, Alex said: "I've said nearly everything I know. If you want to know more, you'll have to find the answers yourself. I don't know anything further."

"Alright. The chef for tonight's French meal was specially brought in by me. I hope his skills won't disappoint us."

"Then let's go taste it."

At the dining table, Henry and the others had already seated themselves. Since two men had arrived, no one rose to greet them.

Katharine Hepburn, seeing Tony return, laughed merrily: "Little Tony, where did you meet this friend of yours? He doesn't seem like someone the Stark family would know."

A knife hidden in a smile—Tony Stark had no idea how to respond.

Henry, however, smiled and said: "How to put it? Perhaps our first meeting happened under unfriendly circumstances. Katherine, would you like to hear it?"

"Oh, unfriendly? Then it's even more worth hearing, isn't it?" Katherine answered, her eyes fixed on the flustered Tony Stark.

Embarrassed, Tony could only point at Henry: "You—don't you dare say it." Then he turned to the servant: "And you—hurry up and serve the food."

"Haha, the more I hear about things that make Stark men uncomfortable, the more interested I become," Katherine laughed happily.

Tony Stark stubbornly insisted: "Those things aren't interesting at all—and I'm the one protecting him. Otherwise he'd be done for."

"Oh, little Henry, is that really true?" Katherine turned to the other party and asked.

Henry spread his hands: "Yes, just as Mr. Stark said."

It's unwise to speak too deeply with shallow connections. If you lack closeness but constantly undermine others, you only make enemies. Henry didn't want to offend this woman. Yet his attitude only made Tony Stark's anger rise further.

Fortunately, before Tony could find a retort, the waitstaff arrived with the pre-dinner drink, signaling the meal had officially begun.

Tony downed the appetizer wine in one gulp, then swirled his glass, signaling for a refill.

The cold liquid cooled him slightly. Then he said: "I know you still want to say that even if we do nothing, the gunmen will eventually leave. But before that—how many people even know about this?"

"OK, I think I get it. But what about the gunmen? Little Tony, care to explain properly?" Katherine asked, smiling without warmth.

"Oh, damn." Tony Stark suddenly felt a thorn in his back—he'd slipped up.

He had two public versions: to his own people, he claimed it was just passing through and seeking shelter; he never told anyone he'd faced off against assassins. To outsiders, he claimed he slaughtered them all—but everyone assumed that was bragging. No one knew it was true…

(End of Chapter)