Bar
After finishing his assignment, Owen climbed into the dark vehicle where General Nathaniel was already waiting. The older man greeted him with an unsettling calm, sitting cross-legged with an unlit cigar between his fingers.
"So… are you going to tell me what happened?" Owen asked, his voice steady, eyes locked on Nathaniel.
The general let out a short sigh, as if the answer were painfully obvious.
"Ross suspects it was you who used the serum."
"And how the hell does he even know about the serum?" Owen asked, intrigued but composed.
Nathaniel turned his head slowly, a smirk forming"a blend of mockery and aged wisdom.
"Because he's the one behind it. Ross has been obsessed for years with replicating the original super soldier serum. He's got Norman Osborn, Karl Malus, and Dr. Anderson working on it day and night.
He's the one who pushed Victor to develop an improvement... and you might not know this, but Victor is the grandson of Dr. Abraham Erskine. The man who created the original serum.
His father changed the family name to protect them. Hydra and half a dozen countries had them on their hit list.
So it's not that surprising the grandson eventually cracked it. What is surprising... is that he lived to tell the tale. But you saved him, didn't you?"
Owen's brow furrowed.
"Wait… you're telling me the serum was Ross's project, and you knew it? And you still let Victor steal it… just to give it to me?"
Nathaniel let out a dry, shameless laugh.
"Of course I did. Ross is an idiot.
I didn't lift a finger… and now I have the super soldier he's spent years trying to build right in my pocket.
Genius move, don't you think?"
Owen glanced at him sideways and chuckled, shaking his head.
"You're a damn demon."
"I know," Nathaniel replied without a hint of regret.
A short silence followed as the car cruised down the highway. Then Owen shifted the topic.
"What happened with the stocks?"
Nathaniel raised an eyebrow, as if barely recalling the matter.
"Oh, I let one of those guys handle it. What do they call them?"
"A stockbroker?" Owen asked, raising a brow.
"That's the one," Nathaniel said, nodding dismissively.
Owen clicked his tongue.
"Great. So we just made some random guy a millionaire.
You ever hear that joke? One guy says, 'My stockbroker made me so much money I bought a yacht.' The other asks, 'And the yacht?' He says, 'My broker bought it.'"
Nathaniel let out a more genuine laugh this time.
"That's a good one! But don't worry. I gave him exactly the instructions you wrote.
The poor fool thought it was some scheme to lose money. He even agreed to a pathetic one-percent commission.
I can't wait to see his face when he checks the numbers. He's going to cry blood when he realizes what he signed."
Owen laughed heartily.
"Man... I almost feel bad for your enemies."
Nathaniel leaned back in his seat, thoroughly pleased.
"Tsk… already dealt with all of them.
That's why I'm a general."
...
Just as Nathaniel had anticipated, the stockbroker showed up a couple of days later, desperation written all over his face and a new contract under his arm, trying to renegotiate the terms.
It was already too late.
Tony Stark's company shares had plummeted, just as Owen had predicted, and the stock move executed by him and General Ross had turned into a goldmine.
Owen had bet everything: he emptied his accounts, mortgaged his house, and took out a loan using it as collateral. Meanwhile, the general blindly trusted his protégé's instincts. He wagered a fortune… even convinced his son, a renowned plastic surgeon, to invest a generous sum.
And now, they were billionaires.
Nathaniel, with his usual arrogance, had promised they would rank in the top 100 richest men on the planet… but reality outdid fiction: both had climbed into the exclusive Olympus of the 50 richest people in the world.
When his son, Nicolas, saw his bank account for the first time, he went pale. Then he laughed. Then… he seriously considered kneeling before Owen.
He had known him since childhood. They were classmates, and Owen was the one who introduced Nicolas to his father when he confessed his dream of serving. It was the perfect move: Nicolas got out of military pressure, and Owen gained a father figure. Since then, they had been like brothers.
That night, the three of them dined together on a private terrace, surrounded by the luxury they could now afford. Nicolas raised his glass and, with his typical cheekiness, exclaimed:
"Come on, Owen, let's go out and celebrate. We're so disgustingly rich I could retire now and spend the rest of my life lying down staring at the ceiling! And if I lived a hundred times longer… same thing!"
General Nathaniel, sitting beside him, frowned immediately.
"Only a surgeon and you already talk like a parasite?" he said in a serious tone.
Nicolas shrugged.
"I'm a renowned surgeon, father. And now also a billionaire. Why keep losing sleep beautifying rich people when I can live better than them?"
Of course, Nicolas wasn't just any doctor. He had operated on celebrities, models, and magnates. His name was a brand in luxury clinics.
Nathaniel scoffed.
"Hmph… you should have joined the army like Owen. That's where they'd have scraped that personality off you with a shovel."
"Come on, father. That's why I brought him to you when we were kids, remember? So you'd stop wanting to make me your damn copy. I threw him to the wolf's mouth to save myself " wasn't that brilliant of me?" Nicolas replied with a charming smile.
The general just sighed and looked at them with resignation.
"Alright… go have fun. I don't have the energy to deal with your nonsense today."
He waved them off as he poured himself another glass of wine, this time with a proud smile on his face. He wouldn't say it out loud… but he was happy.
" " " " "
The bar they went to was an elegant, discreet place, lit by low lights and soft music. Well-dressed people chatted with fine glasses between their fingers.
Nicolas smiled arrogantly as he made his way through the tables.
"Come, I want to introduce you to the most beautiful woman I've ever met. I've been trying to win her over for two months… and I haven't even gotten her number."
Owen raised an eyebrow.
"That sounds like a total failure."
"She's a goddess, believe me. You'll see."
They headed straight to the bar, where a red-haired woman with a sculpted body and flawless face approached calmly and professionally.
Owen recognized her immediately. Natasha Romanoff.
She recognized him too… but said nothing.
"What can I get you?" she asked in a soft voice, hiding her identity behind a mask of routine.
"Hi, Cecilia. I brought a friend to try one of your legendary drinks. Surprise us," Nicolas said with a charming smile.
"Cecilia?" Owen repeated, smiling. His eyes never left Natasha's.
"That's right. Nice to meet you," she replied, impeccable.
"I'm Owen. A pleasure, Cecilia," he said, emphasizing her name with a smile full of intentions.
Natasha nodded before turning to prepare the cocktails. When she returned, she placed two glasses on the bar.
"For Mr. Nicolas, an apple fritter martini. Smooth… just the way you like it."
"You remembered!" Nicolas said delighted. "You know I don't handle alcohol well."
"And for Owen… a Negroni. A strong drink. Bitter, but refined."
Owen took the glass, looked at it for a moment, and drank.
The taste hit his tongue like an iron hammer. Bitter, intense, penetrating.
But he showed no emotion. He just smiled and set the glass down on the bar.
"An interesting pleasure, Cecilia," he said, looking at her slyly.
Natasha returned a small smile before walking away.
"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Nicolas remarked.
"I suppose," Owen said as he grabbed some peanuts to try to erase the taste of the drink.
At that moment, his senses caught something.
Natasha lifted her gaze, attentive to a man who had just entered the bar.
She acted naturally… but Owen noticed. The guy left something with the bartender and discreetly left.
A S.H.I.E.L.D mission… Owen thought.
What a nuisance.
"That's why I prefer being a soldier. You go in, shoot, and get out. No spy games," he muttered, watching Natasha leave the bar with a fake cigarette between her fingers, following the suspect.
"Did you say something?" Nicolas asked, distracted by talking to a girl who sat beside him.
"Nothing. Enjoy your night. I'm off."
"Sure? Take my car, I shouldn't be driving. You didn't even touch your drink." Nicolas said, tossing him the keys.
Owen caught them effortlessly and left.
Nicolas looked at the Negroni his friend had barely tasted. He shrugged and took a sip.
A second later, he spat violently, drawing the attention of the girl next to him.
"What the hell is this?!" he shouted.
She burst out laughing.
"That's what you get for drinking what someone else left."