Chapter Fifty-Four: The Heirs Who Shattered Michael's Perceptions

Michael dialed the number of a king of stocks, hoping to find out who was manipulating the market. The man’s name was Moffett, known as the Wolf of Wall Street, and he had a formidable reputation in the financial world. Michael had met him at Tony’s banquet, where Moffett had praised Michael for hoarding Stark Industries shares, calling it the most ingenious move he’d ever witnessed.

People who spent their lives in the market were always the best informed, because trading stocks depended on information. Just as Michael had known Tony would announce himself as Iron Man, it was through insider knowledge and accurate predictions of market trends that one could make huge profits.

Yet, all Moffett did was warn Michael—don’t touch Osborn’s stock, or you’ll get yourself into trouble. Clearly, their relationship wasn’t close enough for Moffett to reveal the mastermind behind the scenes. Still, Michael understood from the warning that there was indeed a ruthless player controlling Osborn’s shares, though he had no idea who it was. Anyone who could make other stock kings retreat must belong to a powerful rival faction.

Michael headed to the company to check on its status. As soon as he arrived at Osborn Tower, he saw crowds of protesters completely encircling the building. Unable to get in, he found a nearby restroom and drew a portal, stepping directly into the tower’s interior.

He had barely reached the top floor when he spotted a figure stumbling out of the conference room—it was Harry. Harry’s face was marked with several scars, as if scratched, and his eyes were ringed with bruises, evidence of how fierce the meeting had been. When Harry saw Michael, he gave a sheepish smile, clutching his cheek as he hurried away. Apparently, knowing he was in the wrong, Harry hadn’t fought back when the shareholders’ children beat him, and ended up in this sorry state. Of course, he hadn’t undergone any enhancements yet and wouldn’t have been able to fight off so many people regardless.

After Harry left, Michael heard a burst of cheering from the conference room, clearly celebrating their victory. He had assumed they were fighting for their father’s honor, but it turned out they’d simply seized the chance to drive Harry off the board. Such filial devotion—how touching.

Michael shook his head and walked into the lab.

Osborn Enterprises had been involved in armor development for years, which was how the Green Goblin managed to create a suit and glider system so quickly. Apart from the Goblin suit, the lab contained many bionic suits: the Scorpion armor, Rhino armor, and Octopus mechanical arms among others. These were the future equipment of Norman’s Sinister Six, though now, it was likely none of them would ever get their hands on them.

The shareholders’ children rarely visited the company and had no idea of the value of everything on the top floor. To them, it was all just cool stuff—at best, they thought it could be sold for cash; their imaginations didn’t stretch any further.

As Michael was reflecting, a swaggering voice rang out.

“Who’s this guy? What’s he doing here?”

Michael turned to see the new shareholders touring the company. They weren’t particularly young; some were in their thirties or forties, an age when most people were mature. Yet these second-generation heirs still looked as careless and arrogant as ever. Some faces seemed familiar to Michael; after thinking it over, he realized they’d worked at the company before, holding managerial titles not insignificant in stature.

Another took the chance to jest.

“Vinsmoke, show some respect. This is Michael, a genius scientist, one of the top researchers, and once Norman’s assistant.”

The man called Vinsmoke frowned and eyed Michael.

“Norman’s assistant, huh? Fire him. He’s annoying just to look at.”

Michael was speechless—he had clearly overestimated these people’s sense of self-importance.

“Mr. Vinsmoke, if you want to fire me, you’ll first need to become an executive director.”

“Watch your mouth, kid.”

Vinsmoke strode over and arrogantly jabbed Michael’s chest with his finger.

“I’d appreciate it if you showed me some respect as well,” Michael replied, gripping Vinsmoke’s finger and twisting it sharply. There was a crunch—the finger shattered.

“Ah—!” Vinsmoke screamed in agony.

The others watched his pain without a trace of sympathy, snickering instead.

Feeling his dignity challenged and his finger throbbing, Vinsmoke grew wild with rage.

“Bodyguards, bodyguards, take him out! Kill him!”

Two burly men in sunglasses sprang forward, lunging at Michael. He dodged nimbly, then stuck out his leg, tripping them so they fell face-first to the ground.

The heirs laughed even harder.

Seeing his bodyguards fail, Vinsmoke dropped the act and drew a pistol, firing at Michael. Unfortunately, the bullets seemed to move in slow motion to Michael, who effortlessly dodged them and then gave Vinsmoke’s chest a gentle push.

Vinsmoke felt a crushing blow to his chest and was hurled backward, crashing heavily to the floor.

Michael spread his hands innocently. “You’ll testify for me, won’t you? I was only defending myself.”

The others nodded blankly, while Vinsmoke was barely breathing.

Michael wasn’t worried; anyone could see Vinsmoke had drawn a gun first. Reminded by Michael, the group finally realized they should get him to a hospital. Yet none were willing to take him, until Vinsmoke’s younger sister arrived.

After he was taken to the hospital, Vinsmoke died despite emergency treatment. His sister took over his position and had no intention of suing Michael. On the contrary, she shook his hand with a smile, nearly wishing him a pleasant partnership.

Frankly, their behavior completely overturned Michael’s worldview. No wonder foreigners were so few.

It also showed Michael just how chaotic the company had become—these people had learned nothing but ruthlessness.

Returning home, Michael felt something was wrong. A battered business pickup was parked out front, worth barely a few tens of thousands; to his knowledge, his family owned no such vehicle.

“Visitors?” Had Jack’s guests become so shabby? The last time a car this rundown appeared at the door was ages ago.

Approaching, he saw the front door wasn’t even closed.

Alarmed, Michael glanced around. The neighborhood was eerily quiet. Relying on his superhuman hearing, he detected the presence of people inside.

He pushed the door open and stepped in. Instantly, someone appeared behind it and pressed a hand to his neck.

Michael was about to resist, but caught sight of Martha and the others being held hostage. It wasn’t concern for their safety—if he fought, he could dispatch the assailants in an instant. But the fact that they had kidnapped Martha ahead of time and waited for his return made it clear they were targeting him. Michael decided to see what they wanted before dealing with them.

Activating his echolocation, Michael confirmed there were no others in the house.

These people were remarkably confident, acting as if they had him completely cornered. Where did they get such nerve?