Now he had to play it cool. Today wasn’t about charging in or making reckless accusations. It was about planting seeds of doubt, starting with Mr. Davidson, his department manager. Duncan dressed sharply, as always, his midnight-blue suit pristine, his tie perfectly knotted. He arrived at the office early, settling into his desk to go through his usual reports, waiting for the right moment.

When the time came, Duncan grabbed a slim folder of documents and made his way to Davidson’s corner office. He knocked on the doorframe, stepping just far enough in to get Davidson’s attention.

“Mr. Davidson?” Duncan said, his tone calm but deliberate.

Davidson, who had been staring at his monitor, glanced up and waved him in. “Nenni,” he said simply, leaning back in his chair. “What can I do for ya?”

Duncan stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “Sir,” he began, holding the folder in one hand, “I was wonderin’ somethin’. What if the Carraro account was, say, buyin’ Trask Tech to fight…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “...muties?”

Davidson raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “Don’t be ridiculous, Duncan,” he said, shaking his head. “They’re just a security firm.”

Duncan shifted his weight slightly, his expression neutral. “I understand that, sir. But even if they’re buyin’ tools to fight mutants, think about it. Mutants can be dangerous robbers and criminals, no? If you’re a client, would ya want to be unprotected?”

Davidson nodded slightly, his tone turning more conversational. “No, Duncan, I wouldn’t. That’s a sensible answer. Mutants, especially the dangerous ones, can wreak havoc. If Carraro’s clients wanna feel secure, I can’t fault them for that.”

Duncan pressed on, his voice steady but probing. “But what if, say, Carraro had connections to the Friends of Humanity, for instance?”

Davidson froze for a fraction of a second, his eyes narrowing slightly before he forced a chuckle. “Well, that’s oddly specific, Duncan. But let’s entertain the idea. Let’s say they did have connections to the FoH. That could be problematic.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “But if it’s not overly apparent—if there’s no clear evidence—then it wouldn’t necessarily matter. It wouldn’t stop the bond issuance outright. You know how this works.”

Duncan nodded, his tone turning clinical. “We’d have to increase the interest rates and reduce their credit rating, though, wouldn’t we?”

Davidson smiled faintly, tilting his head. “Exactly. If there’s a real connection, it’d expose them to what we call the ‘X-Men risk.’”

Duncan raised an eyebrow, curious. “X-Men risk, sir?”

Davidson leaned back again, folding his arms across his chest. “Think about it. If a company’s too closely tied to anti-mutant activities, they’re a target. Not just for public backlash, but for retaliation. The X-Men, or other mutant groups, could see them as a threat and act accordingly. That kind of risk drives up costs, makes investors nervous, and ultimately hurts the liquidity of the bonds.”

Duncan nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “And that would hurt our margins.”

“Yup,” Davidson said, tapping his desk for emphasis.

There was a brief silence as Duncan let the conversation settle, then he added, “Maybe you should talk to Mr. Kane, Davidson. Just to be sure there’s nothin’ we’re missin’ here.”

Davidson frowned slightly, his fingers drumming against the arm of his chair. “Mr. Kane, huh?” he muttered, his voice quieter now.

“Yes, sir,” Duncan said, his tone neutral but deliberate. “He seemed confident yesterday, but I think it’s worth checkin’ in. Just to confirm there’s no... complications.”

Davidson nodded slowly, though his eyes seemed distant, as if weighing something in his mind. “I’ll check on him,” he said finally, his tone firm. “Thank you for bringin’ this up, Duncan. Good work.”

Duncan nodded politely, rising from his chair. “Excuse me, sir,” he said as he turned to leave.

“See ya, Duncan,” Davidson replied, his voice carrying a faint edge of something Duncan couldn’t quite place—irritation? Worry? Guilt?

As Duncan walked back to his desk, his thoughts raced. Davidson’s reaction had been telling, even if subtle. The quick dismissal of mutants as a threat, the awkward pause when the FoH was mentioned, and the faint tension in his voice when Kane came up—it all added up to more questions than answers.

Settling into his chair, Duncan pulled up the Carraro files again, his sharp mind working through the possibilities. Whatever was going on, it was bigger than just a bad bond deal.

And Duncan wasn’t about to let it go.

Duncan sat at his desk, trying to focus on the market analysis on his screen, but his attention kept drifting. The hum of conversation in the office had long since faded as the day wore on, leaving only the faint clatter of keyboards and the occasional rustle of papers. Outside, the sun was beginning to dip, casting a warm, amber glow over the city skyline.

He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment, the events of the past few days swirling in his mind. Carraro. Trask. X-Cutioner. Sentinels. It all pointed to something larger, something insidious, and now Davidson’s involvement seemed more suspicious than ever.

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Then he heard it—a muffled voice, faint but unmistakable, filtering through the thin walls of his office. Duncan straightened, tilting his head slightly to listen.

“Alright, so I rechecked the terms,” Davidson was saying. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, a nervous tension. “And one of my specialists brought up an interestin’ point… Listen to me.”

Duncan’s pulse quickened. One of my specialists. That’s me.

Another voice responded, this one sharper, more measured, though faint enough that Duncan had to strain to hear. “Talk.”

Duncan frowned, leaning slightly closer to the wall. He couldn’t make out every word, but the tone was unmistakable—cold, calculating. Then Davidson spoke again, his voice louder now, tinged with frustration.

“Look, if this is tied to the FoH, it’s bad fer us, Creed.”

Duncan froze. His breath caught in his throat. Creed? The name rang in his mind like a warning bell. Could it be… Graydon Creed? Leader of the Friends of Humanity?

His jaw tightened as he leaned forward, focusing all his senses on the conversation. His enhanced hearing picked up Davidson’s words more clearly now.

“Look, I want to help. But this affects the bottom line—my job, the bank.” Davidson’s voice had grown more desperate, the tension in his words palpable. “No, I don’t want to be part of this mess.”

The voice on the other end responded, sharp and cutting, but too faint for Duncan to catch the words.

“No,” Davidson continued, his voice hardening. “I don’t like muties. I like ’em about as much as y’all do. But I won’t be involved.”

Duncan’s stomach twisted, his hands balling into fists. There it was—the truth laid bare. Davidson wasn’t just complacent. He was complicit.

The other voice—Creed’s voice—spoke again, more insistent this time. Whatever he said made Davidson snap.

“God damnit, Creed!” Davidson hissed, his voice low but seething with anger. “Ya’re makin’ a mistake.”

There was a pause, a long silence that Duncan could almost feel through the wall. Then Davidson sighed heavily, his voice resigned.

“FINE! Alright. Let him come… But ya won’t find anythin’ here.”

Duncan’s heart raced as the conversation ended. The faint sound of Davidson hanging up the phone reached his ears, followed by the creak of his chair. Duncan sat frozen, his mind reeling. Creed. Davidson. FoH. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, and the picture they painted was darker than he’d imagined.

For a long moment, Duncan stayed at his desk, staring blankly at his monitor. The fluorescent light above him buzzed softly, a stark contrast to the storm raging in his mind. Davidson had confirmed what Duncan had already suspected: Carraro wasn’t just a private security firm. It was a front. A shell for the Friends of Humanity.

And now, Davidson was in the middle of it.

Duncan exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He needed a plan, and he needed it fast. If Creed was involved, this wasn’t just about shady business practices or questionable bonds. This was about mutant lives.

As the office grew quieter and the shadows grew longer, Duncan pulled out his phone and opened the pictures he’d taken the night before at the warehouse. Sentinel blasters. Armed guards. X-Cutioner. The evidence was damning, but it wasn’t enough. He needed more—something concrete, something undeniable.

He glanced toward Davidson’s office, the faint sound of papers rustling still coming from inside. Duncan’s jaw tightened as he made a decision.

----------------------------------------

Hours Later in Midland, Texas.

The knock at the door was unexpected, and Robert Nenni was halfway through his evening routine when he heard it. He shuffled toward the door, wiping his hands on a towel, muttering something under his breath.

“Just one moment,” he called out.

When he opened the door and saw Duncan, his son, standing there in his well-kept suit, his hair slightly disheveled from flying at supersonic speed, Robert froze in surprise.

“Son?” Robert said, his tone laced with confusion and curiosity.

“Hey, Daddy,” Duncan replied casually, stepping inside as though he hadn’t just shown up unannounced.

Robert raised an eyebrow, stepping back to let him in. “Did ya fly down here?”

“Sure hell did,” Duncan replied, brushing past him and setting his satchel on the kitchen counter.

Robert groaned, closing the door behind him. “What have I told ya ’bout flyin’ like that?”

“Not now,” Duncan interrupted, his tone unusually serious. “This is important. Where’s Mama?”

From the living room, Marcy Nenni appeared, wiping her hands on her apron. “Duncan?” she asked, her voice a mixture of surprise and concern. “What’s goin’ on? You’re supposed to be in Dallas.”

Duncan raised a hand, motioning for calm. “Alright, settle down. This matters. Y’all are gonna want to hear this.”

Robert folded his arms, leaning against the counter, while Marcy sat at the dining table, her expression wary. “Alright,” she said. “Spill it.”

Duncan launched into his story, recounting everything from his discoveries at work to the events at the warehouse in Arkansas. His parents listened in silence, their faces growing more serious with each detail. By the time he finished, the room was heavy with tension.

“And you’re gonna stop ’em?” Robert asked, his tone probing.

Duncan nodded. “I’ll deny their bond origination. They won’t be able to issue the bonds in the primary market.”

Marcy frowned, her brow furrowing. “Is that ’nuff to stop ’em from doin’… y’know, whatever they’re plannin’?”

“Nope,” Duncan admitted, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. “But at least I won’t have contributed to their amassin’ of weapons to use against mutants.”

Robert’s expression hardened. “So you’re just washin’ yer hands of it. They won’t blame ya, but it’ll still happen?”

“It ain’t my problem,” Duncan said firmly, meeting his father’s gaze. “This is an X-Men thingy, not mine.”

Marcy folded her hands on the table, her voice softer but no less serious. “Alright, son. But don’t overexpose yerself. This sounds dangerous.”

Robert nodded, his tone more pointed. “But ya could do somethin’ more, Duncan. Go the extra mile. Show ya care. Do yer honest job…”

Duncan raised an eyebrow, waiting for the inevitable follow-up.

Robert didn’t disappoint. “If they’re hurtin’ people.”

Marcy added, her voice trembling slightly, “They could hurt you, Duncan.”

Duncan let out a small, incredulous laugh. “C’mon, y’all. They ain’t gonna hurt me. I’m just sayin’ no.”

“Yeah,” Robert said cautiously. “It’s not exactly yer problem, son.”

Marcy’s eyes narrowed, her tone sharper now. “But it could be.”

Duncan sighed, rubbing his temple. “Alright, Dad. Mom. I’ll see what I can do.”

Marcy leaned forward slightly, her voice firm. “See it right. ’Cause if you don’t, you’re driftin’. And when you drift, you lose sight of who you are.”

“I said I’ll see what I can do,” Duncan repeated, his voice tinged with irritation.

“Don’t wait, Duncan,” Marcy pressed. “Stop procrastinatin’.”

That struck a nerve. Duncan’s jaw tightened as he straightened up. “That again? Always with the moralizin’.”

“And also pray fer the Lord’s guidance,” Marcy added, her voice softer but no less insistent.

Duncan groaned, throwing his hands up. “Alright. I clearly overstayed my welcome. Whatever I do, I’ll do it my way.”

Robert’s tone turned sharp. “You never listen, do ya, Duncan?”

Duncan smirked faintly, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “If I didn’t listen, I wouldn’t even be here talkin’ to yer annoyin’ faces.”

Robert’s face darkened, his voice rising. “Boy, you—”

“I’ll see y’all soon,” Duncan interrupted, stepping toward the front door.

Before they could say anything else, he walked out onto the porch and launched himself into the air, his blue plasma trail lighting up the night as he streaked away toward the horizon.