“Evening, everyone,” Tony began, his tone casual as if he were addressing old friends over cocktails instead of a room full of people who mostly thought he was a spoiled genius playboy. “Let’s cut to the chase. Jarvis, if you would?”

The lights dimmed, and the projector screen flared to life. What followed was a cinematic exposé that could’ve won an Oscar for Most Shocking Betrayal. The first clip showed Obadiah cozying up to the Ten Rings, the infamous terrorist group. Their little chit-chat wasn’t just bad PR—it was borderline treason. The room went pin-drop silent as the footage rolled on, showing the terrorists plotting Tony’s demise in chilling detail. The timestamp made it even worse—it was dated weeks before Tony’s ill-fated trip to Afghanistan.

Then came the main part, grainy yet unmistakable footage of Tony’s captivity. His injuries were on full display, a stark reminder of the hell he’d endured. The evidence was damning, and the room’s collective mood shifted from shock to outrage.

Tony glanced around, watching the crowd squirm. Some of the board members—Obadiah’s loyal lapdogs—looked like they wanted to melt into their leather chairs. Others stared daggers at Stane, their trust shattered. As for Obadiah? His trademark smugness had finally cracked, replaced by the wide-eyed panic of a man whose house of cards was crumbling in real time.

Obadiah Stane had always been a looming figure in Tony Stark’s life. The guy was like a second-string uncle—offering advice, cracking dad-level jokes, and occasionally swooping in to scold him when Howard couldn’t be bothered. For years, Tony had even convinced himself there was genuine affection there. But now, sitting in the icy silence of Stark Industries’ conference room, Tony could feel the truth slithering into focus. Obadiah wasn’t just capable of betrayal—he was built for it. Ruthless efficiency, delivered with a folksy grin.

Tony’s jaw clenched as a new thought struck him: If Stane ever decided he wasn’t useful anymore, Tony wouldn’t just be out of a job. He’d be out of a life.

"I’ve always thought of you as family, Obie," Tony said, leaning back in his chair, the weight of his disappointment making his voice heavier than his Iron Man suit. "You saw me grow up, trusted me to run this company, and, honestly, I thought we had something solid. But now? Now I see it was all just business to you. You didn’t just betray me. You sold me out to literal terrorists."

The words hit the room like a gut punch, cutting through the air and landing squarely on Stane. His face, normally so composed, shifted between anger, guilt, and something Tony might’ve described as indigestion. For a second, Tony almost believed the guy regretted it—but then he remembered how smooth Stane had been in setting him up for dead.

Tony’s mind flickered back to the setup. He’d been riding high, fresh off another invention demo that had the military practically drooling. Then came Obadiah’s call—overly friendly, overly interested in the test’s success. Too interested. It was all an act, a ploy to get Tony exactly where he wanted him: vulnerable and alone in the Afghan desert. And it had worked. Too well.

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Tony suppressed a shudder at the memory, forcing his focus back to the present. ‘He’s not walking out of here unscathed.’ With a quick flick of his wrist, Tony pressed a hidden button on the table. The room’s heavy doors swung open with an authoritative hiss, and in marched a squad of FBI agents, their boots hammering against the floor like the percussion section of Tony’s impending vengeance. Leading the charge was none other than Colonel James Rhodes, his face a mixture of business and "I told you so."

Weapons clicked into place, every muzzle aimed squarely at Stane.

"Obadiah Stane," Rhodey barked, his voice as sharp as a tungsten blade, "you’re under arrest for treason, conspiracy, and, oh yeah, trying to murder my best friend. You’ll want to come quietly unless you’re angling to add 'resisting arrest' to the list."

The room went dead silent. Even the board members, normally a chattering pack of self-important yes-men, froze like deer in headlights. Obadiah, however, wasn’t ready to go down without at least a shred of his dignity intact. He stood slowly, hands raised in what looked like surrender—except one hand drifted toward his jacket pocket.

"Don’t—" Rhodey warned, but it was too late.

Bang!

One clean shot, and Obadiah crumpled like a cheap suit, a spreading pool of crimson marking the spot where Rhodey had ended his story. The colonel holstered his weapon, his face unreadable. "Couldn’t risk it," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "This guy’s caused enough damage already."

Two soldiers moved to remove the body, and with a brisk nod from Rhodey, the scene began to clear. Tony, unfazed, leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath. "Well," he said dryly, "that escalated quickly. Let’s get back to it, people. Stark Industries doesn’t run itself."

The room hesitated, as if waiting for someone to process what had just happened, but Tony’s steady tone left no room for argument. One by one, the board members straightened their papers and got back to work. With Obadiah gone, the path forward was clear.

But clear didn’t mean easy. Tony knew he was steering Stark Industries into uncharted waters. The weapons business had been their bread and butter, but the future lay in energy. Clean energy, to be exact. His Ark Reactor could revolutionize the world—or blow it up if it fell into the wrong hands. For now, the tech had to stay locked down. There was too much at stake to rush the reveal.

Later that night, Tony returned to Stark Manor, a rare quiet settling over him. He poured himself a drink and sank into his favorite armchair, the events of the day swirling in his head. One name kept popping up: Orion Voss. If anyone could help him push Stark Industries into the future, it was Orion—a sharp mind and a trusted ally. Tony grabbed his phone, thumb hovering over the call button.

"Sir," Jarvis’s smooth voice interrupted, "Mr. Voss has declined your call."

Tony blinked. "Excuse me? Declined? People don’t decline me. I’m Tony Stark."

"Nevertheless," Jarvis replied with the faintest hint of sass, "he has declined. Twice."

"Unbelievable," Tony muttered, dialing again. This time, all he got was a robotic voice: “The number you have dialed is no longer in service.”

Tony’s jaw dropped. "He blocked me?! Jarvis, this is war. Track him down. Hack his calendar. I want his schedule on my desk yesterday."

"Sir," Jarvis replied patiently, "perhaps a less invasive approach might yield better results."

Tony sighed, rubbing his temples. "Fine. Forget Orion for now. Let’s call Pepper."

"As you wish, sir."

As the call connected, Tony let out a slow exhale. The day had been a mess, but if there was one thing he knew for certain, it was this: The world might try to throw him off course, but Tony Stark always lands on his feet.