Flushing Meadows was vibrating. Literally.

  The bass from the stadium speakers was heavy enough. AC/DC's Shoot to Thrill was blasting across Queens, drowning out the roar of the crowd.

  I stood in the VIP observation deck, a glass of champagne in my hand. Below me, the main stage was a spectacle of American excess. The Ironette dancers- a touch tacky, but very Tony were kicking in unison.

  Then, the sky lit up.

  The roar of repulsors cut through the music. Tony dropped from the fireworks, streaking down in the Mark IV. He hit the stage with that signature three-point landing, the shockwave blowing the dancers' hair back.

  The crowd lost its mind.

  Mechanical arms stripped the armor off him piece by piece, revealing a perfectly tailored tuxedo underneath. He stepped out, buttoning his jacket, soaking in the adoration.

  "It's good to be back!" Tony yelled into the mic.

  I took a sip of champagne. From this distance, he looked like a god. But I knew the truth. Under that tux, the palladium count in his blood was climbing. He was checking it every hour. This entire Expo the lights, the speech about "privatizing world peace" was a desperate man trying to curate his own eulogy.

  "He loves the applause, doesn't he?"

  The voice was oily. Too eager.

  I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. The smell of excessive self-tanner and desperate ambition gave him away.

  Justin Hammer.

  I turned slowly. Hammer was wearing a suit that cost five thousand dollars but looked like he bought it at a discount outlet. He was grinning, his hands spread wide as if we were old friends reuniting after a war.

  "Adrian!" Hammer exclaimed, moving in for a handshake I didn't offer. He recovered quickly, patting the railing instead. "The man behind the curtain. The Stark's mysterious shareholder. I've been trying to get a meeting with you for six months. Your assistant is a fortress. A literal fortress."

  "She's efficient, Mr. Hammer," I said keeping my voice neutral. "I prefer it that way."

  Hammer laughed, a sharp, barking sound. "Efficient. I like that. Stark Industries is all about efficiency, right? Except... well, look at him."

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  He gestured to the stage, where Tony was currently ranting about legacy.

  "He's a mess, Adrian. Can I call you Adrian? He's erratic. He's skipping board meetings. The government is breathing down his neck for the suit tech. The stock is... volatile."

  Hammer leaned in, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

  "I'm just saying, a man with your portfolio needs stability. Diversification. Hammer Industries has the Pentagon contracts. We have the Senate's ear. We're the adult in the room."

  I looked at him. Really looked at him.

  Justin Hammer wasn't a villain in the traditional sense. He was a fanboy who hated the idol he couldn't become. He wanted to be Tony Stark so badly it hurt.

  "You're asking me to hedge my bets," I said. "To invest in Hammer Industries as a failsafe."

  "I'm offering you a life raft!" Hammer said, his eyes gleaming. "Stark is a sinking ship. He's one bad press conference away from being a liability. Come over to the winning team. We're building the future, Adrian. Weapons. Systems. Actual defense contracts, not... vanity projects."

  He gestured vaguely at the Expo.

  I set my glass down on the high table. I didn't look angry. I looked bored.

  "Mr. Hammer," I began, my tone soft but carrying effortlessly over the music. "Let me clarify the difference between my partner and you."

  Hammer's smile faltered slightly. "Difference?"

  "Tony Stark builds the Iron Man suit in a cave with a box of scraps because he is an engineer," I said. "And he understands what he is doing.."

  I turned my body fully toward him.

  "You," I continued, "buy patents from second-rate inventors and slap your logo on them. You don't build; you rebrand."

  Hammer's face tightened. The fake smile was cracking. "Now, hold on. My tech is reliable. It's military-grade..."

  "Your 'Ex-Wife' missile failed three out of four kinetic tests," I interrupted. "Your guidance systems have a twenty percent drift variance. And your 'Hammer Drones' are currently running on software that Stark discarded in 1998."

  Hammer stepped back, looking like I'd slapped him. "How do you... that's classified data."

  "I read," I said simply. "I don't invest in echoes, Mr. Hammer. I invest in the voice. Tony might be chaotic, and he might be difficult... but he is the original."

  I picked up my glass again.

  "And frankly," I added, delivering the final cut with surgical precision, "your suit doesn't fit. The shoulders are padded. It suggests you're trying to look bigger than you are."

  Hammer opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His ego, usually so inflated, had been punctured so cleanly he didn't even know how to bleed. He looked at his own shoulder, then back at me, his face flushing a deep, angry red.

  "You're making a mistake," Hammer hissed, dropping the friendly act. "Stark is going to fall. And when he does, don't come crying to me."

  "If Tony falls," I said, turning back to the stage, "I'll catch him. Run along, Justin. I think I saw a Senator looking for a drink. That's more your speed."

  Hammer glared at my back for a moment, seething. Then, realizing he was outclassed in a way he couldn't argue with, he spun on his heel and stormed off toward the bar.

  Down on the stage, Tony was wrapping up his speech.

  "I'm not saying I'm the Phoenix..." Tony said to the cheering crowd.

  I smiled faintly.

  "No," I whispered. "But you're about to burn like one."

  I finished the champagne. The night was young, and I had a feeling the "Monaco Incident" was just around the corner. I needed to check the flight schedules to Europe.