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Audrey Hepburn had hoped Henry might take some time to rest, but she knew she couldn't force him. If he chose to pour his energy into supporting UNICEF, into helping children who desperately needed it—well, who was she to tell him otherwise?
But the holidays complicated things.
In the Western world, Christmas and New Year's weren't just holidays, they were the holidays. No one wanted to spend Christmas in a refugee camp in Africa or in some remote, impoverished nation when they could be home with their families. Audrey understood that. Still, even without field trips overseas, December in the States was packed.
By mid-December, the wealthy were suddenly very generous—not always from pure goodwill, but because charitable donations meant tax breaks. And no millionaire wanted to miss the chance to shave down their year-end tax bill. Audrey, UNICEF's shining ambassador since '88, wasn't about to let that opportunity slip by. If these men and women didn't give to UNICEF, the money would only go to the IRS. Better it feed starving children and buy them a headline about their generosity. Win-win.
On top of the charity circuit, Hollywood's Oscar campaigning was quietly heating up. Audrey, as a member of the Academy, had social obligations, though she kept most of her work centered in New York instead of flying west to L.A.
And then, on December 17th, the entire country froze.
Howard and Maria Stark were dead.
The news broke like a thunderclap: the Starks' car had gone off a dark back road the night before. It was discovered in the early morning, wrecked beyond recognition. Both Howard and Maria were gone.
At that night's gala, the news was all anyone could talk about. Grief, shock, speculation—it all swirled together. But behind the somber words, Henry could see the calculation in every pair of eyes.
Stark Industries, one of America's industrial pillars, had lost its head. And that meant one question: what about the heir?
People whispered about Tony Stark's brilliance, his potential. But they weren't really asking whether he could run his father's empire. What they were really circling around was far colder: inheritance tax.
In the U.S., death didn't just bring grief—it brought a 45% estate tax bill. Unless Howard had prepared ironclad trust structures, Tony was about to be forced to cough up nearly half the value of Stark's fortune just to claim it.
And that wasn't just cash. It was assets, stocks, properties, patents—everything. To meet the tax bill, Tony would need to liquidate, fast. And when you're desperate to sell, buyers smell blood. They could pick off Stark assets at bargain prices, piece by piece, until the empire was weakened or gutted.
The alternative? Massive loans. But even with collateral, that meant inviting banks—and possibly rival corporations—into Stark Industries' inner workings. Either way, the vultures were circling.
Nobody was mourning a visionary inventor. They were jostling for a seat at the table.
Audrey tried not to dwell on it, but the topic bled into every conversation at every fundraiser. Whether she cared or not, she was hearing it constantly.
But while Audrey herself had little personal connection to the Starks, not everyone in her circle could say the same.
One quiet evening in her hotel room, she received a call. The weary voice on the other end immediately pulled her upright.
"Katharine? Are you alright?"
It was Katharine Hepburn. The two Hepburns weren't related by blood, but they'd been friends for years. And Katharine—though she and Howard had never married—had shared a complicated, decades-long friendship with him.
Katharine sighed softly. "That's the trouble with getting old, Audrey. Every day you hear another friend's gone. You grieve, but after a while… you stop even being able to cry."
Audrey's voice softened. "I'm so sorry, Katharine. Is there anything I can do?"
"Yes," Katharine replied, almost briskly. "Tomorrow's the funeral. I'll be flying into New York tonight. Could I borrow your young driver for the day? Tony introduced me to him. It might be good for the boy to be there, even if he doesn't speak with Tony."
"Of course," Audrey said without hesitation. "I should go as well. Howard helped me more than once, and it's only right to pay my respects. What time do you arrive?"
"I'm on my way to Bradley Airport now. By the time I land, it'll be late."
"I'll have Henry meet you and arrange accommodations," Audrey promised.
A small laugh escaped Katharine—forced, but grateful. "You trust that boy with everything, don't you?"
Audrey smiled faintly. "He's more capable than you'd think. I don't know what I'd do without him."
Katharine didn't linger. Her flight was waiting. They ended the call with a promise to talk more in person.
Audrey set the receiver down, then pressed a hidden latch on her watchband. Moments later, there was a knock at her door.
"Boss? You called?" Henry's voice came through.
He stepped into the small suite, neat and composed even without a suit on. Audrey explained: "Katharine will be flying in tonight. I'd like you to pick her up, find her a place to stay. Tomorrow we'll attend Howard and Maria Stark's funeral together."
Henry blinked. "Wait—did Katharine even get an invitation?"
"Invitation?" Audrey raised a brow.
"Well… I thought a funeral would be restricted. Some kind of list."
She almost laughed, then sighed. "No, Henry. Invitations are just notices to close friends, to tell them when and where. Anyone who wishes to pay their respects is welcome. Funerals aren't about exclusivity. They're about mourning."
Henry nodded slowly, absorbing that. Cultural difference. In his old life, funerals had rigid rituals and rules. Here… it was simpler.
Still, as he prepared to leave, his thoughts lingered on the news.
Howard Stark was dead. Maria, too. And with them gone, Tony Stark's destiny had begun in earnest.
The timeline was shifting, piece by piece. Familiar stories were starting to collide with his own.
And Henry couldn't shake the feeling that everything was about to accelerate.
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