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Howard Stark's study was nothing like the kind of room you'd expect in a typical wealthy household.
There weren't shelves of leather-bound books or antique tomes left untouched for years, purely for show. Instead, the room was filled with journals, bound manuscripts, and printed book drafts—some stood upright, others piled up haphazardly.
Every single book—or book-like item—in this room looked like it had been flipped through countless times. Sticky tabs poked out from the top and sides, and some open volumes lay stacked on particular pages.
Upon entering, Alex Hart immediately noticed that while the books seemed to be in disarray, the room itself hadn't seen its owner in quite some time. Even with regular cleaning, a fine layer of dust was still visible in the corners.
Tony Stark closed the door behind them and poured two wide glasses of whiskey from the liquor cabinet—one for himself and one for his guest.
Taking a sip, Alex swirled the amber liquid in his glass and said, "Mmm. No doubt about it—Howard's private stash. This is excellent."
Tony took a sip too. Although it didn't taste quite like it had when he sneaked in here as a teenager, after sampling his fair share of cheap bar booze, he could now tell the real thing from the garbage.
"Tony," Alex began, "I can call you Tony, can't I?"
"Well then, Tony, I assume you didn't go through the trouble of inviting me here through Katharine just to raid your father's liquor cabinet?"
The pleasantries had been exhausted in the living room, so the financial tycoon got straight to the point.
Tony didn't bother beating around the bush either. "You remember that recent shooting incident—the one I was involved in?"
"Oh, that one. Yeah, I heard something about it. Word was that a number of Silicon Valley... what do you call them... 'new money' types got caught up in it. But the story just sort of disappeared. No follow-up from the media."
"Exactly," Tony said. "But what if I told you the FBI agents who showed up that night weren't real agents? And that the gunmen I helped take down—including the bodies—completely vanished afterward? Does that sound normal to you?"
Alex paused for a moment, then asked, "You've been digging into this?"
"I was there," Tony said flatly. "Of course I wanted to know what happened next."
"You didn't ask Howard?"
"I'm an adult. I don't need some so-called father figure looking out for me."
Alex let out a soft sigh. "Alright then, go on."
Tony continued, "I asked the LAPD—they insist all case materials were handed over to the FBI. But when I contacted the FBI's Los Angeles field office, they swore they'd never received the case. No records, nothing.
"I also spoke with other people who were at the party. But all of them kept their mouths shut, as if nothing had ever happened. So I started digging deeper.
"Trouble is, this runs deeper than I expected. And frankly, I don't have the leverage to get the people who do know something to talk.
"But here's the thing—one of the shooters said the whole thing was meant as a 'warning.' That's why they did it so publicly, in front of people they knew they couldn't afford to cross.
"So I thought—rather than chasing down shadows, why not find someone who understands what that warning means, and just ask them directly."
"So you came to me?" Alex said with a bitter smile. "I'll say it again—you should've asked Howard. That'd be the smart move."
"I won't," Tony said firmly, pointing at the man in front of him. The message was clear.
Alex downed the rest of his whiskey in one gulp and refilled his glass. "You're entitled to know, so telling you doesn't cross any lines. But once we step out of this room, I'll deny everything. If you try to drag me into it, I'll say this was just the paranoid delusion of a so-called genius. Let's not get to that point."
Tony zipped his lips in pantomime. "I just want to know what's behind all of this."
Alex cleared his throat and began, "There's an island off the coast of California. On that island, some very wealthy people enjoy certain... 'private entertainments.' Activities that might not align with the laws of any U.S. state. So, everyone involved keeps quiet out of mutual understanding."
"You mean something like that Hollywood 'red couch' rumor?" Tony asked.
"Maybe even wilder," Alex replied. Then quickly added, "And don't get the wrong idea—I've never been there. Yes, they do send out invitations, but whether or not to go is up to the individual."
Tony frowned. "Wilder? What else could they possibly be doing out there? Even without the island, these people aren't exactly saints."
"Don't assume the only thing going on is debauchery, Tony," Alex warned. "That island also offers medical services—the kind you won't find at any legitimate hospital."
That clue was all Tony needed. Suddenly, it all clicked.
Many of the roadblocks in medicine weren't due to technological limits, but ethical ones.
As the realization sank in, Tony felt a surge of revulsion toward this so-called island.
Alex noticed the change in his expression and offered a word of caution. "Don't be so quick to label this as evil. The fact that it exists means it fulfills a need. Think of it like contraband—no matter how hard you try, you can't truly get rid of it.
"One day, you or someone close to you might need something they offer. And if that day comes, you'll be glad the island exists."
"So what does that have to do with the so-called warning?" Tony asked, abandoning the moral debate in favor of the practical one.
Alex said, "Because services like that—ones the average person could never afford—aren't meant to be known by the general public. What would happen if poor people found out? People who can barely make rent?
"They'd do one of two things. Demand the same services for free, or try to make sure nobody gets them.
"Either way, it's a problem. Just like that old saying—'They never ask what they can do for the country, only what the country can do for them.'"
"So the guy who got killed... he was a loudmouth?" Tony asked.
"Exactly. He told too many people who hadn't been properly vetted. The powers behind it all don't want anything happening out of their line of sight. That's why they shut him up. And at the same time, sent a warning to the rest."
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