Chapter 12: Disappearance

In the crowded conference room, Abigail sat in a distant corner, propping her head up with one hand, silently staring at the documents in front of her. Occasionally, she would glance at the clock.

Tony wasn't present, so Stan naturally occupied the seat of honor. After nearly half an hour of the meeting, he turned and glanced at Abigail, who was frowning as though deep in thought. He spoke up, "Abigail, what do you think about our proposal? You're the head of the new project, we need your opinion."

Abigail knew that arguing with him wouldn't do any good at this point. She could only look up weakly, "Stan, I can't be in charge of the new project. I've told you, I'm not in a condition to do so right now."

It's only been a short time since Tony went missing, and now you expect me to step in? How can I face the people in the company?

Stan clearly valued her opinion. His expression softened, "How are you feeling? I just meant, as long as you provide suggestions, your subordinates can handle the execution. What we need is your ideas, not for you to push yourself physically. Right now, the company needs to show that it can operate without Stark."

Abigail suddenly looked up, anger flashing in her eyes, "What I want is for Tony to come back!"

Dozens of eyes immediately turned toward her.

Abigail realized she had lost control of her emotions. She furrowed her brows and added, "Stan, I've said it before, I can't do it. Without Tony's guidance, I can't make anything happen. And I've told you, my mental state is fragile right now. I should be on vacation..."

"Vacation?" Stan raised an eyebrow. "If I'm not mistaken, you were traveling with Charles Xavier, right? You're letting him be your psychologist? Isn't that dangerous, Abigail? I have no intention of meddling in your friendships, but right after Tony went missing, you were traveling with a... mutant, and not just any mutant, but the famous Professor X. Isn't that a bit too dangerous?"

Abigail, already frustrated, was enraged by his words. She slammed her hand on the table, "Stan, what exactly do you mean?"

Stan interlaced his fingers and rested them on his chin, his sharp eyes locking onto Abigail's. "It's well-known that Professor X can manipulate people's thoughts. What if—what if those dangerous mutants have taken advantage of you? You should know, Stark's weapons are unmatched by any other opponent. If something happened to you, just think about what those rebellious mutants might do. And if I'm not mistaken, the last person to see Tony before he boarded the plane... was you. He didn't even come to say goodbye to me."

Dangerous mutants?

Dangerous? Is she the one dangerous here? Isn't it you, the one who's consumed by money and has lost your closest friend, that's truly frightening?

Abigail gritted her teeth, forcing herself to suppress her anger, "Just say it, Stan. What do you want?"

Stan was blunt, "Prove it. Prove that you're really our good friend, Abigail. Take charge of the company in Tony's absence, come up with a new proposal. I believe when Tony comes back, he'll be proud of you."

Stan's demeanor remained calm, but soon enough, it faltered.

What had been a situation he was sure to win, with just a young woman in front of him, suddenly sparked an uncontrollable anger inside of him. His face changed, his fingers cracked from the tension.

Across the table, the other two people exchanged a glance, as an ominous tension filled the room.

But Stan's anger didn't last long.

Soon, a creeping fear began to invade his emotions, causing him to turn away, unable to meet Abigail's eyes. "Let's... start with something else."

—

Elsewhere in New York, at the Osborn Tower, another confrontation was taking place.

In front of a large floor-to-ceiling window, bathed in bright light, a young man's chair spun around. His smirk was full of arrogance, his handsome features almost sparkling under the sun. "Stark is dead. With fewer competitors in the arms industry, this is unexpected."

Several older board members looked at him, hesitant to speak.

Harry smirked as he twirled a pen in his hand. "When I brought up the arms business before, none of you agreed. Now, increasing investment should be fine, right? With Stark Industries falling, everyone's waiting to grab a piece of the pie."

He scanned the room, eyeing the silent members. "What, no one has anything to say? Then I'll just move forward with setting up a new weapons research department. This meeting is adjourned."

Just as Harry was about to stand, a middle-aged man quickly got up ahead of him. "With all due respect, Harry... no, Mr. Osborn, your investment in 'weapons' has already been substantial. Especially after that octopus project flushed all that money down the drain."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed, a hint of malice in his eyes. He hated when people brought up his failures, and this was something that had been repeated too many times.

"I must say, if your father were still alive, he would never have allowed you to squander the company's funds like this."

Before long, several others were also standing, and it seemed like a heated argument was about to break out.

At this point, someone cleared their throat, and everyone fell silent.

Sitting at the far end of the long table, an older man with wrinkles in his eyes looked at the young Harry. He spoke in a deep voice, "Osborn Industries indeed doesn't have an advantage in the arms business. I understand that Mr. Osborn, after his father's passing, is struggling to channel his emotions. But with all due respect, Osborn Industries has contributed little to the 'weapons' field. Aside from those small gadgets your father developed, there's really nothing to show for it."

Harry had been smiling, but as soon as he heard that last sentence, his expression slowly shifted from a grin to a cold, terrifying scowl. Each word he spoke was like it was being forced out through clenched teeth, "Small gadgets?"

The man's smile carried a hint of disdain. "Not to mention, when Norman worked on those projects, he lost military funds. Now, young Mr. Osborn wants to make a name for himself, but coming here to ask for more investment isn't going to work."

"Also, if I remember correctly, the glider project was originally developed by Osborn Industries, but then the Green Goblin stole it and used it for nefarious purposes. If this gets out, people will think we're researching those things again. That won't be good for our reputation."

The attack was relentless, and Harry was quickly overwhelmed by the criticism.

—

After Abigail stormed out of the meeting room, her phone rang.

She had received three calls that day, two of which were unpleasant.

Still furious, she answered the phone, "Harry?"

Harry's voice was laced with playful arrogance, "Abigail, you're not being very loyal. You can break up with Peter, but you can't even give me a heads-up about leaving New York?"

Abigail was already exhausted. "What?"

Harry laughed, "You're leaving New York today. Why didn't you tell me? I was planning to treat you to a nice meal and say goodbye."

Abigail was tired of dealing with this rich playboy. As soon as he spoke, his fox-like tone made her uncomfortable, and she always felt cornered.

She replied curtly, "I'm not leaving New York, at least not for now."

Harry chuckled, "Oh? Who's the handsome guy who made you stay? That's not fair. I've been waiting for years…"

Abigail disliked how he always made light of things. He was good-looking, came from a prominent family, and had a certain charm, but he used it recklessly for his own advantage. Abigail understood that charm could be dangerous, and she had no interest in misusing her own abilities. That's why she found Harry's behavior annoying.

She cut him off, "What do you want? Just say it."

Harry, used to getting what he wanted, didn't stop. He continued, "What else? I want to chase you."

After years of knowing Harry, Abigail knew that when he said this, it was basically: "I'm begging you, just say yes, and I'll leave you alone."

She immediately hung up the phone.

Before Harry could even start to make his next move, all he heard was the sound of a disconnected call.

Harry: "..."

This girl was truly a hard nut to crack.

No wonder she broke up with her boyfriend.

He sighed, looking at the documents on his desk, his furrows deepening. She didn't like jewelry, didn't like perfume, didn't like gourmet food—what girl wouldn't want to be liked? Oh wait, there was one... Abigail.

Harry gritted his teeth.

But she, this stubborn stone, was his last hope.

He took up his phone again, and instead of his usual playful tone, his voice was more sincere this time.

"Abigail, save me."