The hotel suite was still. Morning light cut through the blinds in clean, pale stripes across the table where Felicia Hardy sat watching Ethan pour himself coffee with the kind of calm that always made her suspicious.
He didn't glance up when he finally spoke. "So," he said, stirring once. "Did you ever decide how I mysteriously benefit from I.M.A.G.I.N.E.?"
Felicia didn't answer. Her stare could have cracked ceramic.
Ethan exhaled softly, amused. "Still nothing? You wound me. I thought you'd at least hazard a theory." He leaned back in his chair, relaxed in a way that only made her bristle more. "Let me help, then. I built the whole thing to steer Peter away from obsessing over Osborn's death."
She blinked. "I'm supposed to believe you did all this for him?"
"Believe whatever fits your worldview. I have my reasons," Ethan replied, sipping his coffee. "But distraction is medicine. Especially when it's meaningful to the person in question."
Her eyes sharpened. "Tell me straight, kid. Did you kill Norman Osborn?"
Ethan's expression didn't shift an inch. "I knew Norman would die," he said quietly. "That's the beginning and end of what I'll say."
Felicia's jaw tightened. "That's a confession wearing cheap perfume."
He set the cup down with careful precision. "No. That's a conclusion. The man was a rabid dog. Someone was going to put him down before he tore apart anyone else—Peter included. You would have been on that list eventually, too."
Felicia leaned back, studying him like an encrypted file. "You talk about killing like it's a housekeeping chore."
Ethan didn't blink. "Sometimes it is. Besides, we both know you don't really care whether Osborn lived or died. You don't even care if I killed him. You only care if I'm a threat to you and Peter—which I'm not. So do with that information as you will," he said evenly. Then, almost impatiently: "Now was that everything you needed?"
"Not even close." She tilted her head, watching him closely. "Aren't you even a little worried I'll tell Peter what you did?"
Ethan's tone softened—just barely, which somehow made it worse. "Not at all. He already carries enough ghosts. Adding another won't help him—or you. You've only just started something real with a man who walks around carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Why add more to that? I see no reason for you to wound him—or yourself—over someone like the late Norman Osborn."
Silence stretched—thick, heavy, annoying. She hated that he could sound reasonable while being completely unreasonable.
Then she leaned forward. "So what do you want, Ethan? Why the charities, the schemes, the secret bankrolls? Why try to play savior now of all times when we both know you couldn't care less about the well-being of others?"
His smile was faint and tired, the kind that hinted at storms behind glass. "Because survival's the only goal that matters."
"That's it? How does something like this help you achieve that?" she pressed.
"It's always it. You'll see soon enough." Ethan rose, slipping on his coat with practiced ease. "Come on. We're going to be late."
"For what?" she demanded.
"You'll see when we get there, so hurry up."
They rode in silence—Felicia watching the city blur by, Ethan staying maddeningly unreadable in the reflection.
When the taxi stopped in front of the hospital, she turned to him sharply. "What are we doing here?"
He stepped out first. "You've been so focused on dissecting my motives that you forgot—we're here to finish what Peter and I started. Remember that little girl, Leah."
Inside, the sterile scent hit instantly—bleach, plastic, quiet dread.
Down the hall, Peter Parker—still suited—spoke with a doctor outside the little girl's room, shoulders tense and exhausted.
"She's stable," the doctor said. "Early-stage liver and kidney failure. A couple more months and it would've been irreversible."
Peter nodded with visible relief. "Thank you. Really."
He slumped back against the wall once the doctor left.
Beside her, Ethan reached into his coat and held up a black card. "Give this to him," he said. "As promised—her medical fees are fully covered."
Felicia stared at the card. "This was part of your plan. Tug at Peter's heart and guilt for being unable to help her, push him where you want him, nudge the pieces your way."
"Yes," Ethan said calmly. "I plan everything. It's a flaw I've stopped apologizing for a long time ago."
Felicia walked to Peter, heels sharp on the tile. She handed him the card. She didn't explain. Peter entered Leah's room to talk to the doctor yet again.
When she turned back, Ethan was watching her with that same eerie calm.
He smiled, faint and cutting. "Aren't I the most altruistic person you've ever met?"
Felicia froze mid-step. Then she glared, voice low and dangerous. "If what you're doing ever hurts him, I will hunt you down. That's a promise, understand?"
Ethan tilted his head, amused rather than threatened. "Crystal."
He started to walk past her—then paused.
"Oh—and Felicia?" He glanced over his shoulder, a smirk curling. "If my secrets bother you that much, you could always use one of the three favors I owe you. Force me to spill the beans. I won't lie on a favor."
Her pulse kicked—anger, curiosity, temptation all twisting together. "And waste one of them on that?" she shot back.
He shrugged lightly. "Your decision. The door's always open. Let me know if you change your mind."
Then he waved once, almost polite, and vanished down the corridor.
Felicia stayed where she was, watching him go, trying to decide if he was more dangerous than what she originally thought.
Peter, through the window, sat gently at the girl's bedside.
Felicia exhaled.
Ethan wasn't just a problem.
He was a problem she needed for now.
And that was the most frustrating part of all.
Ethan arrived back at his hotel just before noon. The room looked exactly as he had left it: sterile, ordered, functional. The only color came from the city bleeding through the blinds. He set his coat on the rack, poured himself a glass of water, and sat before the laptop.
The cursor blinked against a blank document labeled "Maddox — Proposal V1."
He flexed his fingers once, then began typing.
Formal Business Proposal
To: Mallory Book
From: Isaac Maddox
Subject: Structural & Financial Offer — Formation of Independent Legal Firm
Entity Structure
Proposed formation under either an LLC or LLP. Mallory Book will be a majority partner (51%).
Operational control and public representation fall entirely under her name.
All filings will be handled through registered agents—none of whom trace back to Isaac Maddox.
Practice Areas
Primary focus:
Corporate & Contract Law
Defense Counsel for High-Value Clients
Intellectual Property & Technology Litigation
Regulatory Navigation for Multinational Entities
Secondary extensions to follow within six months: tax advisement, acquisitions, and political compliance units.
Staffing Plan
All hiring rights belong solely to Mrs. Book: associates, paralegals, research teams, PR staff.
Budget pre-approved for first-year salaries, recruitment, and media rollout.
Confidentiality contracts written to her preference.
Launch Timeline
Two-week schedule to full operational readiness.
Facilities: a Midtown property currently under acquisition.
Infrastructure: complete IT systems, office buildout, and legal registration finalized prior to occupancy.
Compensation Model
Base annual salary + revenue percentage + long-term equity growth.
Additional performance bonuses tied to net case success.
All disbursements routed through an offshore trust to maintain discretion.
Protection Clauses
Indemnity from legal exposure arising from Isaac Maddox's private ventures.
Exclusive counsel agreement ensures her firm acts as the sole legal representative for all Maddox holdings.
Exit clause permitting withdrawal under sealed NDA, ensuring mutual protection and confidentiality.
He saved the file, then opened a second folder: Shell Company Dossier.
Within it lay a complete structure—a Delaware-registered holding group with a billion dollars quietly parked across mirrored accounts. Every document bore Isaac Maddox's immaculate digital signature.
Every transaction looked legitimate, irreversible, clean.
At the end of the packet, he inserted a brief memo:
"For Mrs. Book.
The law is a tool. Consider this your forge.
— I.M."
He printed the full set—hundreds of pages—and slid them neatly into a cream envelope stamped Confidential — Attorney Proposal.
On the return line, he wrote Insight's address.
He sealed the package and sat back, breathing once through his nose. For a moment he allowed himself stillness—the faint echo of Felicia's threat replaying in his mind like static. If what you're doing ever hurts him…
Ethan smirked faintly, the expression neither cruel nor kind. "Everyone hurts, eventually," he murmured.
Then he rose, slipped on his jacket, and left the envelope on the desk for courier pickup. By the time dawn came, Robert Hughes would receive it, just as instructed—postmarked from Insight, perfectly innocuous, perfectly untraceable.