The Ancient One's preparations to bring Stephen Strange into the fold had spanned at least half a century.
But those arrangements were now complete. Kamar-Taj's informants embedded in secular society would guide Stephen Strange to his final destination. The real challenge now was how to drive Strange to despair—without causing irreparable harm. In truth, this wasn't difficult. Even for a high-income professional like a neurosurgeon, Strange still hadn't paid off his mortgage. Not everyone could be like Solomon, who, after covering the renovation costs, could still afford to pay the full balance on a penthouse apartment in a single lump sum. Once Strange lost his income, what had once been a solid A-grade mortgage would instantly drop to B or even C grade, then be bundled into a portfolio of defaulted loans sold off to recover the bank's losses—or even turn a profit.
At that point, it wouldn't be letters from the original lender coming to collect, but rather debt collectors from whatever bank or gang had bought the note. The largest underground bond broker in New York was none other than Wilson Fisk. Some of his people specialized in financial dealings. His transactions with banks operated as part of the unspoken rules of the market. Ever since the subprime mortgage crisis in 2008, certain banks had taken to selling off unrecoverable, bottom-tier loans to mob-connected brokers at bargain prices. The mob would then send in thugs to collect—and the number of murder cases that resulted was too high to count. When that time came, Stephen Strange, formerly a doctor, would have no way to resist.
Solomon understood men like Stephen Strange perfectly. This arrogant, unpleasant man had practically no genuine friends. Even in desperate times, he might choose to starve rather than lower himself to sleeping in a homeless shelter or sharing space with addicts. As Solomon meticulously drafted the plan, he simultaneously arranged the acquisition of the hospital where Strange worked.
He added many details to the Ancient One's original blueprint.
In the earlier plan, Strange would still carry himself with arrogance and superiority even after entering the gates of Kamar-Taj, clinging to his former social status and constantly longing to return to the glory days. Solomon intended to strike him down from every angle—collapse his life completely and make him understand that he was the architect of his own misery.
For example, he might place Christine Palmer in a position of power at the hospital, or let her marry someone decent, completely shattering Strange's emotional defenses. If you're going to kill a man, you first break his spirit. Solomon didn't want Strange dead—but he did want the arrogant version of him to die, and this step was essential. To that end, Solomon even made a call to gather insight from Wilson Fisk—because no one understood how to destroy someone through societal pressure better than the underworld. Natasha Romanoff's expertise was equally vital. Though she didn't know why Solomon was suddenly interested in such tactics, she still taught him how to manipulate someone into working for an organization—like a magician forcing a card so that the target always picked the one predetermined.
And Solomon didn't bother hiding any of this from Natasha Romanoff.
Nor did he have Stephanie handle it—she was already far too busy.
The Eternal City was larger in area than Rome, yet fewer than ten thousand people lived there permanently. Most of the restored land was taken up by industrial facilities and converted military bases. By contrast, Rome had a population of three million. Much of the Eternal City remained unoccupied. Under the next phase of development, all that idle land would be put to use. The Wakandan engineering corps in charge of construction had plans to build a biotech center, a weapons research lab, an aircraft manufacturing plant, a tank production facility, and a heavy arms arsenal. Meanwhile, the underwater transport tunnels were also under construction. Even at Wakanda's breakneck pace, the tunnels would take over a year to complete. These estimates came from a Malick family actuary hired by Stephanie and closely matched the figures in Shuri's report to Solomon.
All these facilities—except the underwater tunnel—would be contained within a massive, heavily fortified fortress, forming the political and military core of the Eternal City. Alongside that, the postwar personnel restructuring required vast amounts of labor and paperwork. Stephanie had her hands full, and Solomon didn't want to trouble her with unrelated matters.
"There's no name on this plan," Natasha Romanoff said suspiciously, staring at the sorcerer. "Who are you targeting?"
"Are you regretting sharing your insights now? You should've kept quiet in the first place."
Solomon set down his pen with satisfaction, admiring his own handwriting. It was Gothic script, taught to him by Athena—elegant, intricate, and nearly illegible to the average reader. He often used it to write things he didn't want others to see. But Natasha Romanoff wasn't just anyone. She read through the first few pages with the ease of flipping through a cheap novel, but the convoluted handwriting eventually started to irritate her for no clear reason. She finally set the document aside, not realizing that she'd already forgotten what she'd read.
The pages Solomon had written were enchanted. The decorative flourishes around the edges weren't just ornamentation—they were disguised spell runes. Like a devil's contract, the fancier the document looked, the more secrets it concealed.
"It's not that," Natasha said, shaking her head. "I'm just curious—who could be so important that you'd write a hundred-page plan for them, even calling up New York's biggest crime boss for advice? I happen to know you once attended the same charity gala as Wilson Fisk—your adoptive mother was an investor in his partner's art gallery. Your ties to the mob aren't widely known."
"I'm not worried about you thinking I've struck a deal with criminals," she continued. "I just rarely see you this serious—unless something major's about to happen."
"Spies don't always get the intel they want, Natasha. But if you found out this name today, you'd be getting a real windfall," Solomon replied. "But don't worry. Earth is safe after what happened in Finbowent. That's what I told Stark too—so you can rest easy, go home, sleep well, and stop worrying that the world will be destroyed overnight."
"So, you've saved the world again, great hero. Now can you tell me what happened in Finbowent that's more important than this hundred-page plan?"
"Darling, if I don't want to talk, not even the bedroom will get it out of me."
The spy widened her bright eyes. "I know. But I still want to try for the experience."
Satisfied, Natasha Romanoff took her leave. She had already tallied the still-healing wounds on Solomon's body after the Finbowent incident, as well as the scars that had healed but stubbornly remained. Using these, she put together a reasonably accurate threat-level assessment of the event. Spies might not always get the intel—but she wasn't a typical spy. She'd noticed Solomon had a particular preference for Slavic women, something easily confirmed by speaking to the girls from the Sisterhood. She knew exactly where they were from.
(End of Chapter)
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