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At the FBI's Los Angeles Field Office, Special Agent Jack McKenna held the intelligence he had just received and went straight to find his partner, Maris Horvat.
The information concerned a key figure in the disappearance of California State Assemblyman Mike Liddell Horton.
They had wanted to question this person for a long time, but he was always nowhere to be found. And because they lacked sufficient evidence, they couldn't obtain an arrest warrant or a search warrant. As a result, the case had been stalled until now.
At last, an opportunity had finally appeared—but the setting was all wrong.
With no other choice, they went to see the head of the Los Angeles office, Assistant Director in Charge, Owen Davis.
The two of them knocked on the door to their boss's office.
"Come in," a voice answered immediately from inside.
They pushed the door open and got straight to the point.
"Boss, the key figure in our case has surfaced. But there's a bit of trouble—we need your help."
"What case? Who?" Owen asked.
"The disappearance of State Assemblyman Horton. Henry Brown—the guy we've never been able to locate."
Hearing the name of a case that was about to hit its two-year mark instantly gave Owen a headache.
He knew perfectly well that this wasn't a simple disappearance—it was clearly a total wipeout. Horton's family, aides, and close associates had all been cleaned up.
The ones who carried it out were the Continental Hotel.
But the Continental's backing was strong enough that they dared to ignore the FBI outright, refusing to hand over any assassins. And besides, they were merely a platform—so what if you shut them down? Would it really be that hard for them to rebrand and start again?
This wasn't a case where the FBI could demand that the Continental cut off its own tail to survive, toss out a scapegoat, let everyone save face, and then quietly downgrade the matter from major to minor to nothing at all.
The most likely scenario was that the Continental would throw out a name and let the FBI go make an arrest themselves. But whether that name belonged to a real person, whether they were still in the United States, and whether they were truly the shooter—all of that was almost impossible to verify.
As for who the employer was… that was a question no one dared to ask. Not because they feared the Continental wouldn't answer, but because they feared the name they would give—one that they themselves couldn't afford to provoke.
The case was obvious: political enemies were dissatisfied with that fat Black assemblyman's actions, so they had him eliminated. The job was done cleanly—no bodies, no case.
Forensics couldn't even find bloodstains. There was no direction for the investigation at all.
If it had been an ordinary person, they'd be listed as missing. Everyone would go through the motions of a few halfhearted investigations, then file the case away in cold storage. After twenty years, if the person still hadn't shown up, the record would be changed to "deceased," and that would be the end of it.
But Mike Liddell Horton was a California state assemblyman—a well-known public figure. His disappearance couldn't just become an unresolved cold case. It had to be investigated to a definitive conclusion, whether he was dead or alive.
The LAPD had been more than happy to dump this hot potato. And so the burden fell squarely on the FBI, stuck awkwardly in the middle.
Jack McKenna and Maris Horvat, who had voluntarily taken on the case, swore that the disappearance could be pinned on a key individual—the mutant Henry Brown, who possessed bulletproof abilities.
But mere suspicion from field agents, without direct or indirect evidence, was nowhere near enough to obtain an arrest warrant, a search warrant, or even a subpoena from a local judge. That wasn't even getting into whether the evidence was strong enough.
So their only option was to find Henry Brown, bring him in for questioning, and talk their way from witness to suspect. Only then could the case move forward.
And that was where the trouble lay.
Henry Brown had no job and no fixed schedule. Although he technically had a residence, no one could ever catch him there.
Without court authorization, they had no right to enter his home. And since they couldn't even encounter him in person, they couldn't claim noncooperation as grounds for a subpoena or arrest warrant.
If not for the occasional eyewitness reports, they might have suspected that he'd already left Los Angeles—or even California altogether.
But those sightings didn't help them catch him. Every single time they rushed to a reported location, he was already long gone.
Until today.
At long last, they had concrete information about his whereabouts.
Owen should have felt relieved—but the moment he saw the location, his stomach sank.
The inauguration banquet for the new CEO of Stark Pictures.
And that newly appointed CEO was none other than the very man they'd been chasing all this time: Henry Brown.
Arresting an ordinary civilian and arresting someone with real social standing were two entirely different matters. Not to mention, Owen could smell something deeply wrong about this whole case.
If Henry Brown truly had a problem, Owen would be all for locking that mutant up—or even handing him over to the military for experiments.
But when it was crystal clear that the real killers were from the Continental Hotel, why insist on dragging Henry Brown into this?
Brown's background was plain enough: he'd worked on Alaskan crab boats, been a background actor in Hollywood. The most substantial job on his résumé was serving as Audrey Hepburn's assistant, helping with UNICEF visits.
Someone like that didn't connect to the Continental—and didn't connect to Assemblyman Horton either… well, alright. It was entirely possible that the assemblyman had realized he was in danger and hired a mutant like Henry Brown for protection.
And the end result was this: the assemblyman's entire family vanished, while Henry Brown continued to move freely.
Based on Owen's many years of investigative experience, Henry Brown absolutely had something to do with the assemblyman's disappearance.
But what role had he played? And why were Jack McKenna and Maris Horvat so determined to go after him? Those were the parts Owen couldn't figure out.
When there were gaps you couldn't understand, rushing to judgment was extremely dangerous.
So Owen tossed the intelligence file back onto his desk and asked,
"What exactly do you want me to do?"
"Boss, all we need is for you to take us into the banquet venue and formally request Henry Brown's cooperation with the investigation. He won't have any legitimate reason to refuse. Once we bring him back, the case is already halfway solved."
At that point, Owen didn't even want to hear any more.
He knew full well that what followed would be irregular, if not outright improper. If he listened to even one more word, he might end up being dragged down with them.
"Stop." Owen raised his hand, cutting them off. He looked at the two agents seriously.
"Have you thought about whose event this is?"
"Boss, it's just Stark Pictures. It's not one of the Big Eight studios—doesn't even count as a second-tier film company. What are you worried about? A company at that level could open today and shut down tomorrow without even making the news."
I'm not worried about Stark Pictures, Owen cursed inwardly. I'm worried about Stark Industries.
People in the market might still argue over whether a company bearing the 'Stark' name truly belonged to Stark, especially after Obadiah Stane's mess years ago had burned a lot of speculators.
But FBI personnel? They knew exactly who stood behind Stark Pictures.
Still, the assemblyman's case did need a conclusion.
After weighing the pros and cons, Owen Davis, Assistant Director in Charge of the FBI's Los Angeles office, finally said,
"I can take you there. But if you plan to take someone away in a setting like that—have you considered the risks?"
"Don't worry, Boss. Everything's under control. If anything happens, we'll take full responsibility. With the unresolved disappearance of Assemblyman Horton as precedent, even if there are reporters on site, they'll just tear the suspect apart. We can't lose."
His subordinates spoke with absolute confidence.
But for some reason, Owen felt even more uneasy.
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