Obadiah's entire body trembled violently, his wide, fearful pupils locked onto Henry.
He felt like a mouse caught by a cat—the cat not yet ready to devour, but eager to toy with its prey before the end.
The instinct to survive overwhelmed all shock and reluctance.
"No! Don't kill me! Henry!"
Tears streamed down his face as the veneer of the acting chairman vanished. He looked like a desperate gambler who had lost everything.
"Money! What do you want? Money? I have a secret Swiss account—billions! Tens of billions! I'll give it all to you! My shares! Shares in Stark Industries and every company under my name! Just let me go!"
Incoherent and desperate, he flung out his chips, trying to bribe Henry with money.
"Please, Henry! I'm your uncle! I raised you and Tony! Remember? I taught you to ride your first bike, ran all over New York to buy you limited edition Transformers for your fifth birthday! We're family!"
He played the emotional card, seeking to rekindle a family bond long dead in Henry's heart.
He believed he was innocent—after years with Stark Industries, he deserved the spoils.
Henry listened quietly, the smile on his face not fading but growing brighter.
He covered his mouth with his hands, feigning overwhelming emotion.
"Wow, uncle Obi, did kidnapping damage your brains?" Henry laughed so hard he nearly toppled backward.
"Why does 'family' sound so disgusting coming from you? For a moment, I almost believed you. Honestly, your acting beats all those Oscar winners."
Obadiah had the audacity to invoke the past.
Henry's hand slid from Obadiah's forehead, pinching his thick arm with lightning speed.
Amid terrified screams, Henry's single hand lifted the man—over two hundred pounds—off his chair, feet leaving the floor like a turkey to be slaughtered.
"Ah!" Obadiah screamed. His arm bones felt crushed by iron grip.
"Shh, be quiet. The guest of honor shouldn't be noisy."
"I always thought someone in your shoes would at least have class—die like a villain, curse a little, or laugh pressing the self-destruct button. But you? Just one of those idiots whining about jumping off buildings after losing everything on Wall Street."
He shook his head, full of disappointment.
"So disappointing! I expected a better show from Iron Monger."
"Don't be presumptuous next life—useless." Henry's voice softened.
"Ambition belongs in you, but being big isn't enough. It must be strong. You overestimate yourself and underestimate the Stark name."
He casually threw Obadiah back onto the chair.
"Foreplay is over." Henry clapped his hands lightly, as if finishing a small task.
Moving to the center of the room, he glanced at the surveillance camera and snapped his fingers.
"Jarvis, I know you're listening. Lights, sound, holographics—all ready? We're going to give dear Uncle Obi a farewell performance."
"Always here, Mr. Henry," the robotic voice echoed.
"'Goodbye, Mr. Stani' theme party ready. Lighting, surround sound, and holographic systems completed self-tests and are on standby."
Obadiah's eyes snapped to the camera, disbelief etched deep.
Jarvis? Stark's AI? How could this be?
"Very good." Henry nodded like a master of ceremonies about to start a show.
"Well, dear Uncle Obi, please take a seat. Stark Brothers Entertainment proudly presents 'A Traitor's End'—a large-scale immersive life experience drama. Let's begin!"
Instantly, the interrogation room walls transformed into massive high-definition holographic screens.
Passionate yet somber symphonic music filled the room with ironic tension.
"First act—the tearjerker: the family's breakdown!" Henry's voice was full of dramatic flair, like a cheesy TV host.
"Jarvis, cue the VCR!"
On the screen appeared Obadiah's palatial Long Island estate.
His elegant blonde wife drank tea serenely.
His beautiful daughter—freshly admitted to Yale—played with their golden retriever on the lawn.
All was peaceful and perfect.
"Look, Obie, what a happy family," Henry narrated.
"A devoted wife and a privileged daughter—surely you sacrificed much for them… by betraying your best friend's son?"
Obadiah stared at the screen, conflicted guilt flickering.
He loved them deeply—truly.
Suddenly, the image shifted violently—FBI agents in black stormed the manor gates.
His wife spilled her tea in shock; his daughter cowered gripping the dog, terrified and helpless.
"Mr. Obadiah Stan is formally arrested for treason, arms trafficking, and multiple murders!"
The agents' stern announcement ripped through the manor.
Onscreen, his wife's face drained of color as she collapsed, his daughter sobbed in despair.
Reporters swarmed, their flashlights piercing through the hopeless scene.
"Look, Obie, you're famous now," Henry smirked.
"Tomorrow's headlines: 'Family of a Traitor.' Quite the legacy. I bet your Yale classmates will envy her. Maybe some will form a 'Caring for Traitors' Daughters' club."
"No! No!" Obadiah wailed, crushed by the images.
"Don't fret, this is just the appetizer." Henry's voice echoed again.
"Next act: collapse of an empire! Or how to go from billionaire to pauper in ten minutes!"
The screen switched to the New York Stock Exchange—a green line plummeting sharply under Stark Industries' ticker.
"Jarvis, data, please." Henry commanded.
"As of thirty seconds ago, Stark's stock has dropped 78%, erasing over $200 billion in value. Obadiah's personal assets shrank 92%, now less than a typical New York hot dog vendor."
"See, Obie?" Henry applauded gleefully.
"You've turned a lifetime's work into worthless numbers—a miracle in business history!"