Raphael froze for half a second.
He'd only told Philip about wanting Marvel. Philip's buddy Jerry at Goldman clearly couldn't keep his damn mouth shut.
But his face stayed completely blank.
"Yeah. I've been thinking about it."
Paulson nodded.
"Marvel's in bad shape. They've been bleeding cash for over a decade. Filed for bankruptcy reorganization last year. Main creditors right now are Merrill Lynch and a couple of hedge funds."
He paused.
"If you're serious about buying, Goldman can make it happen."
Raphael's brow twitched.
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why help me?"
Paulson smiled.
"Because I see something in you."
Raphael stayed quiet.
Paulson kept going.
"Mr. Lee, Goldman's been doing this for over a hundred years. We've seen every type—talented, talentless, lucky, unlucky. But someone like you? First time."
He leaned forward slightly.
"It's not just your eye for deals. There's something else about you I can't quite name… but I believe you're going to do very big things."
Raphael shot back, "So this is an investment?"
"Call it that."
Paulson chuckled. "Today's favor might pay off ten or a hundred times later. That kind of long view is how Goldman got where it is."
Raphael thought for a beat, then reached across the desk.
"Then thank you."
Paulson shook his hand firmly.
"Pleasure doing business."
Raphael stood.
"I'll have my manager Philip reach out."
Paulson nodded.
"I'll have my team ready."
Raphael turned for the door.
Just as he pulled it open, he glanced back.
Paulson sat behind the desk wearing that same unreadable smile.
Raphael gave a small smile of his own and stepped out.
The second the door clicked shut, both men dropped the mask.
Raphael's mouth tightened, eyes sharpening.
"Old fox," he muttered under his breath.
Inside the study, Paulson's smile vanished. He leaned back in the chair and shook his head.
"Little fox."
Downstairs the living room had gone back to its low, polished hum.
Raphael cut through the crowd and rejoined Jennifer.
"Done?"
"Yeah."
"How'd it go?"
Raphael thought about it.
"Not bad."
Jennifer didn't push for details.
They stayed another half hour, made the usual small talk, then said their goodbyes and left.
On the drive back to Manhattan, Jennifer stayed quiet the whole way.
She leaned against the leather seat, profile to him, neon lights sliding across her face in flickering waves.
Raphael studied her and realized something—she hadn't asked a single question about what Paulson said since they left the study.
"Not curious?" he asked.
She turned.
"Curious about what?"
"What Paulson wanted to talk about."
Jennifer smiled.
"If you want to tell me, you will. If you don't, asking won't change anything."
Raphael raised an eyebrow.
"You really are taking it easy."
"It's not about taking it easy."
She settled back. "I know the rules. In that room, with that kind of man, the conversation isn't mine to ask about."
Raphael looked at her and suddenly got why this woman had won an Oscar.
She wasn't just beautiful—she was sharp as hell.
The car stopped in midtown. Jennifer stepped out and stood at her apartment door, looking at him.
"Come up?"
Raphael met her eyes.
Those deep brown eyes were tired, satisfied, and still a little hungry.
"You sure?"
Jennifer smiled.
"Not completely sure… but I can go upstairs for a glass of water and we'll see what happens."
Raphael grinned.
They walked inside.
In the elevator she leaned against his shoulder.
"You know I'm flying to L.A. tomorrow."
Raphael looked down.
"New role?"
"Yeah. Small indie film. Budget's tiny, but the script's solid."
He nodded.
"Good luck."
She looked up and glared.
"You're not even going to ask what happens with us after this?"
Raphael asked right back, "What do you want to happen?"
Jennifer pressed into his chest, voice low.
"I don't know."
The elevator doors opened.
That night Jennifer made sure he didn't leave.
The next morning when Raphael woke, the bed was empty.
A note on the nightstand:
Gone. Don't forget to text me — J
Raphael smiled, crumpled it, and tossed it in the trash.
He grabbed his phone and called Philip.
Picked up on the second ring.
"Raphael? It's early—"
"Marvel's moving."
Philip paused.
"What?"
"Goldman's helping."
Silence. Then a heavy breath.
"…Say that again?"
"Paulson said it himself."
Raphael leaned against the headboard. "They're willing to assist with the acquisition."
Philip was stunned.
"Raphael, what the hell did you do on Long Island? Slip something in Paulson's drink?"
Raphael laughed.
"Just lucky, I guess."
"Lucky?"
Philip's voice jumped an octave. "The $1.38 billion was 'luck,' and now Goldman volunteering to buy Marvel is 'luck'? You hiding shit from me?"
"I am hiding some things."
Raphael's tone stayed calm. "But it's not time to tell you yet."
The line went quiet.
After a long beat, Philip sighed.
"Fine. I won't ask. But tell me—what's next?"
"Reach out to Goldman first. See what their valuation looks like."
"Got it."
Philip's voice dropped. "Also—don't let Ari know about this."
"…Why?"
"Because Ari's an agent, not an investor."
Raphael explained, "Marvel's too big. Fewer people know, the better."
"Understood."
Raphael hung up and stared at the ceiling.
He still couldn't figure out Paulson's angle.
Why would a Wall Street titan help someone he'd only just met?
Even if the $1.38 billion had come through Goldman channels, it was just normal client business.
Paulson didn't need to get personally involved, let alone offer to help buy Marvel.
Unless—
Raphael sat up straight.
Unless Paulson wasn't after the money.
He was after the ability that made the money.
A guy who nailed every World Cup match. A guy who bottom-fished Amazon at the exact right moment in the dot-com crash.
How much was that worth?
Raphael leaned back and smiled slowly.
He'd figured it out.
Paulson wasn't doing him a favor.
He was investing in him.
Investing in his vision, his judgment, in the future value he could create.
And Goldman never made a losing bet.
Sunlight poured through the New York windows onto the bed.
Raphael picked up his phone and texted Jennifer.
Landed safe? Let me know.
Then he got up and headed for the shower.
---
One week later, Philip had news.
Goldman had put together a dedicated team for the Marvel deal.
The lead was a middle-aged guy named Michael Steinhardt—head of Goldman's entertainment division.
During the first conference call, Steinhardt's voice was polite but direct.
"Mr. Lee, Mr. Paulson made this top internal priority."
Raphael sat on the couch in Philip's office, speaker on.
"Thanks."
"Not a problem."
Steinhardt paused. "Let's review Marvel's situation first. The company's been losing money for years. Filed for bankruptcy reorganization last year. Main creditors are Merrill Lynch and several hedge funds. Current valuation is roughly…"
He rattled off numbers.
Raphael listened, then asked.
"How much do you think it'll take to close?"
Steinhardt was quiet a second.
"Solo purchase? Four to five hundred million. With leverage and other investors, we can probably push it down to around three-fifty."
Raphael nodded.
"Prepare for five hundred."
Steinhardt actually paused.
"Mr. Lee… you're serious?"
"Dead serious."
Papers rustled on the other end.
"Alright. We'll draft the letter of intent and sound out Merrill Lynch."
Steinhardt added, "One warning—the IP situation is messy. Spider-Man, X-Men, all the big properties have already been sold off. What you'd get is basically a shell company."
Raphael smiled.
"I know."
Of course he knew.
But he also knew exactly how much gold was buried under that empty shell.
After the call, Philip looked at him.
"Three-fifty million. You sure?"
Raphael nodded.
"Positive."
Philip took a deep breath.
"Alright. I trust your call."
---
In less than a week the deal was done.
Goldman really was the best investment bank on the planet.
When Michael Steinhardt called Philip to say everything—internal and external—was locked, Philip stared at the phone for several seconds before it sank in.
Then he called Raphael: the jet was ready. They could fly to New York and sign at Marvel headquarters.
Raphael was surprised too.
If Marvel's biggest creditors—Merrill Lynch and the hedge funds—only cared about getting paid back, the internal side (including Stan Lee himself) had been dead set against any sale.
Previous owners had treated Marvel like an ATM, squeezing every last drop before dumping it.
No clue how Goldman smoothed all that over.
But Raphael didn't overthink it. Once the ink was dry, Marvel would be his.
July 17, 2002, Raphael and his brother Philip boarded the private jet Goldman had arranged—the latest upgraded Gulfstream V-SP (renamed G550 two months later). They touched down in New York at noon.