Treating the two billionaires had been about one thing—capital.
2.5 billion dollars in liquid funds was no small amount, and selecting the right targets had taken Peter considerable effort. After all, not everyone could casually produce that kind of money.
But now that the funds were secured, money alone wasn't enough.
He needed something more.
Someone.
A figure so universally recognized, so undeniably credible, that their testimony would shatter every doubt and silence every accusation.
Because over the past three days, Peter's team had gone all out. They had meticulously crafted the illusion of a scam, releasing manipulated footage and carefully staged "evidence" until even those closest to him began to waver.
Even Uncle Ben and Aunt May had approached him, asking whether the serum was truly real.
Not because they believed Peter would lie—
But because they feared he might have been deceived.
To reverse that perception…
To tell the world that everything they had seen was nothing but smoke and mirrors—
Peter needed a name.
A legend.
Stephen Hawking.
Who else could possibly be more convincing?
A man who had spent decades bound to a wheelchair, suffering from ALS. A mind that had reshaped modern physics through A Brief History of Time. In the scientific world, his status stood among the highest.
But more importantly—
He was known to the world.
Far more than most scientists.
His story of perseverance, his countless appearances in media, his unyielding spirit—he was not just a scientist.
He was a symbol.
And if that symbol—
Stood up—
The impact would be unimaginable.
In the quiet room of a luxury hotel, Hawking lay on the bed, his frail body so light it seemed almost weightless. His muscles had long since withered away, leaving behind little more than skin and bone.
He could not smile.
He could not speak.
But in his eyes—
There was something.
A flicker of anticipation.
"Will it… work against ALS?"
His assistant voiced the question on his behalf.
Peter nodded. "Yes. The growth factors in this serum are sufficient to reverse muscular atrophy. At its core, this condition is simply the degeneration of muscle tissue."
He didn't elaborate further.
Instead, he leaned forward—
And injected the serum.
Time passed.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Under the watchful eyes of everyone in the room—
Hawking's body began to change.
At first, it was subtle.
Then—
Unmistakable.
Muscle.
Flesh.
Life.
…
The skeletal figure lying on the bed began to fill out, as if air were being pumped into a hollow shell. His limbs, once shriveled beyond recognition, started to regain form.
His chest rose.
His fingers twitched.
"Ah—!"
A sound escaped his throat.
Raw.
Unrefined.
But real.
For years, Hawking had relied on a speech device, using the faint movement of two fingers to form words.
But now—
He was speaking.
The process was far from comfortable.
It felt as though every inch of his body was healing at once—like countless wounds knitting themselves together beneath his skin. The itching, the burning, the overwhelming sensation of growth—it was magnified dozens of times over.
At first, it was a low murmur.
Then louder.
Stronger.
And then—
It changed.
What began as a childlike groan transformed into the voice of a grown man.
At the same time, his body completed its transformation.
Muscles filled out his frame, lean but defined. The once-loose clothing now stretched tightly against his body.
"Water… give me water!"
Hawking suddenly sat up, his voice hoarse but clear.
In front of him, his assistant stood frozen—
Tears streaming down his face.
Cheers erupted in the room.
Excitement.
Disbelief.
Pure, overwhelming joy.
Peter, however, did not join in.
He simply stepped aside—
And made a call.
"It's time," he said calmly.
…
On the other end of the line, in a spacious office filled with glowing monitors, Felicia listened intently.
"2.5 billion dollars is enough to leverage a significant position," she said. "At current prices, we can repurchase at least thirty percent of the shares."
Peter's voice remained steady.
"I didn't hire you for 'at least' thirty percent, Felicia. My baseline is forty. If you can take everything in one sweep…"
He paused slightly.
"I'll give you an additional hundred million."
Felicia bit her lip, her tone laced with something playful yet dangerous.
"I don't need your hundred million," she said softly. "What I want… isn't worthless paper."
Peter chuckled faintly.
"We'll discuss that later. The market closes in an hour."
His tone sharpened.
"It's time for you to step onto the stage."
…
The call ended.
Felicia glanced at the account balance that had just been credited—
Then walked out into the trading floor.
The office was packed with operators, all elite traders she had recruited from Wall Street.
"Alright, everyone," she said, her voice cutting cleanly through the room.
"It's time."
"A feast."
Within moments, the operation began.
For three days straight, Umbrella's stock had been in freefall.
Now—
It stopped.
Suddenly—
Every loose share being dumped into the market was rapidly absorbed.
Before most investors could even react, the circulating shares were gone.
Swallowed.
Clean.
And then—
The real targets appeared.
The major shareholders.
This wasn't something the stock exchange could handle anymore.
Private transactions began.
One after another.
Across the country, shareholders who had been desperately trying to sell their Umbrella stock received unexpected messages.
Buyers.
Ready.
Waiting.
Contracts were signed at lightning speed.
Shares transferred hands overnight.
By the time the dust settled—
Every major and minor shareholder had exited.
Peter's stake—
Surged.
Fifty-four percent.
Only a small portion remained in the hands of the military…
And Harry Osborn.
But it no longer mattered.
Because now—
Peter Parker held absolute control.
From this moment on—
Umbrella Corporation belonged to him.
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T/N:
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