This press conference was broadcast live across the globe.
To ensure maximum reach, Peter had even gone so far as to acquire a video platform outright, pouring enormous sums of money into opening dedicated live-streaming channels. In an era where even 4G networks weren't yet widespread, live streaming was nothing short of burning money—the more viewers tuned in, the faster the costs skyrocketed.
But Peter didn't care.
Because he knew one thing with absolute certainty:
The more he spent today—
The faster he would earn it back.
His arrogant declaration, coupled with his complete lack of apology, stunned the world.
The reporters present were especially shaken. As members of the media, they understood better than anyone else just how damning the so-called "evidence" from the past three days had been.
Those leaks—documents, videos, internal communications—had all been rock-solid.
Irrefutable proof.
Investors might be irrational at times, but they weren't fools. They came from all walks of life, and without overwhelmingly convincing evidence, they would never have collectively turned against Umbrella so quickly.
And the truth?
Those "proofs" were indeed convincing.
Because Peter himself had created them.
The footage had been staged.
The conversations recorded intentionally.
The documents signed and stamped by his own hand before being leaked online.
In other words—
Everything was real.
And that was precisely why, in the eyes of the world, Peter now looked like a man stubbornly denying reality.
Like someone caught red-handed, yet still insisting on his innocence.
The backlash was explosive.
Fury spread like wildfire.
"You lied to us!"
"You gave us hope—then ripped it away!"
"You expect us to thank you?!"
People around the world erupted.
If they had been physically present, many would have rushed the stage without hesitation. Even those confined to wheelchairs, even those blinded or weakened by illness, would have crawled forward just to vent their rage.
…
Inside the venue, chaos was already brewing.
This wasn't a small press gathering.
Peter hadn't invited a handful of journalists for a quiet apology.
He had summoned the world.
"Mr. Parker!"
"We demand an explanation!"
"This is fraud! Under Section—!"
Voices overlapped, rising into a storm of accusations.
Peter glanced sideways at Felicia and gave her a faint smile.
"Silence."
The single word rang out, amplified through the microphone at full volume, cutting through the noise like a blade.
The crowd faltered.
For a moment—
Everything stopped.
…
Then—
All eyes shifted.
From the corner of the hall, a man stepped forward.
He walked steadily, his posture upright, his tailored suit fitting him perfectly. His gaze was deep, almost like the night sky—calm, composed, and impossibly distant.
"Who is that?"
"Another executive?"
"A shareholder?"
Whispers rippled through the crowd.
Then—Someone gasped.
"Oh my God—"
"No way… it's him!"
"Umbrella actually did it?!"
The tension snapped.
Guided by unseen hands—planted voices stirring the atmosphere—the sense of anticipation surged.
And then—The man reached the stage.
Peter stepped aside.
…
"Ladies and gentlemen," the man began, his voice steady, carrying clearly across the hall and into millions of homes worldwide. "And to everyone watching this broadcast…"
A faint smile appeared.
"I am very happy to stand here today."
He paused, as if savoring the moment.
"Yes… stand here."
The word echoed.
"For someone like me, this was once an impossible dream. I have dreamed of this moment countless times—far more often than I have dreamed of black holes."
A hint of emotion crept into his voice.
"But every time I woke up… I would realize something."
"Black holes were real."
"But I…"
"…would never stand again."
A ripple of realization spread through the crowd.
Names began to surface.
Faces turned pale.
Eyes widened.
And then—the massive screen behind him lit up.
A profile appeared.
A name.
A history known to the entire world.
Stephen Hawking.
Across the globe—Silence fell.
…
In Malibu, inside a beachfront mansion, a certain billionaire choked mid-sip, spraying green wheatgrass juice across the floor.
He stared at the screen in disbelief.
At the man standing there.
Then—
Slowly—
He looked down at his own chest.
At the arc reactor embedded within it.
At the gaping hole that still defined his existence.
"…Jarvis," Tony Stark said quietly, his tone no longer angry—but something else entirely.
Something sharper.
"Contact Pepper."
A beat.
"I want to invite him to dinner."
--------------
T/N:
Support the Story and Read 40+ Chapters early on P@treon:👉[email protected]/MPHFics