"Obadiah Stane?" Matthew's expression froze slightly upon hearing the name.
Eleanor immediately understood her boss had not taken the appointment from a week ago seriously. She quickly leaned closer. "Obadiah Stane is one of the board members of Stark Industries," she whispered.
"Because you were busy with training, sir, I only briefly mentioned the appointment a week ago." Eleanor handed the file about Obadiah Stane to Matthew.
The moment the file was presented, his eyes immediately landed on the incredibly shiny bald head and thick beard. Just moments before, Matthew had wondered who Obadiah Stane was. But that iconic bald head instantly jogged his memory.
'Isn't this the final villain, 'Iron Monger,' from Iron Man 1? Why is he here? And he's connected with Umbrella Corporation...'
Although puzzled, Matthew adhered to the custom of 'since he's already here.' He washed up, changed his clothes, and headed to the top-floor conference room.
Inside the conference room.
Obadiah Stane sat on the sofa, gently swirling iced whiskey. His other hand held a half-smoked, expensive cigar. His gaze swept around the room. The medieval British aristocratic decor made him feel as if he were in a noble's private residence, not a company office.
He took a deep puff from his cigar. Obadiah raised a hand to check his wrist. Five minutes had already passed since the agreed time...
"Tsk... it seems your newly appointed head doesn't have a habit of being punctual, does he?" Obadiah pursed his lips. He looked at Eleanor, who stood not far away like a large doll, blowing out a smoke ring. His tone was full of mockery.
Hearing this, Eleanor's slightly lowered eyes flickered. Just as she was about to say something, the sudden appearance of a figure abruptly interrupted her.
Matthew, dressed in a dark gray suit, pushed open the door and entered. "My apologies," he said. "I heard the renowned Obadiah Stane of Stark Industries wanted to see me. I started getting ready at eight this morning. Who knew it would take this long! Mr. Stane won't blame me, will he?" Matthew's words and demeanor were completely composed. He showed no signs of nervousness. The half-month of combat training had matured him considerably, significantly improving his words and actions.
Obadiah naturally did not believe Matthew's excuse. Yet, he would not be so tactless as to expose him on his own turf. Crushing out his cigar, Obadiah calmly rose and walked towards Matthew. He forced a fake smile onto his face. "Oh, my friend, of course I won't blame you."
Their hands clasped together firmly. Upon closer sniff, he could faintly detect a subtle scent of gunpowder from Matthew's hair.
"As expected of Umbrella's newly appointed Head of Security, Mr. Lawrence's perfume has a unique scent of gunpowder."
"Like it? How about I send you a bottle?" Matthew raised an eyebrow.
"Haha! I'll pass. Compared to the smell of gunpowder, I still prefer the scent of 4711 Cologne."
"What a shame!" Matthew shook his head. He released Obadiah's hand and sat in the main seat. "Mr. Stane went to the trouble of having someone book my schedule a week in advance for this afternoon," Matthew said directly. "I presume you're not here for small talk, are you?"
"Both our time is very precious. Let's be direct. Please, say whatever you wish."
As Matthew finished speaking, Eleanor, who stood nearby, wisely exited the room. She firmly closed the door. In an instant, only Matthew and Obadiah remained in the spacious conference room.
The rhythmic sound of breathing echoed in the conference room for a moment. Obadiah returned to the sofa. He pulled out another cigar from his pocket, skillfully clipped the end, and lit it. He took his time. Only when smoke curled from his mouth did he continue. "Since that's the case, I'll get straight to the point."
"Next January, in Afghanistan, I need to hire a mercenary team from your company to eliminate a convoy."
"The requirement is to leave no one alive." A ruthless glint flashed in Obadiah's eyes. He then changed the subject. "Actually, I discussed this with your father, Theodore Lawrence, three months ago. Unfortunately, before it could be finalized, Theodore Lawrence suddenly passed away. That's why I've come to see you today, to settle this matter."
"As for the remuneration... a total of twenty-eight million US dollars, with a twelve-million-dollar deposit, and the remaining payment upon completion of the mission."
"Can you tell me who the target is?" Matthew looked at Obadiah. "Or rather, which faction does this convoy belong to, and who is inside?" Matthew knew who Obadiah wanted to kill. Outwardly, however, he had to feign ignorance. He wanted to see if Obadiah would openly admit to wanting to kill Tony Stark.
Seeing Matthew's question, Obadiah slowly straightened up from his relaxed position on the sofa. "About that... please don't worry about it. This target is just an ordinary enemy."
"An ordinary enemy?" Matthew waved away the smoke drifting before his eyes and chuckled. "Someone Obadiah Stane calls an enemy probably doesn't fit the word 'ordinary,' does he?"
"Of course, if Mr. Stane truly doesn't wish to reveal the target, I won't press further. It just means this deal won't happen."
"Oh, what a pity. I thought your company and I could have a very pleasant collaboration." Obadiah took a sip of his drink.
"No choice, those are the rules."
"Rules? I recall your company's previous rules didn't involve asking about client privacy."
"That was before. Now that I'm in charge, those old rules need to change," Matthew said with a smile from the main seat. "But it's alright. Although this deal didn't go through, I believe we'll have opportunities to meet again."
Obadiah simply smiled noncommittally at Matthew's polite words. He truly had not expected Matthew to show him so little respect, refusing so bluntly. After that, the two discussed other matters. The conversation never returned to the 'business' they had just discussed. It was not until half an hour later, after finishing his cigar, that Obadiah stood up to leave.
Matthew's eyes swept over the thin haze in the office. A hint of disgust appeared on his face as he casually turned on the ventilation system. Sunlight streamed through the glass onto the desk, piled with books. Matthew stood by the window, looking down at the dense flow of people below. Even in New York Manhattan, he occasionally saw scattered homeless people on the streets. He turned his head to the opulent office decor, then back to the street. He could not help but sigh. 'It seems the people here are still living in dire straits...'
"I've been here for over half a month; it's time to 'benefit the people' through action."
'Of course, he would not say it was for the [System's reward].'