Manhattan's East Village.
This was the heart of Manhattan, where land was scarce and obscenely expensive.
Before the Battle of New York, a single-family home like this one—with six thousand square feet of living space, custom floor-to-ceiling windows, high-end construction, and a fully integrated Stark Smart Home system—would have been listed for around twenty million dollars.
So, Twelve million was a steal.
The moment Hawk said, "I'll take it," the real estate agent felt like her soul was about to leave her body.
Gwen, who had been lost in a daydream of snowy days by the fireplace, was jolted back to reality. Her eyes went wide as she watched the agent take Hawk's bank card.
Hawk's expression remained perfectly calm.
It was just as he'd said before. After awakening his Cosmo, money was no longer a necessity.
Lured by the promise of a massive commission, the agent promised Hawk she would have the deed transferred and the sale finalized within three hours.
A moment later, she was peeling away in her Porsche, racing to the city records office.
Hawk and Gwen turned and went back inside the house.
And then—
Gwen had him pinned against the wall.
Hawk, his back pressed against the drywall, blinked in surprise at Gwen, who had her hands braced on either side of his head, her eyes fixed on his.
"What's wrong?"
"Hawk."
"Yeah?"
Gwen's face was serious. "What exactly did you do in Quantico?"
Hearing this, Hawk laughed. "I was wondering when you were going to ask."
It had been two weeks since the Quantico incident. He had expected her to ask what had happened, but she never did, and he was not one to volunteer information. He assumed she never would.
Gwen dropped her hands and shrugged. "I wasn't going to. But now, it's obvious I have to."
She knew Hawk had a million dollars even before he went to Quantico. She knew exactly where it had come from. And with some effort, she could accept the two-million-dollar donation to the church.
But twelve million?? She couldn't even wrap her head around it.
Her father could work for the NYPD for a hundred years and his salary and bonuses combined probably wouldn't add up to that much.
Hawk didn't have this kind of money before he went to Quantico. He had it when he came back. He must have gotten it there.
So—
What the hell happened in Quantico?
Gwen had no idea.
The woman, Natasha, had never explained, only saying they had found Hawk. To be safe, Gwen hadn't pressed for details over the phone and had simply told Hawk to come home soon.
By the time she reached the airfield at the address Natasha had given her, the woman was already gone, and she still had no idea what had happened.
At first, Gwen hadn't worried about it.
She had figured she'd see it on the news in a few days, so she'd kept a close eye on the headlines, especially any reports from the D.C. area.
And the result? Business as usual.
Everything was quiet on the home front. Not a single news story even mentioned Quantico. She'd figured it must have been some minor incident.
But now here was Hawk, casually dropping twelve million dollars like it was pocket change.
...
Gwen stared at him, her eyes wide. "What did you do that day? Why would they give you so much money?"
"Uh..." Hawk opened his mouth.
Just as he was about to speak, Gwen raised an eyebrow, stopping him. She took a few steps back, her brow furrowed.
"Did you rob the base's treasury?"
"Of course not."
Hawk's denial was immediate. "Even if I did, it would have been in cash. Do you think I could just deposit it into my bank account like this?"
I just blew up their treasury. That's all.
Gwen nodded, accepting his logic. "Then you..."
"War reparations."
"What?"
"They started the war. If they wanted it to end, they had to give me a way out. The money was the price they paid."
"..." Gwen drew in a sharp breath, staring at him in shock, a single phrase echoing in her mind.
War reparations.
"How much did they pay you?"
"Thirty-three million."
"What??" Gwen's voice cracked. "That much?"
"Is it?" Hawk smiled. "One million per person. Thirty-three people. Honestly, I feel like I asked for too little."
Hawk felt a brief pang of regret, but then let it go.
What was he going to do with that much money anyway? Thirty-three million, minus the fourteen he'd spent today, still left him with nineteen.
That was more than enough for him and Gwen to live on.
That was all that mattered.
Money was secondary. Power was what mattered. As long as he had his fist, he would always have money.
...
Hawk looked at Gwen, who was still staring at him, her mouth slightly agape, and smiled. "I should really thank Ross."
Gwen snapped out of her shock, a suspicious look on her face. "Why?"
"If it wasn't for him, I never would have had the chance to get those war reparations."
Business was business.
Hawk was happy that Thaddeus Ross had given him the opportunity to make some money. But he was not happy about what Ross had done.
So, Ross was dead, and his family cemetery was a crater.
But, there was no need to tell Gwen that part. She was too kind-hearted to hear about such things.
Hawk smiled, changing the subject as he took her hand. "Come on."
"Where are we going?"
"The realtor was here before. I didn't get a good look. Let's go explore our new house."
"...I like the walk-in closet in the master bedroom."
"You don't want to change anything?"
"No." Gwen shook her head, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.
She knew he was dodging the question. Gwen knew Hawk and the U.S. military.
For them to pay out "war reparations," something monumental must have happened at Quantico that day—so significant that the entire story was buried.
She tightened her grip on his hand.
Hawk felt the change in pressure and looked at her. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." Gwen smiled, and her smile was so brilliant it seemed to light up the entire room.
...
Some people laugh, and some people cry.
Betty Ross was crying.
It had been ten days since her father, General Thaddeus Ross, had been buried, but in her D.C. townhouse, she was still weeping.
One moment, she had been happy, having just gotten back together with her ex-boyfriend, Bruce Banner.
Next, she was being told her father was dead.
Decapitated.
And to this day, she still didn't know the real cause of his death. All they would tell her was that it was a "military accident."
A military accident my ass.
Her father had been murdered—brutally and violently. Betty Ross wasn't stupid. She was a scientist. The second she saw her father's body, she knew exactly what had killed him.
Someone had stomped his head into the ground.
The question was, who?
Since the funeral, Betty had been calling all of her father's old friends and colleagues.
But they had all stonewalled her, insisting that his death was a military accident.
Just as Betty was on the verge of losing her mind, one of them had sighed and said he would come and see her after work.
...
In the living room, Betty stared at a picture of her father on her phone, making a silent vow.
She would make her father's killer pay.
No matter who it was.
A blood debt for a father's murder can never be forgiven.
Just then, the doorbell rang.
Betty wiped her eyes, which were red and swollen from days of crying, and ran to the door.
She opened it.
"Oh, Betty."
Nick Fury stood in the doorway. He looked at her haggard face and red-rimmed eyes, and his voice was filled with genuine sympathy. "You have to stay strong. This is what Ross would have wanted..."
Betty closed the door and looked at him. "I will be, Mr. Fury. As soon as you tell me who killed my father."
Nick Fury sighed. "What happened at Quantico has been classified at the highest level."
"I know."
Betty led him to the sofa and brought him a glass of lemonade. She sat down across from him, her jaw tight. "No one at the Pentagon will tell me the truth. But I have a right to know, Mr. Fury. He was my father!"
Nick Fury shook his head with a pained expression, then looked around the empty living room. "Is Bruce here?"
"He went out to get some things."
Betty said, assuming he was trying to change the subject. She looked at him expectantly.
"Mr. Fury, who was it?"
"The killer is..."
Fury paused, a look of genuine conflict on his face.
Seeing his hesitation, Betty didn't wait. She dropped to her knees in front of him. "Please, Mr. Fury. You're the only one who will tell me the truth."
"Get up, Betty."
Fury shot to his feet, trying to pull her up.
But Betty wouldn't move. Her voice was choked with tears. "Please, Mr. Fury. Tell me who killed my father."
"..." A series of emotions flickered across Nick Fury's dark face. The next second, he let out a long, heavy sigh.
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