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Chapter 123 – Pride of a Science Genius
🕑 Added 2025-08-15 16:01:36 +0000 UTC
Henry had just bitten into another muffin when he realized Tony Stark was fiddling with his gear. With a sigh, he wiped his hands and snatched the bone-conduction mic back from him.
“This thing’s live,” Henry said, clicking it back into place around his neck. “I don’t need you sending random noises into her ear. If you want to play with it, I’ll let you mess with it another day. Or, better yet, go home and build your own.”
If there was one thing Henry knew about Tony Stark, it was that the man’s only limits were the ones he chose to ignore. Even if he couldn’t replicate something right away, give him a few hours in the workshop and he’d have a sleeker, flashier version on his desk.
Tony tilted his head, studying it. “That’s not using standard radio transmission. And where’s the battery compartment? Even with a tiny mercury cell, you’d need a cover to swap it out. Don’t tell me this is single-use.”
“Bluetooth,” Henry replied. “Short-range wireless, even less range than a walkie-talkie. Power’s a rechargeable lithium cell. Use it, charge it, repeat.”
“Bluetooth? That spec isn’t even supposed to drop until—what—’99? And it actually works?”
Ah, so he had clocked it immediately. No surprise there—this was Tony Stark, after all. You could joke with him about history, but when it came to tech, he knew his timestamps.
“Prototype level,” Henry said simply. “If you’re only making one or two, it’s not exactly rocket science.”
It was the truth. In research, plenty of things sounded impossible to the average person—nuclear fusion, for example—but in a lab, following the right papers and methods, even a high-school physics whiz could reproduce the basic experiment. The problem wasn’t doing it; the problem was making it practical, affordable, and reliable outside a lab.
With the mystery solved, Tony lost interest in the mic. He could make a smaller, prettier, and probably smarter version whenever he wanted.
“Fine,” Tony said. “I heard you’d be at this fundraiser, so I came looking for you.”
The way he said it made Henry blink. “You do realize I’m not wearing a dress, right? If you’re here to flirt, you’ve got the wrong crowd. Or are you not worried about tomorrow’s headlines reading ‘Tony Stark Comes Out’?”
“Jesus, shut your mouth,” Tony snapped. “I’ve got questions, that’s all. And for the record, even if you polished your ass to a mirror shine, I still wouldn’t be interested.”
“Oh,” Henry smirked, making a crude hand gesture, “so you’re into girls with that kind of shine.”
Tony groaned. “Will you stop? I just wanted to know if you’ve heard of the Continental Hotel.”
Henry arched a brow. “Oh, sure. Manhattan, Lower District, special zoning. 23rd block of Manowe Street, building 2077. If you’re looking for the manager, he’s over there—name’s Winston Scott.”
He jerked his chin toward a sharp-dressed middle-aged man in a tailored gray suit. Italian features, deep-set eyes, dark hair slicked back. Even just standing there, the guy radiated mystery, like every glance came with its own backstory.
Tony followed his gaze and swore. “Do you have any idea how much time I’ve wasted chasing leads on this place?”
“You’re cruising in the stratosphere,” Henry said casually. “If you actually want to understand the world, try coming down to the troposphere once in a while. From up there, all you see are the people in your little orbit—and their stupidity.”
“And down here, I’m supposed to see more?” Tony asked, skeptical.
Henry grinned. “Oh, way more. You get front-row seats to absurdity and self-destruction. What’s not to love?”
The truth was, you couldn’t stop a man like Henry from finding entertainment in other people’s chaos.
Tony shook his head and moved on. “How’d you even find the place?”
Henry shrugged. “Hepburn comes to New York now and then. When she’s not reporting to UNICEF, she’s at fundraisers like this. She doesn’t own a place here, so I looked into her hotel habits. Most places bend over backwards to keep VIP rooms available for her. But the Continental? They turned me down flat.”
“Why?”
“Manager—Scott, the guy I just pointed out—said it’s a members-only establishment. Not the kind of place for public figures like her. Offered to set us up somewhere else, better room, discounted rates, the whole deal. So what’s your interest, Stark? You don’t exactly need a hotel in your own city. Don’t tell me Daddy kicked you out.”
“Christ, drop it. If we skip the personal digs, we might actually get along.”
Henry smirked. “Oh, so I’m a friend now? I’m touched.”
Of course Tony hadn’t forgotten the last time Henry had told him to take a hike. But this was business—or at least information he wanted—and in the real world, even “enemies” shook hands when it suited them.
“Anyway,” Henry continued, “you still haven’t said why you want the Continental. Planning to buy it? Because I couldn’t trace its parent company. Not even sure if it’s publicly listed. If you want to try, it’s all yours, big guy. You’ve got the resources.”
And with that, Henry put the ball firmly back in Tony’s court.
