Free Web NovelChapter 10: Chapter 10: Benjamin’s Threat
Chapter 10: Benjamin’s Threat
Stan Edgar’s office was located in the southeast corner of the absolute highest floor of Vought Tower.
It was a disproportionately massive circular room, with floor-to-ceiling windows spanning three sides that overlooked the entirety of Manhattan. Right now, the New York nightscape spread out beneath his feet like an ocean of light, the glow from countless office buildings reflecting off the surface of the Hudson River, swaying gently with the ripples.
Edgar sat behind a massive solid wood desk, holding a glass of whiskey, the ice cubes clinking faintly against the glass.
The next instant, the entire door of the office was ripped clean off its frame.
Edgar’s hand holding the glass didn’t shake.
He didn’t even stand up, merely lifting his eyelids slightly, looking at the blood-stained blond man standing in the doorway with the same clinical calm he used to review financial reports, a fresh wound scoring the man’s left cheek. fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓
"Homelander."
He called his name, his tone placid.
"Your hand is tracking blood onto my carpet."
Homelander stood in the doorway, his chest heaving violently.
Facing Edgar, he hesitated slightly. It was an inexplicable fear instilled in him since childhood. Blood dripped continuously from the fingers of Homelander’s right hand, staining the carpet.
Deep within the pupils of Homelander’s eyes, two visible beams of light burned—a clear sign that his Heat Vision was on the verge of erupting. A faintly flickering, scorching red glow loomed on the edges of his irises, causing the temperature in the office to spike by a few degrees.
"Soldier Boy," he ground out through his teeth. "You sold him to the Russians. You locked him in a lab for forty years, and then you fabricated a story for me about him dying on a mission."
"You made me stand before his headstone in silence, you made me bow to his old military uniform, and you made me say in an interview that ’Soldier Boy was a great hero.’ And you knew where he was the entire time. You knew the whole time that he was strapped to an operating table, being relentlessly tortured. You even knew he was my father, yet you went ahead and did it anyway!!"
His voice rose steadily, the final words practically screamed out. The floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the office vibrated in tandem under the aftershocks of his shout, emitting a low, sustained hum, as if the entire building were trembling.
Edgar set his whiskey glass down on the desk, leaning forward slightly, his gaze fixed on Homelander completely devoid of fear or panic.
"Yes," he said. "And?"
Homelander’s pupils contracted violently. He took a step forward, his boots crunching down on the splintered fragments of the door scattered across the floor. Then, Homelander closed the distance toward Edgar. Less than three paces separated them.
He would only need to twitch a finger, or shift his gaze, to kill Edgar.
Kill Edgar. The thought flared in Homelander’s mind. Kill this bastard sitting behind the desk, looking at him with an expression that said he didn’t give a shit about anything. He could do it. In less time than it took to blink, there would be a headless corpse lying in this office.
But his hand stopped.
Not just because of that deeply ingrained, lifelong fear, but also because another sentence was echoing in his head.
"Once you find out the truth, don’t do anything reckless. Show the report to Edgar. He’ll know how to contact me."
Don’t be reckless. That was the tone of a father speaking to his son. Perhaps Soldier Boy intended to get his revenge with his own hands.
Homelander’s breathing grew increasingly heavy.
Edgar watched this play out, his expression unshifting. He even picked his whiskey glass back up and took a sip. However, his fingers paused imperceptibly on the rim of the glass.
"It seems he told you a great deal," Edgar’s voice remained steady. "So, what is it you want now? Everything is still negotiable, isn’t it?"
Though Edgar himself had no idea how Soldier Boy had uncovered these matters. Could it have been through his former teammates?
Homelander placed his blood-slicked hand on Edgar’s desk, the movement stiff and rough. He looked up at Edgar, the murderous intent not yet fully faded from his glowing red eyes.
"Soldier Boy wants you to contact him," Homelander rasped.
Having delivered the message, he turned and walked out of the office.
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Early the next morning.
Benjamin was brushing his teeth when his phone rang. The 6:30 AM sunlight streamed through the apartment window. No one had come to cause him trouble since yesterday evening. As for A-Train, Vought’s PR was already working damage control, claiming the speedster was currently in hot pursuit of a suspect at the time of his accident...
The screen lit up, an unsaved, unfamiliar string of digits dancing across it. Benjamin stared at the numbers for two seconds, spat out the foam in his mouth, and pressed answer.
"Soldier Boy," the voice on the other end was composed, bearing the smooth, practiced texture of a veteran corporate executive. "This is Stan Edgar."
Benjamin wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder, turning on the faucet to rinse his toothbrush. The water rushed loudly for a brief moment before he unhurriedly countered, "I know who you are."
"We need to talk," Edgar’s voice came through again.
"Talk about what? Talk about how I’m going to kill you, tear your corpse to pieces, and feed it to the dogs?"
Edgar’s tone remained unchanged. "The situation has shifted. You and I both know that once certain things are blown wide open, there’s no turning back. Vought can handle one Homelander. But a spiteful Homelander working alongside his father—even Vought can’t survive that."
Benjamin leaned against the edge of the sink, wiping the corners of his mouth with a towel. He didn’t speak, waiting for Edgar to show his hand.
"That’s your fucking problem, isn’t it?" Benjamin sneered. "That goddamn Vought Corporation of yours should’ve gone under a long time ago."
"But before that happens, both you and Homelander will be completely ruined," Edgar counter-argued. "Your dear son cares about his reputation. At least for now, Vought controls the media narrative across the entire United States..."
"Are you threatening me?" Benjamin snorted coldly. "If Homelander and I end up branded as traitors because of Vought, or ruined by some public relations campaign... when that time comes, maybe I’ll take my pussy son and tear through all of New York... make him a little less of a pussy. No, maybe he and I will just obliterate the entire United States, then rebuild it with whoever’s left and make America great again."
"Oh, by the way, I don’t give a shit if you’re recording this. You need to understand: once the gloves come off, who stands to lose the most? Homelander and I will just find somewhere else to live. But your Vought, and America itself, will cease to exist." Benjamin’s tone was laced with venomous fury.
"Of course, Benjamin. Calm down... which is why my suggestion is that we talk face-to-face," Edgar said. "Not as enemies, but as two adults who need to resolve the exact same issue. You pick the location, you pick the time. We can certainly negotiate an outcome, can’t we?"
Draping the towel over his shoulder, Benjamin looked at his reflection in the mirror—at this face that had once been sat on by the Queen of England—the corner of his mouth curving upward slightly.
"Then this afternoon," he said. "At the café downstairs from my apartment. Come alone—if you aren’t worried about me taking you out."
He hung up the phone, tossed it back onto the edge of the sink, and resumed brushing his teeth.
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A/n: If you want to read ahead and find out what happens next right away, you can read up to 20 Chapters ahead on my p@tr~on: [email protected]/ForgottenDaoist (@ = a, link is in my profile).
