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The fragmentary warning made little sense to Henry.
He couldn't understand what Charlie was referring to, nor why the situation required such caution.
Seeing the confused expression on the young man's face, Charlie finally seemed satisfied and explained further.
"Do you know what America's old money elites, the really old ones, care about most when they reach a certain age?"
"Don't bother guessing. I'll tell you."
"Health."
"A group of wealthy people who lived through World War II have all experienced sudden, rapid health deterioration around the same time."
"They've gathered here on the West Coast, hoping to obtain medical treatment using the resources on the island."
"Some of them even want to receive the Embrace from vampires and become one of them."
Charlie continued:
"It's precisely because these old-money families suddenly showed up—and they're desperate—that the Mystikos vampires have grown more arrogant lately."
"Their behavior has become even more brazen than before."
"So before you make any decisions involving the Mystikos Sect, you should remember that these old-money figures might step in—either to complicate matters or openly support the vampires."
"Now you see why I suggested dragging young Stark into this."
---
That was a lot to process.
Henry needed a moment to think.
If it were only vampires, creatures that could never step into the light, the solution would be simple.
Drag them into the sun.
Problem solved.
No need to worry about disposing of the bodies.
But once those old-money elites entered the equation—especially dying ones desperate for survival—anything could happen.
People on the verge of death could make terrifying decisions.
Charlie had also mentioned "the island."
Could it be that island?
The legendary place whose resources were whispered about in certain circles?
Was it secretly controlled by vampires?
Trouble piling on top of trouble.
---
Seeing Henry's conflicted expression, Charlie chuckled.
"Thinking about declining the invitation?"
"Or planning to reject whatever they propose?"
Henry glanced at him.
"You're saying that won't work?"
"It will work," Charlie said. "Otherwise I wouldn't have suggested it."
"Don't meet them. Don't cooperate."
"But like I said, they'll keep pestering you."
"You'll need to withstand the pressure."
"The best solution is to redirect their attention."
---
So…
Throw Tony Stark under the bus?
Charlie's repeated hints sparked a suspicion in Henry's mind.
He suddenly asked:
"They're not part of the High Table, are they?"
Charlie's smile didn't change.
But he leaned back in his chair, no longer leaning forward across the table.
He picked up his whiskey coffee and took a slow sip.
Blocking his mouth.
Blocking the conversation.
Message received.
Discussion over.
Henry immediately understood.
Coming to the Continental for information had likely been predicted.
Charlie's reaction clearly signaled that the topic was closed.
Henry wasn't foolish enough to keep pressing.
Besides, everything Charlie had said probably contained a degree of manipulation anyway.
From the direction of those hints, the real target seemed to be Tony Stark.
Henry himself was merely collateral damage.
---
Fine.
If that was the case…
Tony Stark absolutely deserved to know.
Why should Henry carry this problem alone?
This confirmed something Henry had suspected for a while.
Getting close to famous figures in the Marvel world inevitably dragged you into their karmic disasters.
Tony Stark clearly had far more trouble surrounding him than Henry had previously imagined.
Honestly, it was a miracle Stark survived until 2008 before building the first Iron Man suit.
All those eccentric habits later?
Probably developed from years of stress.
Of course—
Tony Stark's personality issues had nothing to do with Henry.
Henry wasn't his father.
He had no obligation to teach the billionaire playboy how to behave.
---
After finishing his espresso, Henry simply nodded politely and left the Continental.
Places like that remained shelters for the dark underworld.
Cannibals' territory.
Never somewhere you could truly rely on.
Recognizing that fact, Henry adjusted his thinking.
From now on, any information the Continental possessed about him should be assumed to be known by the vampires as well.
His "steel body" mutant ability wasn't exactly secret.
Anyone with resources could discover that.
But linking Henry Brown to "The Tinkerer"?
Very few people knew that.
Even inside the Los Angeles Continental, it wasn't common knowledge yet.
The Tinkerer had disappeared for quite some time.
The only lingering trouble was the money he'd taken from that Black crime boss.
Money the FBI had been watching closely.
Though whether they still cared now was unclear.
Other than that…
There weren't many real weaknesses.
With Stark Industries behind him, even if someone exposed the Tinkerer's identity to the FBI, Henry wasn't afraid.
Stark's legal team would bury the case in paperwork.
Henry kept no diaries.
No secret ledgers.
No illegal funds sitting in banks.
Nothing stored in Gary's apartment.
Without physical evidence, even the IRS couldn't accuse him of tax evasion.
As long as the authorities didn't fabricate evidence, they couldn't legally touch him.
Henry had deliberately spent time studying California law, tax law, and relevant federal statutes.
Cleaning up his traces had been worth the effort.
And if prosecutors ever fabricated charges?
That would be even better.
Stark's lawyers would turn the case into prosecutorial misconduct, permanently poisoning any future investigation.
---
In short:
Information leaking from the Continental wasn't a major threat.
Henry's real weakness was still the same.
His girlfriend.
The future Oscar winner.
Charlize Theron.
Of course, there was no need to assume the worst immediately.
Preparation was enough.
After all, nothing had started yet.
He hadn't even met the vampires.
No one knew how things would unfold.
---
Henry drove to the Hollywood Kid Supercomputer Service Center.
This facility also housed the server rooms for Stark Pictures' rentable editing suites.
There were twenty editing rooms available for external studios.
After months of market adoption, every room was now running at full capacity.
Some wealthy productions had purchased the editing software outright and tried using high-performance commercial computers.
But most of them eventually came back.
The software was identical.
The workflow identical.
But here, the computing power was backed by a supercomputer.
Rendering speed could easily be twice as fast as commercial machines.
Given that difference, the choice was obvious.
Studios preferred Stark's facility.
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