The limousine cut through Queens traffic while the news played softly through the car's speakers.
"—billionaire Tony Stark has gone missing while conducting a weapons demonstration in Afghanistan. Military officials have launched a search operation, but sources say the outlook is grim. Stark Industries stock has already begun to—"
Harry pulled out his phone and dialed his father.
"Father, are you watching the news?"
"Of course." Norman's voice was tight with the particular tension of a businessman sensing both opportunity and danger. "You mean Stark's disappearance? I was just about to call our broker. We have a significant position in Stark Industries, and I'm thinking we should sell before the bottom falls out."
"That's exactly what I wanted to discuss." Harry watched the row houses of Queens roll past the window. "Don't sell. In fact, do the opposite—increase our holdings. Buy as much as you can get your hands on."
Silence on the line. Then: "Harry, Tony Stark's fate is unknown. If it's confirmed he's not coming back, Stark Industries will collapse. We could lose hundreds of millions."
"Father, trust me." Harry kept his voice calm, confident. "Even if Stark doesn't return—which he will—I have plans for that company. And if they start selling off manufacturing facilities to stay liquid, I want us at the front of the line."
"You're certain about this?"
"Completely."
Another pause. Then Norman sighed. "Alright. I'll listen to you. But if this goes wrong—"
"It won't."
Harry ended the call and allowed himself a small smile. In three months, Tony Stark would emerge from that cave in Afghanistan with an arc reactor in his chest and a new purpose in life. Stark Industries stock would soar. And the Osborn Group would be positioned to profit enormously.
Of course, the real prize would be a seat on Stark's board—maybe even the chairman's position. But that was unlikely. Even if every other director agreed to sell, Pepper Potts would find a way to preserve the company's independence. She was fiercely loyal, and soon she'd have Iron Man backing her up.
Still, there were other ways to build a relationship with Stark. Other ways to position the Osborn Group as an ally rather than a competitor.
But that was a problem for later. Right now, Harry had a spider to find.
"Mr. Osborn, we've arrived."
The limousine pulled to a stop in front of a modest two-story house in Forest Hills. The neighborhood was working-class but well-maintained—small yards, American flags, the occasional kid on a bicycle. A far cry from the Manhattan penthouse Harry called home.
"Wait for me up ahead. After I'm done here, we're checking out a processing facility further into Queens."
Harry climbed out of the car, straightened his jacket, and walked up the front path. The doorbell chimed a simple two-tone melody.
From inside, he heard voices.
"May! Someone's at the door!"
"Good heavens, Ben Parker! Can't you see I'm cooking? Would it kill you to move that royal backside of yours for once?"
"Alright, alright, I'm going..."
The door swung open to reveal a middle-aged man in a flannel shirt, reading glasses perched on his nose and a newspaper tucked under his arm. He had the weathered look of someone who'd worked hard his whole life—kind eyes, calloused hands, a face that had seen its share of both joy and sorrow.
Ben Parker. Peter's uncle.
Still alive.
Harry felt something shift in his chest. In the movies, Ben Parker's death was the catalyst that transformed Peter from a kid with powers into Spider-Man. "With great power comes great responsibility"—those words, spoken by a dying uncle, had shaped the hero Peter would become.
But Ben was standing right here, very much not dead, which meant Peter hadn't truly become Spider-Man yet. He was just a high school student who happened to have spider abilities. No costume. No crime-fighting. No tragic origin story.
Interesting.
"Hello," Harry said, extending his hand. "I'm Harry Osborn. I'm looking for Peter Parker. Is he home?"
Ben's handshake was firm, his expression shifting from confusion to wariness to something approaching disbelief. "Osborn? Wait—are you the Osborn from Harry Osborn? The one who's been all over the news?"
"If you mean the Chairman of Osborn Enterprises, then yes. That would be me."
Ben's newspaper slipped from under his arm and hit the porch with a soft thwack.
Five minutes later, Harry found himself seated in the Parker living room, a cup of tea warming his hands. The house was small but cozy—family photos on the walls, a well-worn couch, the smell of something delicious wafting from the kitchen.
"Please, Mr. Osborn, help yourself." May Parker—Aunt May, as Peter apparently called her—set a plate of cookies on the coffee table. She was a kind-faced woman with silver-streaked hair and worried eyes. "I'm sure this doesn't compare to what you're used to..."
"Actually, I quite like it." Harry took a sip. It was simple black tea, nothing fancy, but it was made with care. "Thank you."
Ben sat across from him, still looking slightly shellshocked. May hovered nearby, clearly torn between hospitality and protective suspicion about why a teenage billionaire had shown up on their doorstep.
"So," Ben said carefully, "what brings you to our home, Mr. Osborn?"
"I'm here about some company property." Harry set down his teacup. "A spider, specifically."
Ben and May exchanged alarmed glances.
"Peter stole something from you?" Ben started to rise, his face darkening.
"No, no—nothing like that." Harry held up a calming hand. "A few months ago, Midtown High School organized a field trip to Osborn Biotech. The theme was genetically modified organisms. Your nephew was among the students who attended."
He pulled out a folder containing photographs—security camera stills showing the tour group, a zoomed image of a glass enclosure with a small gap in the seal, a blurry shot of something small and dark on a student's backpack.
"Due to a staff error, one of our research specimens escaped during the tour. A spider. Based on our security footage, we believe it may have... hitched a ride with your nephew."
May leaned forward to study the photos. "So you want to know where Peter went after the tour ended?"
"Exactly. The specimen is valuable, and we'd like to recover it if possible. But Peter doesn't seem to be home."
Ben and May shared another look—this one heavy with parental concern.
"I don't know what's been going on with that boy lately," May said, wringing her hands. "He comes home late every night. His grades are slipping. He barely eats dinner with us anymore."
"He's going through something," Ben added, rubbing his temples. "Teenager stuff, maybe. But he won't talk to us about it."
Because he's out there learning to be a superhero, Harry thought. Probably swinging around the city in a homemade costume, stopping muggers and figuring out how to stick to walls.
Before he could respond, a muffled thump came from upstairs.
Everyone froze.
"Peter?" Ben called out.
A pause. Then, from above: "Uh—it's me! I just woke up! Be right down!"
Footsteps thundered on the stairs, and then Peter Parker appeared in the living room doorway.
He was exactly what Harry expected—a lanky teenager with messy brown hair and an earnest face, currently flushed with the particular panic of someone who'd been caught doing something they shouldn't. His shirt was half-buttoned, his hair was a disaster, and if you looked closely, you could see fading bruises on his cheekbone and jaw.
Fight marks, Harry noted. Recent ones. Someone's been practicing.
"Where were you when we called earlier?" May asked, concern sharpening her voice.
"Sleeping! I wasn't feeling well today, so I came straight home and crashed. You probably just didn't see me come in." Peter's eyes darted to Harry, and his expression shifted from nervous to starstruck. "Wait—Mr. Osborn? The Mr. Osborn?"
"That's me."
"Oh man, oh man—" Peter seemed to forget his panic entirely, his face lighting up with genuine excitement. "I've seen the power armor you designed! The EXO-E1? It's so cool. The reactive armor system alone is like—the engineering required to deflect kinetic energy at that scale while maintaining structural integrity—"
Harry's expression flickered. Those words—that breathless, nerdy enthusiasm for cutting-edge technology—felt familiar. In another life, they probably would have been directed at Tony Stark.
"Peter." Aunt May cut him off gently. "Mr. Osborn is here about the spider."
She explained the situation while Harry watched Peter's face. The kid was good at hiding his reactions—better than most teenagers—but Harry caught the slight tightening around his eyes, the way his hands fidgeted at his sides.
He knows exactly what that spider did to him, Harry realized. And he's terrified I'm about to find out.
"So, uh, about that spider..." Peter rubbed the back of his neck. "I really hope you won't be mad, Mr. Osborn. After the tour, it kind of... bit me. And I panicked and swatted it. It's dead."
Harry leaned forward, letting concern color his voice. "It bit you? Peter, that was a genetically modified specimen. Do you feel unwell? We should take a blood sample, run some tests—"
"No!" Peter's response was immediate, almost panicked. "I mean—no, thank you. I feel great! Totally fine. Better than ever, actually."
"Peter, this is about your safety." May grabbed his arm, her fingers pressing into the muscle. "Honey, is your arm swollen? It feels—"
"That's from working out!" Peter pulled away, laughing nervously. "I've been hitting the gym lately. Getting in shape. You know how it is."
Harry watched the exchange with carefully concealed amusement. Peter was strong now—much stronger than any normal teenager—and he was struggling to hide it. Every movement was slightly too fast, slightly too controlled. The body language of someone constantly holding back.
"Well, if you're certain you're feeling fine..." Harry let the concern linger in his voice. "But you said you kept the spider?"
"Oh! Yeah, actually." Peter seemed relieved to change the subject. "I made it into a specimen. For science class. Hold on—"
He disappeared upstairs and returned moments later with a small display case. Inside, perfectly preserved, was the genetically modified spider that had changed his life.
Harry took the case, studying the creature. It was small, unremarkable-looking—just another spider to the untrained eye. But the DNA inside those cells was extraordinary. Cross-species genetic engineering at its finest, designed to grant enhanced strength, agility, and reflexes.
And it had worked. Perfectly.
"This is excellent," Harry said, and he meant it. The spider's body would contain enough genetic material to synthesize a serum. Maybe not as effective as Peter's blood would be, but enough to complete the system's quest. "Thank you, Peter. You've been very helpful."
He produced a business card and handed it over. Peter's eyes went wide.
"If you experience any symptoms—anything unusual at all—contact me immediately. The bite was our responsibility, and we take that seriously."
"I—yeah, of course, Mr. Osborn. Thank you." Peter was staring at the card like it was made of gold. "I got Harry Osborn's business card," he muttered, almost to himself.
Harry stood and checked his watch. "Well, I've taken up enough of your evening. I apologize for the intrusion, and thank you for the tea."
"Of course, Mr. Osborn," Ben said, rising to show him out. "Take care."
Harry was halfway to the door when a thought struck him. The factory inspection could wait another hour. And building a relationship with Peter Parker might prove valuable in the long run—especially if Harry ever needed access to the one thing the spider specimen couldn't provide.
Spider-Man's blood.
"Actually, Peter—" He turned back. "I'm heading to inspect one of our civilian exoskeleton facilities. It's not far from here. Would you like to come along?"
Peter's jaw dropped. "I—what? You mean—visit your factory?"
"If you're interested. Though you're still a minor, so I'd need your aunt and uncle's permission."
Peter turned to Ben and May with an expression of barely contained desperation—the universal look of a teenager who wanted something so badly but knew he wasn't supposed to beg.
Ben and May exchanged a long glance. Some silent communication passed between them—the kind that only comes from years of marriage and shared parenthood.
Finally, Ben nodded. "Alright. But be home by nine."
"Yes! Thank you!" Peter was already grabbing his jacket, practically vibrating with excitement. "This is going to be awesome!"
Harry smiled as they walked out to the limousine. The kid had no idea how right he was.
This was the beginning of something big.