"Osborn Group Factory Attacked—Hundreds of High-Tech Units Stolen!"
"Exoskeleton Safety Under Fire: Should Private Companies Own Military-Grade Equipment?"
"After Robbery, Critics Demand Stricter Regulations on Advanced Technology!"
Harry swirled the wine in his glass, watching the headlines scroll across the television screen. The burgundy liquid caught the light, deep red like old blood.
Are these people insane?
He'd been robbed. Armed criminals had attacked his facility, stolen his property, and nearly killed him in the process. And somehow, the media had decided that he was the problem. Not the criminals. Not the police who'd arrived forty minutes late. Not the security company that had conveniently lost every single guard on shift.
No, apparently the real issue was that Osborn Enterprises made equipment that was "too advanced" for civilian ownership.
"Father, how badly has business been affected?"
Norman looked up from his laptop, closing it with a soft click. The older man's expression was tired—the particular weariness of someone who'd spent decades navigating corporate politics and had learned to recognize a coordinated attack when he saw one.
"Civilian exoskeleton orders have dropped by thirty percent since the story broke. Several major contracts have been put on hold pending 'security reviews.'" He made air quotes with his fingers. "Military orders remain unaffected, but that's cold comfort."
"And the officials? The media?"
"They want money." Norman's jaw tightened. "It's obvious someone briefed them before the attack even happened. The narrative was too coordinated, too fast. This wasn't organic outrage—it was manufactured."
Of course it was, Harry thought grimly. Kingpin didn't just rob us. He's trying to squeeze us.
The attack had been phase one. The media pressure was phase two. And phase three...
Ring ring.
Harry's phone buzzed on the table between them. Father and son exchanged glances, and Harry tapped the speaker button.
"Mr. Osborn." The voice on the other end was warm, cultured, and smooth as silk. "I am deeply sorry to hear about your company's recent ordeal. Such a terrible loss. I wanted to call personally to express my condolences."
Harry felt his skin crawl. The voice dripped with false sympathy—the kind of concern that came with strings attached.
"Thank you for your condolences," Norman replied, his tone carefully neutral. "May I ask who I'm speaking with?"
"Ah, yes—forgive me, I should have introduced myself immediately." A brief pause, perfectly timed. "My name is Wilson Fisk."
The name hung in the air like a guillotine blade.
Harry's hand tightened around his wine glass. So here it comes.
"Thank you for your concern, Mr. Fisk," Norman said smoothly. "Is there something else I can help you with?"
"Actually, yes. I couldn't help but notice that your company has encountered some... difficulties recently. Negative press, regulatory scrutiny, that sort of thing." Fisk's voice remained pleasant, almost sympathetic. "I happen to have friends in many different fields. Perhaps I could help resolve some of these issues."
Silence stretched between them. Norman's eyes met Harry's, a question in them.
"That's a generous offer," Norman said carefully. "And what would you expect in return?"
"Oh, Mr. Osborn, please—I've always believed in helping friends without keeping score." Fisk chuckled, the sound rich and warm and completely artificial. "However, I did notice that your Municipal Power Grid Project might be experiencing some funding challenges. If you were to encounter difficulties there, I would be happy to assist with certain... financial arrangements."
There it is, Harry thought. The power grid. That's what he's really after.
"Additionally," Fisk continued, "I'd like to purchase a batch of exoskeleton equipment. It's past time I provided my employees with proper protective measures. Given the current market conditions, I imagine we could negotiate a very favorable price."
Harry understood the game now. The robbery hadn't been random theft—it had been a negotiating tactic. Drive down demand, crash the stock price, then swoop in and buy at a discount.
And it wouldn't stop there. First, Fisk would demand cut-rate civilian exoskeletons. Then he'd push for military-grade armor—"for security purposes." Then he'd want a stake in the power grid project. And somewhere along the way, he'd manufacture enough leverage to ensure the Osborns could never say no again.
The man had an appetite that would make sharks look modest.
Harry shook his head slightly at his father. Don't agree to anything.
"Your proposal is... intriguing," Norman said, catching the signal. "But we've been dealing with many pressing matters recently. I'll need some time to consider it."
"Of course, of course! A decision of this magnitude deserves careful deliberation." Fisk's tone remained perfectly cordial. "I won't take any more of your time. Good evening, Mr. Norman Osborn. And Mr. Harry Osborn."
Click.
The line went dead. Harry stared at the phone, a cold weight settling in his stomach.
"He wants to extort us," Norman said, leaning back in his chair. "I've seen the type before. Businessmen who think a little pressure will make everyone fold."
"No, Father—he's not bluffing." Harry set down his wine and opened his laptop. "He actually can deliver everything he promised. That's what makes him dangerous."
"What do you mean?"
Harry pulled up a map on the projector, displaying the route data from Peter's tracker. Red lines traced through Queens, Brooklyn, and into the outskirts—a meandering path that made no logical sense.
"This is the route Kingpin's trucks took after the robbery. Look at it."
Norman studied the map, frowning. "They're taking detours. Avoiding main roads?"
"Not exactly." Harry highlighted several sections of the route. "These areas aren't back roads. Some of them pass within blocks of police stations. And according to NYPD dispatch logs—which I acquired this morning—there were no major incidents that night requiring heavy deployment."
"So where were the police?"
"Exactly." Harry zoomed in on one section. "The security cameras along this entire route were offline for maintenance starting two hours before the attack. The police who should have been patrolling these streets were responding to a 'priority call' across town. And do you know what the newspapers reported the NYPD's biggest accomplishment was that night?"
Norman shook his head.
"Helping an elderly woman find her missing cat."
The implications hung in the air. Norman's expression darkened.
"He's got people everywhere," the older man said slowly. "Police, city officials, media..."
"Bribes, blackmail, loans with strings attached, threats against family members." Harry ticked off the methods on his fingers. "Kingpin doesn't just control the gangs—he controls the systems that are supposed to stop the gangs. If we accept his 'help,' he'll get leverage on us too. And once he has that, we'll never be free of him."
"So we refuse and he keeps squeezing."
"Exactly. The man himself isn't invincible, but the position he holds is. Even if we somehow took him down, someone else would step into that role. The criminal infrastructure would remain intact."
Norman was quiet for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
"So what you're saying is that we need to change the infrastructure."
Harry matched his father's smile with one of his own.
"Father, I want you to run for office."
Norman blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Not Congress—not yet. Start with the State Senate. Build a base. Prove yourself." Harry's mind was racing through the possibilities. "You have name recognition, business credibility, and thanks to the military contracts, patriotic credentials. Any political party would kill to have someone with your profile on their ticket."
"Harry, becoming a Senator isn't like becoming CEO. There are campaigns, donors, party politics—"
"All of which you understand better than most politicians." Harry leaned forward intently. "Father, think about it. Kingpin's power comes from owning the people who make the rules. If we become the people who make the rules, his leverage disappears."
Norman was silent, processing. Harry could see him turning the idea over, examining it from every angle.
"The war in Afghanistan," Norman said finally. "That's what's driving politics right now. The military-industrial angle would give us an easy entry point with the current administration—"
"No." Harry shook his head. "That's a trap."
"How so?"
"The Afghanistan situation is going to turn toxic. Public opinion is already shifting against the war, and within a few years, it'll be an albatross around the neck of anyone associated with it." Harry chose his next words carefully—he couldn't exactly explain that he knew the future, but he could make a compelling argument. "More importantly, the world is about to change in ways most people can't imagine. Climate, technology, global cooperation—these are going to be the issues that matter. We need to position ourselves on that side of history."
Norman raised an eyebrow. "You seem very confident about what's coming."
"Call it strategic foresight." Harry smiled. "The point is, we can't beat Kingpin by playing his game. We have to change the game entirely. Put you in a position where you're making the laws instead of trying to work around them."
"And from the State Senate?"
"Governor. Then..." Harry spread his hands. "Why not aim higher?"
Norman stared at his son for a long moment. The man who had nearly become the Green Goblin—who had almost destroyed himself chasing superhuman power—was being offered a different kind of power entirely.
Political power. Legitimate power. The kind that could reshape the world.
"You want me to become President," Norman said flatly.
"I want you to become the man who could become President," Harry corrected. "The rest... we'll figure out as we go."
Silence stretched between them. Outside the penthouse windows, Manhattan glittered in the darkness—a city of lights and shadows, power and corruption.
Finally, Norman laughed. It was a genuine laugh, surprised and almost delighted.
"You know, Harry, when I handed you the company, I thought I was preparing for retirement. Gardening, maybe. Golf." He shook his head. "Instead, you want to make me the most powerful man in the country."
"Someone has to clean up this mess, Father. And I'd rather it be family."
Norman rose from his chair, walked to the window, and looked out at the city that had nearly crushed them.
"Alright," he said quietly. "Let's do it."
The Next Morning
"Breaking news: Norman Osborn, founder and former CEO of the Osborn Group, has announced his resignation from the company's board of directors to pursue a career in public service."
"In a surprise press conference this morning, Osborn declared his intention to run for the New York State Senate, citing a desire to 'give back to the community that built his success.'"
"Political analysts are scrambling to assess the implications of a major industrialist entering the political arena. With the Osborn Group's military contracts and recent high-profile media coverage, some suggest Norman Osborn could reshape the political landscape..."
Harry watched the coverage from his office, a cup of coffee cooling in his hands.
Kingpin, he thought. Emperor of the Underworld.
Let's see how your criminal empire handles an Osborn in the Governor's mansion.
Just you wait.