The life of a long-haul trucker was a ghost of a previous existence.
In that past life, after being ruined by a pair of scammers who preyed on his kindness, Toby had made a vow the moment he opened his eyes in this new world: he was done being the "good guy" who looked forward to a better tomorrow. Good guys finished last, usually face-down in the dirt.
In this life, he would be the "bad guy"—the kind who looked toward the money.
Money couldn't solve every problem, but it solved 99% of them. And for a family like the Parkers, who had spent years scraping by, it was the only solution that mattered.
Toby pulled the "pocket change" check Kingpin had given him from his jacket and held it out to Ben Parker.
"I finished a major project at Fisk Tower this month. Wilson Fisk personally authorized a hundred-thousand-dollar bonus for me. Take it, Dad. Go trade in that ancient rust-bucket you call a car."
Ben didn't look nearly as shocked as a normal retired worker should.
Toby wasn't just naturally strong; he was a generational prodigy. He had maintained a perfect GPA since elementary school, skipped multiple grades, and graduated from MIT at eighteen. He had trailed the world-famous Tony Stark's record by only a single year.
With that kind of academic brilliance, the recruitment offers had been relentless. OsCorp—the company responsible for the "accident" that killed Peter's parents—had come knocking. Even Stark Industries had sent scouts.
Toby had ignored them all. Instead, he had "joined" Fisk Industries, one of New York's top conglomerates. He had been on their payroll for two years now.
The reason was simple: freedom. Toby held a title at Fisk Industries, but he hadn't spent a single day sitting in a cubicle. Fisk paid him a retainer to stay on call and a massive commission for every "project."
Why would he slave away as a corporate drone for Stark or Osborn when he could have this? He wasn't a martyr like Superman or the traditional Spider-Man; he had no interest in the "workplace-masochist" lifestyle.
In Ben's eyes, it was perfectly logical. His son was a genius. If a genius completes a high-stakes project for a man like Wilson Fisk, a six-figure bonus was just the cost of doing business.
This wasn't the first time Toby had brought home the spoils. Ever since he'd "started" at Fisk Industries, he'd sent a steady $50,000 home every month as "living expenses," punctuated by occasional "bonuses" like this one.
Ben took the check without a fuss, though he smiled and shook his head at the suggestion of a new car.
"Same as always, son. I'll put this in the savings account for you. You'll need it when you're ready to get married and start a family. As for my car? Don't worry about it. I'm not ready to give up on my old partner just yet."
Toby's eye twitched slightly. "I told you, Dad. Stop worrying about my future. My private accounts are doing just fine."
That was an understatement. While not every job paid ten million dollars like the Sunrise Clan hit, Toby's underground earnings had long since surpassed nine figures. Even if he retired today, as long as he stayed away from high-stakes gambling or expensive vices, he was set for life.
May, carrying a tray of warm cookies, gave Toby a playful swat on the back of his head. "Toby, don't talk to your father like that! You young people are far too loose with your money. You have no idea how much it costs to buy a house and raise children in this city. We're saving this so your life can be a little easier later on."
Toby sighed, covering his face with his hand. His parents were wonderful—kind, supportive, and never overbearing. But like many parents, they were selfless to a fault.
He brought home enough money for Ben and May to retire in luxury, yet they both insisted on working their modest jobs, earning barely a fraction of what Toby wired home. They hadn't touched a single cent of his money; they just hoarded it away for his "future."
He had grown used to their stubborn simplicity over the last twenty years. He decided not to argue. Tomorrow, he'd just go buy the car and have it delivered to the driveway. It was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission—a tactic he'd used for most of the high-end appliances and furniture currently filling the house.
After enduring his parents' motherly nagging, Toby pulled a thick manila envelope from his pocket and tossed it to Peter.
"Here. Your allowance for the month."
Peter, who had been watching the family exchange with a quiet, longing smile, flushed crimson. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.
"Cousin, I... I haven't even finished the money you gave me last month. I don't need this. Besides, I'm eighteen now. I should be getting a part-time job, earning my own—"
"If your brother gives you something, you take it," May interrupted, deftly sliding the envelope into Peter's hoodie pocket. "You're graduating and heading to university this year. Your focus should be on your studies, not flipping burgers. No part-time jobs. Understand?"
Ben chimed in from the side. "She's right, Peter. This isn't the time to be making money; it's the time to be spending it. Besides, don't you have your eye on the neighbor's daughter? Mary Jane Watson?"
Ben chuckled. "You can't chase a girl like that with empty pockets. Take the money."
At the mention of Mary Jane, Peter looked like he wanted to melt into the floorboards. Before the spider bite, Peter was already socially awkward; now, he looked ready to bury his head in his chest.
Toby blinked, looking at Ben with a puzzled expression. "Mary Jane? I thought the Warrens lived next door."
Ben shook his head. "You've been so busy with your 'projects' lately, you probably missed it. The Warrens moved to Connecticut at the end of last month. The Watsons moved in right after. And our Peter here was smitten the moment he saw their eldest daughter."
Toby nodded slowly. It seemed that even in this universe, Peter couldn't escape his destiny with MJ.
Seeing Peter's face turning the color of a ripe tomato, Toby grabbed the cookie tray from May and clapped his hand on his cousin's shoulder.
"Come on, Pete. Let's head upstairs and play some games. I need to unwind."
"Right! Yeah! I'll carry the cookies!" Peter blurted out, desperate to escape the interrogation. He snatched the tray and bolted up the stairs like a spider with its backside on fire.
Toby shared a knowing look with Ben and May—the two old matchmakers—and followed him up.
In this universe, perhaps because of Toby's presence, the heavy, tragic atmosphere that usually surrounded the Parkers in the movies was gone. There was a vibrancy here, a colorful warmth that felt like a shield against the darkness Toby dealt with in the streets.