I Became a Knockoff Arms Dealer in the Marvel World

Carl felt a wave of relief wash over him and offered a sheepish apology. "Sorry, darling. Ian here is a top-level executive I headhunted from the Osborne Biotech Group. I need to go over the branch's progress and discuss our 'Super Promotion' plan with him. Looks like I won't be able to accompany you for now."

Thankfully, Red Queen's timely intervention had defused the situation; otherwise, Carl couldn't imagine how awkward things would have gotten.

Wanda slid off Carl's lap, clearly disappointed, but she didn't make a fuss. She was considerate enough to understand that work came first.

After a grueling transatlantic flight that lasted over ten hours, their private jet finally touched down at JFK Airport in New York at 2 a.m.

Even in the dead of night, Kennedy Airport was bustling with activity. Massive airliners roared as they landed and took off every minute, while the cityscape's neon lights turned the distant Manhattan skyline into a dazzling spectacle.

New York—the city that never sleeps—seemed even more alive under the cover of darkness, a stark contrast to its daytime vibrancy.

The cold night air nipped at Carl's chiseled features as he descended the plane's steps, his tailored suit doing little to ward off the chill. Yet, he managed to maintain his poise, forcing a faint smile as he led the way down.

Following closely behind him was Wanda, her long emerald-green hair cascading over her shoulders. She was dressed in a light green, strappy dress that emphasized her naturalistic aesthetic, her toned legs making every step look like part of a fashion show. Pietro trailed behind, pushing Sharon Carter's wheelchair.

Behind them, a group of ten staff members struggled to unload three massive crates from the cargo hold of the plane. Inside those crates? The A1-model combat armor.

Carl barely had time to set foot on the tarmac before a sleek Maybach W223 pulled up directly in front of him.

A middle-aged man exited the vehicle, hurrying over to greet Carl and Wanda.

"Boss, Madam, welcome to New York. I'm Ian De La Rosa, head of the North American branch. After such a long flight, you both must be exhausted. I've already arranged accommodations for you. Please, this way."

Ian De La Rosa, aged 45, came from a solid American middle-class background. He was the epitome of a white-collar elite—dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit that radiated professionalism and sophistication.

Ian's resume was nothing short of stellar. By the time he hit middle age, he had already served as COO of the renowned Osborne Group, managing the majority of the company's day-to-day operations while Norman Osborne, now well past his prime, retained his CEO title in name only.

Norman's role had long been reduced to rubber-stamping decisions and providing general strategic direction. It was Ian who truly kept the wheels turning.

So, when the Red Queen recommended Ian for the position of North American branch head, Carl trusted her judgment. The company's headhunters quickly poached him with an irresistible offer.

Since then, the construction of the branch base had proceeded remarkably smoothly, a testament to Ian's competence. Carl couldn't have chosen a better man for the job.

"Excellent," Carl said, his tone calm but commanding. "But I need to discuss something with you. Let's get in the car first."

Carl had been hoping for at least a day or two to rest, but he used this as an excuse to slip away from other responsibilities for the moment.

Once inside the car, Carl suddenly remembered something. Turning to the window, he called out to Pietro, "Oh, right. Let her go."

Pietro's expression shifted, a mix of reluctance and disbelief. "Let her go? But isn't she a spy? Couldn't you at least let me keep her for a couple of days before we release her?"

Before Carl could respond, Wanda, who was just stepping into the car, froze. Her brows furrowed sharply, and without hesitation, she spun around and delivered a swift kick to her younger brother's shin.

"What the hell are you talking about? Is that what you've turned into? A spoiled rich boy who only knows how to mess around with women? Don't make me regret letting you come along!" she snapped, her voice brimming with anger.

Caught off guard by the scolding, Pietro hastily raised his hands in surrender. "It was just a joke! I swear! I'll let her go right now!"

Fumbling slightly, Pietro pulled out a Swiss Army knife and began cutting the ropes binding Sharon Carter.

Sharon remained silent throughout the exchange, her wide eyes betraying her unease. Months of captivity under Umbrella Corp. had left her with countless unanswered questions. But before she could start unraveling them, she needed her freedom.

The moment she was untied, Sharon whispered a soft "thank you" and quickly walked away, never once looking back.

Once she was gone, Wanda climbed into the car but couldn't resist continuing her lecture.

"You'd better not be picking up any bad habits. No drugs, no pills—none of that crap, you hear me? The moment you start, it'll ruin your life."

Pietro slumped in his seat, his face a picture of impatience. "Yeah, yeah. I got it."

"Good," Carl said, chuckling as he signaled the driver to start the car. With a low hum, the Maybach merged onto the airport highway. Even at this late hour, traffic in the area remained heavy.

It wasn't until an hour later that they finally arrived at a luxurious estate in Manhattan's affluent district.

The mansion, a stunning blend of classical European architecture, stood proudly amidst sprawling green lawns. Its tall windows offered panoramic views of the surrounding landscape, while the interior boasted an array of high-end amenities: a library, banquet hall, gym, shimmering outdoor pool, and even an indoor tennis court illuminated by floodlights.

Every inch of the estate, from its marble floors to its custom furnishings, spoke volumes about its owner's immense wealth.

As Carl and his entourage entered the main building, the first thing that caught the eye was a grand spiral staircase made of polished mahogany, ascending elegantly to the upper floors.

Wanda opted to take the private oak-paneled elevator up to the second floor to pick out a bedroom. Meanwhile, Pietro headed to the estate's guesthouse—Carl had no intention of letting him hear the inevitable noises coming from his room that night.

The household staff, composed entirely of Umbrella's cloned personnel, ensured absolute loyalty to Carl.

One of the maids, dressed immaculately in a black-and-white uniform, served two cups of coffee as Carl and Ian settled into the conference room for their meeting.

"Ian De La Rosa, correct?" Carl said, taking a sip. "It's already past 3 a.m. Sorry to disturb your rest."

"It's no trouble, Boss. In fact, I should be thanking you for trusting me with the North American branch. By God's grace, everything has been progressing smoothly."

Though Ian still retained all his memories from before joining Umbrella, the cranial implant discreetly embedded in his brain had completely altered his priorities. Now, his every thought revolved around furthering the company's interests, with unwavering loyalty to Carl.

In essence, Ian had become the perfect tool—an extraordinarily capable professional willing to sacrifice everything for Carl's cause.

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