188. Quiet Evidence and Loud Storms. (Patreon)

Felicia POV:

Harry’s SUV looked like a traveling life.

Cardboard boxes were stacked all the way to the roof. They were filled with clothes, books, framed photographs, half-finished models from projects he never talked about. Everything a person accumulates when they’re told from birth that nothing can ever truly be taken from them.

I leaned against the open tailgate and crossed my arms.

“You know,” I said lightly, “you could just… stay with me.”

Harry paused mid-lift, a box balanced against his hip.

“My apartment,” I added. “It’s not huge but it’s warm. And it doesn’t echo.”

He looked at me then, really looked at me, that faint glow still barely visible beneath his skin like embers under ash.

“I’d love to,” He said softly. “I just don’t want to impose.”

I laughed and stepped closer, resting my hands on his forearms.

“Harry,” I said, smiling, “your presence would make my place feel less lonely. That’s not imposing. That’s… fixing something.”

He exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding that breath for years. Then, without another word, he set the box down and tore the bottom out of it.

The cardboard split open, spilling not clothes but manila folders.

Stacks and stacks of documents slid onto the pavement, thick with tabs, handwritten notes, and dates highlighted in red.

My smile faded.

Harry crouched and picked one up, tapping it thoughtfully.

“Turns out,” He said, almost amused, “acting like a clueless trust fund baby playboy has its perks.”

I stared at the papers. “Harry… what is all this?”

“Evidence,” He replied simply. “Embezzlement. Company fund mismanagement. Illegal experiments. Quiet kickbacks. Loud cover-ups. Evidence I secretly gathered during my time as the CEO.”

My throat went dry. “How many people do you have dirt on?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Pretty much every board member.”

I sucked in a breath.“And the worst?”

He looked up at me, eyes steady. “Donald Menken.”

I swallowed. “So… police? Lawyers?”

Harry shook his head slowly.

“No.”

I frowned. “Then what?”

He gathered the files back into another box with almost reverent care.

“I’m taking them to Parker Industries.” That made my skin prickle.

“Peter Parker?” I asked.

Harry nodded. “If I’ve learned anything watching the corporate world burn, it’s the fact that hostile takeovers and legal annihilation are practically Parker Industries’ second love language. The first one being explosive bombardment.”

I shuddered despite myself.

I remembered the headlines. How entire defense conglomerates vanished not with explosions but with contracts, efficiency curves and court filings that left nothing but empty office buildings behind.

“They don’t just outthink you,” I murmured. “They outproduce you, outprice you, outlast you, outclass you.”

Harry smiled softly. “Exactly.”

Before I could respond, the sky lit up.

A jagged burst of lightning tore across the horizon. It came from the direction of Times Square.

We both turned.

Something was very, very wrong.

Gwen POV:

I was internally composing a very long list of reasons why Frank Davis or his cronies should never be allowed near a sniper rifle.

Or a badge.

Or a decision-making process.

Max Dillon was no longer just unstable. He was furious.

Electricity poured off him in blinding arcs, snapping streetlights, liquefying metal signs, sending shockwaves rippling through the air. Every scream from the crowd tightened something in my chest.

“Okay,” I muttered, firing web after web. “Everybody stay back. This is not a spectator event.”

Thank God for Peter.

My suit didn’t even register the energy surges. Insulation layers so absurdly over-engineered that I could stand inside a fusion chamber or a solar flare and complain about the lighting.

I switched to non-conductive adhesive webbing, anchoring civilians, sealing off metal surfaces, making sure not a single stray volt found a human body.

Max screamed again, clutching his head.

“I can hear it all!” He cried. “Everything!!! Every wire!! Every phone!!! Make it stop!”

Think, Gwen.

Think fast.

My eyes snapped to a fire hydrant.

“Sorry, city budget.” I whispered.

I dove, kicked the knob clean off and a geyser of water exploded forward ward, slamming into Max in a roaring cascade.

He shrieked as the electricity fought the sudden grounding but it worked. The arcs tightened, contained, snapping inward instead of outward.

“Good,” I breathed. “Good, stay with me...”

The water pressure faltered.

Before panic could set in, the air hummed.

A Parker Energy Division drone descended smoothly, its container slung beneath it, filled with shimmering dielectric coolant, the kind used to keep fusion chambers from tearing themselves apart.

Worker drones followed, efficient and silent.

“Hey!” I protested. “I didn’t agree to...”

Clanker’s calm voice filled my comms. “Mrs. Parker,” He said gently, “Max Dillon no longer requires oxygen. His metabolic processes are entirely electrical.”

I hesitated.

The drones restrained Max with non-conductive cuffs, lowered him carefully into the coolant. His thrashing slowed. The electricity dimmed to a steady glow.

The container is sealed.

The drone lifted off, towing it skyward.

I stood there, soaked, heart pounding, watching it disappear into the night.

“Please be okay,” I whispered.

Somewhere deep down, I knew that this was only the beginning.