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"But with your abilities, you could help so many more people," Tony insisted.

Henry didn't bother wasting time in a philosophical morality debate. He shot back directly, "Tony, your family's rich, right? Actually, forget your family—you yourself are rich, no question."

Though a little annoyed, Tony didn't deny it. "Yeah. Being rich isn't a crime, is it?"

"Of course not. So let's say you—or your family—took all that money and gave $10,000 to every poor person. Wouldn't that eliminate poverty in America? Sounds great, doesn't it?"

Tony blinked, surprised. "That's not how wealth redistribution works. Want me to lend you a few econ textbooks? Besides, what does my wealth have to do with poor people?"

"Exactly. Your money is your business. You're under no obligation to share it with anyone," Henry said smoothly. "So just because I'm bulletproof, I should be required to throw myself in front of every bullet? Every time someone gets shot somewhere in the world, am I to blame because I didn't step in?"

Tony wasn't convinced by the analogy. "Stark Industries does fund charitable programs, you know. We do help people—just not by blindly handing out cash.

"And no, it's not your fault when strangers get shot. But when someone's getting gunned down right in front of you and you don't step in—that's a waste of a gift."

Wow, Henry thought. This guy really is destined to become a hero.

With his wealth and connections, Tony Stark could have helped people in a thousand ways. Yet in the future, he'd still choose to put his own life on the line. Henry respected that. Deeply.

But that didn't mean he had to follow the same code.

So Henry responded sincerely, "In my opinion, not using my powers for evil is already the greatest kindness I can offer the world.

"I don't mind helping people—but I'm not going to sacrifice myself for everyone indiscriminately. I have no obligation, and frankly, not enough incentive."

"How about this," Tony said, finally flexing his greatest power: money. "One million dollars a year. Work for me. Take my orders."

Henry smiled sweetly—then immediately said, "Nope."

"Why not? It's basically the same job as being Audrey Hepburn's driver and bodyguard. Or are you saying it's not enough money?"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk." Henry wagged a finger. "I don't know exactly what you'd hire me to do, but I'm guessing it's bodyguard work—a human meat shield. Or, more likely, playing vigilante, running around looking for trouble... I mean, 'helping people for free' just to stroke your own ego."

"You're paying me for it, not demanding I work for free. That's admirable. But serving you and serving Miss Hepburn—those are two very different things."

"They're totally the same!" Tony protested.

Henry leaned forward, voice earnest. "Working for Tony Stark? One million a year. Sure. But how much would I have to spend on therapy to recover from the trauma of being bossed around by you?"

"Working for Miss Hepburn... well, I don't know what the going rate for a private driver is. Thirty grand? Fifty? Doesn't matter. Serving someone like her—and her namesake—is priceless."

From her seat, Katharine clapped her hands. "Oh my, that was the most delightful thing I've heard all evening. What a sweet boy. Come here—I'll feed you a spoonful of pudding."

Henry obediently leaned over like a good grandson. Katharine, smiling like a doting grandmother, spooned pudding into his mouth.

One looked delighted to feed; the other made a show of savoring the taste like it was nectar from the gods. Their exaggerated theatrics were utterly shameless—and absolutely hilarious.

Henry sighed dramatically, eyes half-lidded with joy. "Ahh... Pudding fed by Katharine Hepburn herself. The taste is on a whole other level."

Tony, visibly annoyed, shouted, "IT'S THE SAME PUDDING! The exact same!" Then he grabbed his own dessert and dramatically stuffed the whole thing into his mouth in protest.

Henry shook his head and clucked his tongue. "Tsk tsk. This is the problem with scientists—they don't understand an artist's sense of romance.

"Sure, the chemical composition and physical properties are identical. But the experience of how it's delivered? That makes all the difference."

He added with a sly smile, "If Mr. Tony here ever gives someone a gift, I bet he'd just tell them to go buy it themselves, say 'Happy Birthday' to themselves, and then submit the receipt to Stark Industries for reimbursement. He probably wouldn't even care what they bought."

As it happened, that was exactly something future Tony Stark would do.

Katharine burst into laughter. A real, full-throated laugh.

The rest of the table looked confused at first—then dawned with realization. Henry asked, "Wait, don't tell me... old man Stark actually did that?"

Tony winced. Katharine nodded enthusiastically, tears of mirth in her eyes. "I was beginning to think you'd heard that story from someone! That's exactly what Howard used to do."

If anyone says the Starks aren't blood relatives, Henry thought, I'll fight them on the spot!

Whatever other adventures Howard Stark had gotten up to, clearly his son had inherited the quirks and the consequences.

How did Tony and Katharine know each other, anyway? With a 60-year age gap, it wasn't like they'd met at a bar.

Probably something to do with Howard's colorful past. Henry figured he'd better not push that line of questioning too far. That was a surefire way to attract unwanted heat.

Besides, Katharine's mental armor was maxed out. Even the future Iron Man wouldn't dare lay a finger on her. She was the ultimate tank, and she took great pleasure in charging full force at Tony every chance she got—as if making up for all the slights his father had ever dealt her.

A classic case of a son paying for his father's debts.

As a committed slacker and chaos enthusiast, Henry couldn't help but feel disappointed he didn't have a camera on hand to capture this historic moment. The footage would've made a killer blackmail reel—maybe even last someone straight into their grave.

Still, Katharine knew her limits. She wouldn't push Tony so far that he'd lose face.

That ability to read the room with laser precision? That's how she survived in Hollywood for decades. Everyone at the table was a seasoned player—except, perhaps, for future Iron Man himself.

Tony Stark, in this moment, was nothing but a wide-eyed little bunny.

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