At first, Carl had considered picking a part-time secretary from among his subordinates—someone who at least had a more polished appearance.
But unfortunately, that idea was quickly scrapped. Every single one of his men was a specialist in combat and assassination. When it came to clerical tasks like sorting documents or managing a schedule, they were practically useless.
Surprisingly, it was David, the one with the most intimidating appearance, who turned out to be the most competent in this area. Despite his fierce looks, David was incredibly efficient, organized, and possessed a level of patience rarely found even among professional secretaries.
In fact, his skill and dedication rivaled that of any corporate veteran. Carl eventually realized this setup had its perks. At the very least, any minor schemers hoping to cozy up to him would usually back off the moment they saw David shadowing him like an iron golem.
"Let's go, let's go! I want to see our new home!"
Wanda interrupted the small talk between Carl and Pietro, her voice full of excitement as she walked ahead with a bright smile.
Carl and Pietro, both loaded down with bags, exchanged a brief, helpless glance before following her.
"I'm just saying, sis… was it really necessary to bring this much stuff? Didn't Carl say Jack had already stocked the place with everything we'd need?" Pietro asked, tugging a large suitcase behind him.
"There are memories in these things," Wanda replied with a huff, halting and looking back. "Gifts we gave each other, photos, souvenirs—we have to bring them."
Seeing Carl's arms full of bags, Wanda quickly jogged back, distressed, and took a few from him.
Watching this, Pietro felt like he'd just taken two emotional knives to the heart.
"Alright, yeah… I definitely need to get a girlfriend."
Just then, four towering security guards appeared and blocked their path. Pietro immediately dropped the suitcase and instinctively stepped in front of Carl and Wanda.
"Is there a problem?" he asked, wary.
The leading guard gave a reassuring grin. "Relax. I'm the captain of security here. Are you the new residents?"
Carl nodded calmly. "Yes. We just moved in today."
"Welcome to the neighborhood," the guard said. "For new residents, we offer free moving assistance. Just hand your things to us."
He waved to his team, and the other three guards swiftly moved in to carry all their luggage with practiced ease.
"Uh… thank you?" Pietro said, blinking. Wanda nodded in surprise, clearly impressed by the high-end service.
With their help, the move-in process went by in a flash. All the luggage was delivered to the two adjacent apartments that Carl had bought for them.
As the guards were preparing to leave, Carl leaned in and whispered something to the captain.
"Leo, assign someone to start digging into Obadiah Stane—the shareholder of Stark Enterprises."
Leo, the security captain, gave a subtle nod and left without a word.
Yes—Leo was one of Carl's most trusted operatives.
The real challenge in rescuing Dr. Ethan wasn't fighting the terrorists. With Carl's current strength, tearing through them would be easy. The hard part was finding them.
He remembered vaguely from his past life that the terrorist base was somewhere in the desert—but which one? He had no idea.
However, one person definitely knew: Obadiah Stane. He had secretly hired those terrorists to kill Tony Stark so he could take over Stark Industries.
What Obadiah hadn't expected was that the terrorists would double-cross him—choosing instead to keep Tony alive and force him to build weapons.
Carl's next move was clear.
In the early morning, while Carl and Wanda were wrapped in each other's arms, peacefully asleep in their new home, an unexpected visitor arrived outside the gates of the community.
Grant Ward, a Level 7 S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and a master of infiltration and weaponry, had a dark past—he was imprisoned in a juvenile detention center for attempting to burn his brother and parents alive. It was there that John Garrett discovered him and personally trained him into a top-tier double agent for Hydra.
Two days ago, Grant received a new mission from Garrett: kidnap Carl, chairman of the Hudson Group, and obtain the formula for the Power Pill in order to improve the Death Warrior program.
Originally, his plan was to make a move in Sokovia. But after a quick investigation, he learned that Carl had relocated to New York with his wife. He adjusted his plan accordingly and chose New York as the operation site.
The Carl family had deep roots in Sokovia and, under Carl's leadership, had reached unprecedented strength. Trying to kidnap someone like him quietly on his own turf would've been almost impossible.
Especially now—after the Hydra base explosion in Sokovia, the region was still recovering from the chaos. Hydra's local intelligence network was crippled, and making moves there was far too risky.
But New York was different. Here, both S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra's intelligence channels were active. Grant had access to all the data he needed to plan his operation with precision.
Before Carl had even moved in, Grant already knew which neighborhood and exact unit Carl was living in.
Although he didn't understand why someone like Carl would pass up a villa in favor of a regular apartment building, it didn't matter. Tonight was the perfect window of opportunity.
After double-checking all his gear, Grant started the engine and drove toward the gate.
The plan was simple: sneak in, park, head upstairs, unlock the door, knock Carl out, stuff him into a transport box, and haul him to Hydra's base for interrogation using their neural hypnosis device.
If everything went smoothly, he could even return Carl before dawn. Carl would only wake up feeling groggy with a minor headache, none the wiser.
But the moment he pulled up near the gate and saw the guards, Grant's eyes narrowed.
"Something's wrong. These two guards aren't in the intel."
The forged access card got him past the barrier easily enough, but as he casually glanced toward the security booth, he spotted two burly, sharp-eyed guards—not the tired middle-aged men and retirees described in yesterday's data.
He had memorized every face in the building's security profile—four older middle-aged men and two part-time elderly guards. But these two? Built like tanks, muscles nearly bursting from their uniforms—they weren't on any file.
"Coincidence? Or Carl's doing?"
Grant trusted his instincts. The timing lined up too perfectly to be random. These guys had clearly been swapped in after Carl's arrival.
But that didn't make Grant reconsider the mission.
Even if Carl had brought his own security detail, so what? Big muscles didn't mean elite skills. Grant had taken down squads of "muscle guys" in his sleep. Armed or not, they weren't a threat if he didn't alert them.
He wasn't here for a head-on fight anyway. This was a stealth job. Silent, efficient, invisible.
As his black Chevrolet turned into the parking lot, the two "dozing" guards in the security booth suddenly straightened up. One picked up the walkie-talkie and calmly reported:
"Master Leo, we've got a non-resident entering the community. Black Chevrolet, plate EVJ4329."