A Knack for Getting Rich

Natasha rushed into the psychology clinic. Speaking rapidly on the phone, she said to Schiller, "Get me thirty reports… no, no, fifty. Fifty psychological diagnosis reports."

Schiller was writing something at the bar. Without even looking up, he merely raised his eyelids and asked, "What condition?"

"Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, or whatever it was called? I forgot. Anyway, that illness people get after fighting in a war. I need fifty."

"There’s no time to handwrite them. I can only generate electronic reports. Where’s the list of names?"

Natasha picked up the other phone in her hand and said, "Send the list of names to my phone immediately. Forget it, I’ll just give you an address. Fax it over…"

Meanwhile, Peter came out holding a stack of papers. "Doctor, I don’t really understand this reimbursement form. Forget whether the monster ever made it here—even if it had, are we really claiming losses for dishwashing sponges? Isn’t that a little…"

Dr. Connors was also on the phone nearby. He said, "Yes, the development costs for that cure were very high because… because the materials were expensive. Just tell them that. They won’t understand anyway."

"It used at least dozens of rare elements. Which ones? Go look through the periodic table yourself. Whatever’s expensive, that’s what it used…"

Stark handed Natasha a sheet of paper. "This is Stark Tower’s electricity usage report. Connors and Peter conducted an experiment in my high-end laboratory for one hour and forty-three minutes. The average electricity cost per minute was fifty-six thousand dollars. Then there’s the equipment wear and tear. Oh, right, Peter used too much force and scrapped a piece of equipment worth over a million dollars. Put all of that under losses…"

Natasha took the sheet without even looking at it, then answered another call. "Counting the dead? How many deaths do you think would be appropriate? We have thirty-two field agents who stayed in New York recently. Why don’t we just declare all of them dead? Set the compensation at five hundred thousand dollars per person…"

"What? Be even bolder? How many agents are there across the entire East Coast? The whole country? Wouldn’t that be a little too exaggerated? One monster wiped out all our agents nationwide? Wouldn’t that make us look completely useless?"

Afterward, she put down the phone and asked Peter, "Do you have any of that medicine left?"

"Two doses, but if you need more, we can make some."

"Nick wants more. You know, the military created such a dangerous monster. It’s perfectly reasonable for them to purchase more of this medicine as a precaution, right?"

"How many does he want?" Dr. Connors asked.

Natasha spoke to the person on the other end for a while, then said, "Do you have two hundred?"

Peter sprayed out a mouthful of water. "That serum was modified from lizard serum! There were only seven doses in total, and Dr. Connors spent months making them…"

"Nick is selling them for three million each."

Connors immediately threw on his coat. "Come on, Peter."

Then he turned to Natasha and said, "Wait for us. No more than two days, and two hundred doses will be in your hands."

As Peter was dragged away, Schiller took the reimbursement application from his hand. "Peter is still too innocent. Four dishwashing sponges? How long would that last? Make it four thousand to start with."

Pikachu leaped onto the table with a whoosh. "Add two jars of peanut butter for me. Oh, no, make that two thousand jars of peanut butter. That monster was terrifying! My peanut butter losses were devastating!"

Schiller scribbled for a while, then said, "All right, that should be about enough. By the way, how much of a cut did you say I could get?"

"Twenty percent from each report, and thirty percent from this reimbursement application."

"Wait, are fifty reports enough? I think the battle was incredibly intense this time. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents risked life and limb, so there must be quite a few lingering effects. Let’s make it three hundred first. If I handwrite and sign every one, give me another ten percent. How about it?"

Steve stood in the center of the room with his arms crossed. "I know times have changed. I know I’m old. But surely they haven’t changed this much?"

"Didn’t we take care of that monster in just a few moves? Four thousand dishwashing sponges? Did it smash the entire back kitchen of every restaurant in New York?"

Listening to Natasha’s absurdly high casualty figures, Steve said, "I know Nick is trying to secure more funding, but the military isn’t stupid. Wouldn’t they be able to tell how much damage there really was?"

"That isn’t important, Captain." Natasha waved a hand. "We’re the victims. However many losses the victims say there were, that’s how many there were."

Before Steve could argue, Coulson rushed in. Holding a pen and paper, he pulled Steve onto the sofa and began interviewing him.

"What is this for? Why are you interviewing me?"

"So you won’t have to write a battle report, Captain Steve."

"All right, then…"

"How did the process of defeating this monster go? Was it smooth?"

"Ah, there were some setbacks, but overall it went fairly smoothly."

"Could you describe the setbacks in detail?"

"This monster was rather strong. At the beginning of the battle, shield strikes weren’t very effective, so I immediately changed tactics…"

Coulson wrote on the paper: "The Red Iguana possessed Superhuman Strength, far beyond what Captain America could estimate. His shield strikes had no effect whatsoever on the monster. The early stages of the battle were extraordinarily grueling, and they barely escaped a hopeless situation."

"Of course, things improved later. It was strong, but it didn’t have much brains. It was very irritable, and opponents like that are easier to deal with…"

Coulson wrote again: "The Red Iguana was incomparably violent. The power of its rage made it even stronger. The Captain was nearly driven back step by step, while the monster maintained the upper hand throughout."

"Of course, I have to admit that Little Stark’s armor explosion did help…"

Coulson’s pen continued flying across the page. "Iron Man used his armor, which cost tens of millions of dollars, in a heroic, completely irretrievable self-destruction. At last, it forced the monster back two steps. According to Captain America’s account, it took at least twenty waves of explosions, with five suits of armor detonating around it in each wave, before the monster finally collapsed."

After Steve finished speaking, he glared at Coulson. "Can I see that?"

Coulson swiftly put the notebook away, then stood and shook Steve’s hand with utmost sincerity. "Captain, you are a combat hero! You always have been!"

Meanwhile, Schiller put down the phone and said, "You should thank me. Presbyterian Hospital has one opening left. Who do you want to put in it?"

"Who do you think is most likely to be injured?"

"Then Stark. After all, he controlled armor that self-destructed. It’s perfectly normal for him to get grazed by shrapnel. I’ll call the dean later and have him organize an Expert Consultation. The reimbursement form for the consultation fees will be sent over shortly. As for the hospitalization expenses…"

Natasha said, "Same old rules. The highest-grade room, the highest-grade care. Oh, do you know any particularly skilled doctors? Have one accompany him the whole time. We’ll pay his consultation fees by the hour."

"As it happens, I know a rather excellent neurosurgeon. Of course, he has only one flaw: his fees are rather high. Oh, no, that should be an advantage now…"

That evening, Coulson came in. Natasha and two other agents followed behind him, carrying a huge stack of forms.

Schiller rubbed his hands together. "Let me see. This should be today’s spoils of war, right? How did things go on Nick’s side?"

"Director Nick cursed out everyone present. Those generals couldn’t even find an opening to get a word in. He berated the military from top to bottom, from their unauthorized diversion of military funds to develop dangerous biological weapons to their disregard for safety protocols and private expansion of their arsenal."

"He cursed them for at least six hours without repeating a single sentence. His voice was practically carved into the walls of the Congressional meeting room…"

"And the military didn’t talk back?"

Natasha rested one hand on the documents and put the other on her hip. "Why do you think Nick never got along with General Robert? Because General Robert was usually the only one who could talk back. Now that he’s dead, the rest are just wooden posts who came out of military academies. All they can do is take the scolding."

Coulson shook his head. "The military really lost face this time. The monster they secretly created caused such a huge commotion that Congress couldn’t possibly ignore it. The Director used the opportunity to take another bite out of them."

"That missing extraterrestrial experimental subject also gave him a great excuse. Nick insisted that the military stole it from S.H.I.E.L.D. In truth, the congressmen had their suspicions too. S.H.I.E.L.D. lost something, and then the military came up with a monster. No matter how you looked at it, the two were connected."

"Wouldn’t they question S.H.I.E.L.D.’s security measures?"

"Security measures? Since when did S.H.I.E.L.D. have those?"

"That was just an excuse, right?" Schiller asked. "That Symbiote didn’t actually escape from your place… Wait, did it?"

Natasha shrugged. "Then nobody knows. The entire Department of Dangerous Biological Containment died together last December. Then, when funds got tight in March this year, they died again."

All right, Schiller thought. It no longer mattered where Venom had come from. What he was looking forward to now was seeing what Venom would become after having Stark as a host.

A moment later, Nick’s voice came over the intercom again. "No, the accounts still don’t balance! Think of something, now! Come up with more!"

Natasha and Coulson complained together. They had already used every idea they could think of. They had even come up with ridiculous excuses like spending money to prevent the plague because a few rats had died in the streets.

Schiller rolled up his sleeves. "I have a good idea. At the very least, it can balance your books for an entire year."

Natasha and Coulson both looked at him. Natasha said, "You may not understand, Doctor…"

"Actually, I think you could find a way to approve a legal sanatorium license for me, then regularly send batches of agents driven mad by work pressure here to recuperate."

"Recuperation always requires beds and medication. Naturally, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents serve the country so diligently, so the standards for their wards and beds certainly can’t be low. And naturally, the medicine must be the best."

"A psychiatric sanatorium differs from an ordinary hospital. Our goal is to help patients attain relaxed and peaceful states of mind. At the very least, we need a spa, a gym, and a yoga and meditation Lounge."

"Of course, those are merely the basics. To achieve better treatment results, we’ll also need a riding ground, an animal park, a golf course…"

"Of course, those facilities alone won’t be enough. Many activities must be carried out under professional guidance. For instance, yoga masters from India, meditation masters from the Himalayas, world equestrian champions, zoologists, naturalists, race car drivers, and so on."

"I know, I know. It may cost a little much, but these agents have bled and sweated for their country. They deserve it."

"Of course, the location can’t be too far away either. I think the New York City area would be perfect. Such a large plot of land is indeed expensive, but it’s convenient."

"Of course, considering that New York isn’t exactly peaceful, the construction standards must meet at least Level 10 earthquake resistance. We can’t have ordinary people design the buildings either. They must be world-class architectural artists. And the construction team can’t be sloppy. What’s the name of the largest construction company in America? I think their building quality should be decent."

"A ribbon-cutting ceremony after completion is also essential. If some gentleman on Capitol Hill is willing to loosen his purse strings, we can invite the media over and let him show his face."

"We would gladly welcome all political parties to come here and deliver speeches of support. After all, these are genuine warriors who have served their country. If they want their support, surely they can’t skimp on donations?"

"Of course, if they donate enough, we can give them the position of honorary dean. You know, I wouldn’t mind…"

As soon as Schiller finished, Nick Fury’s roar came through the intercom on Coulson’s belt. "Coulson! Get him into my office within ten minutes!! Immediately!! Right now!!"

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