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The adult world is always driven by interests, and Obadiah understands this better than most. From the beginning, his view of Kingpin hasn't changed—no matter how wealthy or well-decorated he may be, Kingpin will never belong on the sa stage as the true elite. This arrogance is deeply ingrained in Obadiah.
Yet, there are monts when Obadiah reins in this arrogance, presenting himself with warmth and equality. But once Kingpin's usefulness fades, that arrogance will resurface. Right now, Obadiah is still in the stage of restraint, recognizing that Kingpin still holds value.
Kingpin is no fool—he knows this dynamic well. What sets him apart from Obadiah is his ability to play along and even tolerate the act. He knows that Obadiah doesn't want him to truly join the ranks of the elite, but the opportunities and interests linked to Obadiah are worth enduring the pretense.
And so, the two hypocritical n began their dance of negotiation and testing.
"Mr. Obadiah, as a major shareholder of a world-class military industrial group, it's an honor to et such a distinguished figure," Kingpin said.
"Even big figures need friends. I'm sure we'll beco good friends," Obadiah replied.
They clinked glasses. After taking a polite sip, Kingpin, with just the right amount of surprise, said, "The richness of this whiskey is truly incredible."
"Whiskey, British Islay, limited edition—valued at six million U.S. dollars," Obadiah remarked nonchalantly, flexing his connections.
Kingpin understood the underlying ssage. Smiling, he added, "If I get to drink this, I believe I'll sleep well tonight."
With a snap of Kingpin's fingers, a man who resembled a butler appeared, carrying an elegant tray. Kingpin picked up a gold-foil cigar from the tray and handed it to Obadiah.
Obadiah took it, a fleeting trace of disdain crossing his eyes before he smiled. "Gurkha Cigars—each priced at 1.36 million U.S. dollars. Hand-rolled from the finest Himalayan tobacco, wrapped in gold foil, and adorned with a 5-carat diamond label, then infused with Remy Martin's Louis XIII Black Pearl."
"During production, all the craftsn are required to work isolated from the world to avoid distractions, ensuring flawless quality," Fisk said with a touch of pride.
Obadiah, appearing mildly impressed, waited patiently as the attendant lit the cigar's tobacco stems for him. Normally, cigars require the cap to be cut off, but this one was a luxury exception, skipping that step entirely. Once the tobacco stems were properly burnt, Obadiah blew gently on it, then took a slow drag, exhaling with satisfaction.
"Perfect," he murmured, clearly enjoying the experience.
Fisk laughed heartily. He followed the sa ritual, though his deanor was far less refined than Obadiah's upper-class presentation. With his scarf and round hat, Fisk embodied the image of a gangster boss—one whose power was built in the shadows. The two n puffed on their cigars in silence, though both knew exactly what was going on beneath the surface.
This exchange, outwardly friendly, was a strategic ga. Obadiah had initially gained the upper hand, steering the conversation with authority. But Fisk, never one to back down, subtly played his own move, rebalancing their power dynamic. It was a careful dance of dominance.
After this brief but tense standoff, the two seed to reach a silent understanding. They had sized each other up, and it was clear that neither was a fool. With that assessnt made, Obadiah decided to cut to the chase.
Removing the cigar from his mouth, he blew out a plu of smoke and flicked the ash off, speaking calmly, "Mr. Fisk, you know my position, and I know yours. I think we share so common ground."
"I'm just not sure if you're interested in Stark Industries' weapons."
Fisk didn't rush to respond, instead offering a hypocritical line, "What did you say? I'm a legitimate businessman."
Obadiah wasn't swayed by the pretense and simply waited in silence for Fisk's real response. After a mont, Fisk leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp, "I want to earn your friendship, Mr. Obadiah."
"Friendship?" Obadiah leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable.
"Who wouldn't want to be your friend, Mr. Obadiah?" Fisk flattered him, before pivoting to a seemingly unrelated topic. "You might also be aware that the mayor of New York will be leaving office in four years."
Obadiah's eyes narrowed slightly at the statent. "Are you planning to run for mayor of New York City?" he asked, taken aback by Fisk's boldness.
The idea stirred sothing in Obadiah. The notion of a cri lord like Fisk running for office, even in a country as unpredictable as the United States, was almost too outrageous to believe.
But when you think about it, it's almost not impossible. Why?
Because aside from his identity as the mafia emperor, Kingpin is publicly known as a billionaire and philanthropist. Every year, Kingpin donates large sums to charity, making frequent appearances on the news and TV. Many New Yorkers know him as a great humanitarian.
If he runs for office, his philanthropic image will definitely be heavily promoted. Generally speaking, there are two processes for electing a mayor: one is a popular election, and the other is an appointnt by the municipal committee.
A popularly elected mayor holds significant power, with executive authority to appoint or remove the city cabinet and the power to veto legislation. On the other hand, an appointed mayor, often referred to as a city manager, is accountable to the committee and lacks those sa executive powers, including veto authority.
If Kingpin were to be elected mayor, his political power might be limited. However, if he were to combine his legitimate authority with his underground influence, he could effectively control both the legal and criminal elents of the city.
When Kingpin ntioned this plan, it was clear he needed the support of soone at Obadiah's level and the backing of the powerful interests behind him. The fact that Kingpin openly shared this idea ant he wasn't afraid of it being leaked.
At that mont, Obadiah realized he had severely underestimated the man sitting in front of him.
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