The restaurant smells of aged wood and expensive whiskey as I slide into the booth across from Nate. The senator sits rigidly on the other side, his custom suit screaming wealth that doesn't quite match his nervous energy. Outside, rain streaks down the window, distorting the city lights into colorful blurs.

"Senator Bancroft, this is our newest member," Nate says with a slight nod in my direction. "They'll be helping with your... situation."

I extend my hand with a practiced smile. "Pleasure to meet you, Senator. I'm Jamie Carter, your liaison for this investigation."

The senator barely glances at my hand before returning his focus to Nate. "I need to be clear about what I'm asking for here. My nephew wasn't just a statistic in your little 'Battle of New York.' He was a person with a future."

Nate's expression hardens. "I lost my son because an insurance company decided his treatment wasn't profitable. I understand loss, Senator. But you're asking us to go up against people with actual superpowers."

"I'm asking you to find the truth," Bancroft insists, leaning forward. "The public has a right to know what really happened to those people who died when the Hulk went on his rampage."

From across the restaurant, I catch Eliot's eye. He's posed as a regular patron at the bar, but his hand rests casually near the concealed weapon at his waist. Sophie sits two tables over, pretending to read a magazine while monitoring the entire room. Somewhere outside, Hardison is in the van, running facial recognition and background checks on everyone within a five-block radius.

The senator slides a manila envelope across the table. Inside are photos of destruction – buildings reduced to rubble, emergency responders carrying injured civilians, and one blurry image that might be the Hulk amid the chaos.

"My nephew was studying architecture at Columbia," Bancroft says quietly. "He stayed to help after classes were canceled. Never came home."

I notice his hands are shaking slightly, and there's something artificial about his grief – a performance for our benefit. Before I can mention it, Nate speaks up.

"We'll take the job," he says, sliding the envelope toward me. "But I need to be clear: we find the truth, whatever it might be. If your 'rampaging monster' turns out to be saving lives rather than taking them..."

"Then I'll publicly apologize," Bancroft interrupts. "But I know what I saw on the news. That thing belongs in a cage."

As he stands to leave, I catch a glimpse of his phone in his pocket – the screen shows a text message from an unknown number with just one word: "Proceed."

Something isn't right here. But before I can process it further, Nate gives me a subtle nod toward the door. The senator is leaving, and we need to regroup.

The weight of the mission settles over me as I slide out of the booth. Infiltrating Stark Industries. Investigating the Hulk. Taking on actual superheroes. This might be the biggest job the team has ever attempted.

And I'm right in the middle of it.