"Repeat that again," said Tony, completely shocked. And horrified.

The man coughed into his handkerchief, in a bad attempt to hide his amusement. It was an annoying cough, and ominous as well. Two things that the young Stark couldn't stand, at all.

"Here stands that you can succeed the company only if you will live half a year without getting drunk, taking women to your bed, partying or any serious accidents that might leave a stain upon the name Stark. In the meanwhile you cannot use your money you earned from your inventions; you also have to look for a job outside the field of mechanics and engineering. In the meantime, his partner, Obadiah Stane will be left in charge of the company. If you fail to succeed in this, the company shall be sold after the third year."

Tony's eyes darkened, his mouth twisting into a wry smile.

"Howie. Still trying to make my life miserable from across the grave?"

"A moment, mister, I wasn't finished yet. He appointed somebody to be the... Ah, judge of your change of character." A cold feeling started creeping up along his spine; judges never meant good when he was concerned.

"What does that mean?"

"You'll have to live with him as long as he doesn't deem you ready to take over the company."

"Okay, clear as day; he was drunk when he wrote this. Me and another guy? One I don't even know?"

"Well, apparently your father trusts, or rather, had trust that he'll make the right decision about you."

"Yeah, sure. I'm not doing this." The man looked up from the papers, the light of the lamp reflected from his glasses, grey eyes glinting strangely.

"In that case, Mister Stark, I'm sure that the competitors will be more than happy to take over Stark Industries." Tony felt like biting into a lemon. Sure, he didn't give two cents for the company in itself as a heirloom, but ever since (and before) he graduated, it was through the Industries he was able to launch several of his babies. He hadn't considered that. Sentimental it might have been, but it felt like as if he was an ungrateful little bastard. Besides... He owed his mother this much. It was her who talked Howard into at least giving it a try and releasing one of Tony's inventions on the market.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Okay," he said, "So, who is this judge of mine?"

The elderly man grinned, as if he already knew what would be his final answer.

Just how much Tony wanted to punch him in the face...

"Is that it?" he asked, disdained. His companion nodded.

"Yes. Third floor."

"Which door?"

"All of it."

"All? As in..."

"All, yes. He bought the whole level."

"I thought you said he is working as a waiter." The man shrugged.

"Currently. What was he working as two years ago, or whether he has some other part-time job, or just some connections, none of that is my concern. It's his now."

"Oh, well," Tony mumbled, climbing out of the car, "Here goes nothing."

There was no lift. No surprise, really. Only three floors and it was a really old house. Yet, why make him climb when he didn't want to come here in the first place?

He knocked, not failing to notice the strange knife-made carvings at the bottom of the door, reminding him of the symbols he once saw at a Satanist ritual from long time ago, when he was very, very drunk.

Fantastic. So, not only his would-be-judge, but a weirdo for sure, and a possible Satanist.

The floor creaked inside then the rattle of chains could be heard, before upon opening, it revealed a man with tied back black hair, a good head taller than the engineer. Tony would've sooner claimed him to be a vampire than a human being.

"Tony Stark," he said, offering his hand, a small smile playing on his lips which made him appear to be all the more predatorish, "It's nice to meet you."

Yes. Howard does want to make your life miserable. Or just make you to learn some humbleness.

A shorter chapter than I actually wanted it to be.