Marvel: A Lazy-Ass Superman

Chapter 384: Chapter 384 — Preparing to Release

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When a case lacks sufficient evidence—or worse, when the order itself is flawed—what can be done?

Obviously, you release the suspect.

What else? Fabricate evidence out of thin air and force a conviction?

If the person involved were an insignificant nobody, a social outcast, it might be easy enough to bend the rules—plant some evidence, make them disappear, and be done with it. Don’t fool yourself into thinking the FBI is some bastion of pure justice. They’re perfectly capable of playing dirty.

But unfortunately, this was not such a person.

The man in question was not someone public authority could casually crush. He had a high-profile lawyer at his side and belonged squarely to the category the FBI hated dealing with the most. Worse still, everyone involved knew full well that what they’d done was deeply improper—and they had no idea how to placate him.

After hanging up on Nick Fury, Owen Davis didn’t even have time to think about how to curse his old war buddy. His mind was racing, focused entirely on damage control.

He reviewed the subject’s file—what little of it they had—and gradually formed a plan.

Owen Davis decided to personally go to the interrogation room, where the suspect and his attorney were being temporarily held.

To be honest, the sheer absurdity of the situation was something Owen Davis had never encountered in his entire career.

The suspect didn’t know what crime he had supposedly committed. The lawyer had nothing to defend against. The organization that had issued the shoot-on-sight and arrest orders couldn’t produce a single piece of legal evidence. And after repeated inquiries, all they got back was one phrase:

> ”Administrative error.”

The end result was that the FBI—who had actually arrested the man—had no idea what to do next, while the suspect and his lawyer sat across from each other in silence inside an interrogation room.

On FBI turf, even they didn’t dare speak too freely.

After all, this wasn’t some dirt-poor nobody, nor a welfare-dependent citizen barely scraping past the tax threshold.

This was the hottest man in Hollywood right now.

Of course, that ”heat” wasn’t from newspapers or tabloids—it was from private industry chatter. Film-grade digital imaging technology had disrupted countless people’s livelihoods and stirred up even more envy and greed.

Faced with someone like that, Owen Davis didn’t even consider pushing the blame onto his subordinates.

None of them could take the fall. In the end, it would all come back to him.

Better to face it head-on.

And with Tony Stark backing the man—if that young master decided to personally step in—the situation would escalate to the point where the FBI Director himself would have to fly in from Washington, D.C.

Guess who’d be the one getting cut down then?

The key to breaking the deadlock, as Owen Davis saw it, was this:

The opponent was careful—

the incident where one of his agents had been outplayed and forced into reassignment in Alaska was still fresh in his memory. Even though those two agents resigned shortly after, it had left a permanent blemish on his record.

—but the man was not someone skilled at wielding power.

He wasn’t old money.

He had extraordinary abilities, yes—but his mindset was still that of someone from the bottom: cautious, afraid of trouble, unwilling to escalate.

This didn’t mean people from privileged backgrounds weren’t afraid of trouble. The difference was that they could afford to pay to make trouble go away—lawyers, settlements, scapegoats.

As a result, they behaved far more recklessly.

Fortunately, this man wasn’t like that.

With a lawyer present, intimidation was off the table. But there were still perfectly legal ways to make someone back off once they understood the cost.

Having made up his mind, Owen Davis ordered the necessary documents prepared. He straightened his appearance in front of a mirror, put on the posture of authority, and entered the long-silent interrogation room with his subordinates.

He introduced himself first.

”Owen Davis. Assistant Special Agent in Charge, FBI Los Angeles Field Office.”

He extended his hand—not to Henry Brown, but to the attorney.

They shook hands formally. Only then did he give Henry Brown a perfunctory handshake.

The lawyer did not object to this subtle slight, which made the underlying implication unmistakable.

In Owen Davis’s eyes, that was a small win.

Everyone sat.

The seasoned FBI regional head had no intention of letting the lawyer dictate the tempo. He spoke first:

”Mr. Brown, allow me to offer my apologies for the inconvenience and the time you’ve lost.”

”After verification, we’ve confirmed that the nationwide manhunt order attached to your name was the result of an administrative error by another agency. Criminal records belonging to a different mutant were mistakenly assigned to you and erroneously uploaded into the national law enforcement system.”

”That mistake led to this incident.”

”Once you sign this statement, you’ll be free to leave.”

As he spoke, a sharp-looking agent placed a document on the table and slid it forward.

It was a declaration stating that the detainee had not been subjected to improper treatment.

Law enforcement agencies were wary of follow-up disputes; even when they’d done nothing wrong, they preferred to have a liability waiver signed before releasing someone.

The lawyer recognized the routine immediately. He reviewed the document, found nothing problematic—standard clauses and boilerplate language—and placed it in front of Henry, nodding.

Henry didn’t bother with words. He signed his name quickly.

He’d already lost more than enough time to police stations and federal buildings.

”May my client leave now, Director Davis?” the lawyer asked as he stood, buttoning his suit jacket—clearly confident in the outcome.

But Owen Davis didn’t yield.

”Actually, there’s one small matter left to resolve.”

”What matter?” the lawyer asked.

Owen Davis accepted a thicker file from an agent behind him, flipped through it casually, then slid it across the table.

”Searches of crime scenes do not require additional court orders. However, due to the volume of digital equipment involved rather than traditional paper documents, those items were transferred to specialized forensic units.”

”Unfortunately, due to an operational oversight during analysis, all digital equipment seized from Mr. Brown’s residence has been lost.”

”We have assessed the listed items and determined a compensation value.”

”In addition, damages caused during the investigation were also appraised.”

”If Mr. Brown agrees, we can issue a compensation check immediately. You’ll be free to purchase new furniture and equipment.”

The lawyer reviewed the document carefully, found no overt issues in language or format, and passed it to Henry.

Henry read it—and couldn’t help but laugh.

The furniture didn’t matter.

But the compensation list for his equipment?

The highest-valued item was a Stark computer he’d bought four or five years ago—and even that was depreciated.

Everything else lacked a brand name and was classified as worthless scrap.

Not even scrap metal value.

FBI compensation was calculated per item—each worth only a few dollars.

In total, the payout for all confiscated information, audio, and imaging equipment came to less than a thousand dollars.

Seven hundred and change.

More than half of that came from the ancient Stark computer.

All the time, knowledge, and effort Henry had poured into his custom-built systems were deemed worthless.

How could he not laugh?

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