There was a mountain of paperwork involved in filing a class-action lawsuit.
Bella and attorney Jeri Hogarth met with Old Joe and the others one by one, confirming their demands.
Their requests were straightforward: the factory had to pay the elderly workers' pensions on time and in full. If the acquiring company was unwilling to commit to long-term payments, then—given the workers' physical conditions—a one-time lump-sum settlement would also be acceptable.
As for the factory's relocation to Vietnam—what about the current workers' jobs?
There was no solution. Labor in the East was simply cheaper. No one could reasonably force capitalists to use expensive workers when cheap alternatives existed.
This was a massive social issue. Forget rookies like Bella and Jeri—even the president who governed the country via Twitter couldn't solve it.
From a national perspective, the best the government could do was offer tax incentives to encourage companies to hire domestic workers. Whether businesses actually complied was another matter entirely.
Bella couldn't fix a problem of that scale. She wasn't a savior. The current factory workers would have to find their own way forward.
After more than ten days of meetings and coordination, Bella successfully gathered the signatures of fifty-nine retired workers—including Joe, Willie, and Earl—and became their official representative in a class-action civil lawsuit against Wexler Steel Company and the Phoenix branch of Stark Industries, the buyer of the steel mill.
Jeri Hogarth was hungry to make a name for herself. Even without full payment of legal fees, she followed Bella everywhere—visiting each elderly worker, compiling evidence, and preparing for trial.
Meanwhile, Natasha organized large groups of elderly residents to protest in the old town and across both the eastern and western districts of the city.
Bella had no inherited memories, which meant she didn't know her predecessor's classmates or teachers. She was essentially a stranger wearing a local's face, so protest organization and crowd mobilization fell to Natasha.
The elderly couldn't stand under the sun for two hours—that would be a one-way trip to the hospital. So they were simply asked to clock in, walk a short loop each morning, and then head home. Most of the actual marching was handled by nearby students, along with the workers' children and grandchildren.
Slogans like "We want bread, we want jobs" were inappropriate—these people were already in their eighties. Asking them to work would be tantamount to murder.
The protest focused on a single demand: pay the pensions. Never suspend pensions again, for any reason.
With protests and litigation advancing in tandem, the movement quickly gained momentum. The Flight 180 incident had involved only the passengers of a single flight. This time, the protests and lawsuit represented an entire demographic and targeted a multinational corporation. The social impact was on a completely different level.
…
Los Angeles, California.
The super-genius Tony Stark—famed for allegedly building circuit boards at age four, engines at six, and graduating from MIT at seventeen—had just finished seeing off a Hollywood actress whose name he couldn't even remember.
He was always a media darling. Who he dated, which policies he supported, his opinions on New York versus L.A. politicians, which sports team he favored—every time he stepped outside his villa, reporters swarmed him with every ridiculous question imaginable.
This was normal. For someone like Tony Stark, not being questioned by reporters would have been abnormal.
If the female reporter was attractive, Tony might answer a question or two. If not—he ignored them outright.
But today, a new kind of question slipped into the chaos.
"Mr. Stark, what do you think about swallowing the pensions of elderly workers? Where exactly did those pension funds go? You enjoy society's top resources while leaving seniors homeless—don't you feel guilty?"
What kind of nonsense was this? Opinions? What opinions was he supposed to have?
People insulted him in every creative way imaginable. Without a second thought, he opened the car door and sped off.
He didn't care—because the problem felt too distant.
But as the situation spread from Arizona to California, tens of thousands of industrial workers grew alarmed.
Retirees feared their pensions would be seized. Current workers feared that once they retired—snap—their pensions would vanish as well.
Who could tolerate that?
Management didn't take it seriously. Too many individuals and companies tried suing Stark Industries. If the corporation reacted strongly to every lawsuit, the executives would never get any real work done.
"Someone's suing us? Fine—forward it to legal. Let them handle it."
Stark Industries wasn't worried.
Their competitors, however, were delighted.
Behind protests in California, Nevada, New Mexico, Colorado, and several other states were various rival corporations fanning the flames.
Bella even received an anonymous check for ten thousand dollars.
The message was clear: Hurry up. Keep going.
…
Phoenix City Court.
Bella, dressed formally and wearing a calm expression, sat at the plaintiff's table. Attorney Jeri Hogarth sat beside her.
Across from them were the representatives and lawyers for Wexler Steel and the Phoenix branch of Stark Industries.
Old Joe and the others filled the gallery behind them as observers.
Beside the judge and the clerk sat twelve jurors.
The bearded judge struck his gavel, announcing the start of the hearing. Attorney Hogarth immediately launched into her sharp, impassioned opening statement.
"I represent fifty-nine elderly workers. Today, we formally bring suit against Wexler Steel Company and Stark Industries.
History must not be forgotten. I hope history remembers this day—this very moment.
Our predecessors labored tirelessly and selflessly for the war effort. And now, in their twilight years, these companies are so miserly that they seek to take away even the meager pensions owed to them.
And what about us?
When we grow old—what will we have to rely on?
When I lose the ability to stand in this courtroom, when every member of this jury is forced out of the workforce by age and illness—and if our pensions are frozen at that moment—what should we do?
Should we beg? Should we kneel at the gates of Stark Industries and ask for a scrap of bread?
The law—the law is our weapon. It is our protection.
We are not begging. We are not asking Mr. Tony Stark or Mr. Obadiah Stane to play saints and toss us scraps.
What we demand is dignity—the dignity to live out the final years of our lives with honor in a civilized society!"
Jeri Hogarth was still young and inexperienced—but her voice trembled with genuine passion.