Collins
The mirrored doors of the elevator slid closed. Collins assessed himself before selecting the sixty-fifth floor. His tie was straight, his jacket perfect. Sometimes it felt restrictive, but it was a uniform like any other. He just wasn’t used to wearing it yet.
Black-tie affairs were par for the course when you grew up the son of one of America’s richest businessmen. But he’d fallen out of the habit during college. Unfortunately, jeans weren’t exactly acceptable for the CEO of a major energy company. Not when everyone already thought he was an underqualified joke. He frowned at himself as the digital floor number ticked downward. They’d fall in line soon enough.
Collins didn’t blame them—the average twenty-two-year-old couldn’t tell the difference between a bank ledger and a takeout receipt, but you’d think he would get some credit.
After the global power outage three years ago, Collins had been part of the team that got the world moving again. No one had expected a bunch of teenage gamers to be useful, much less instrumental, but they definitely changed their tunes after the battle in Jackson. He’d been to hell and back in those few short months. He’d gone to prison on trumped-up charges and then plotted and flawlessly executed a daring escape. He’d lost his parents—something he wished he could forget. But when a call to arms had gone out, he had personally defended an uplink tower in the final battle and commanded a small army.
Honestly, the role of business tycoon didn’t feel like much of a change. It was still about control and strategy. There was an art to leading, and he’d always had a knack for it.
After his parents’ death and the power-grid uplink, Collins had allowed himself to concentrate on moving forward. He’d spent his days juggling his new guardianship role with finishing his degree from Georgetown. He tried whenever possible to be a great older brother to his little sister Serah. She deserved someone present and attentive.
He spent his nights venturing out and getting lost in the DC night life. Clubs full of pretty girls who didn’t ask for more than he could give were the perfect medicine following the grid war.
His father’s company sat on the back burner for three years. As far as Psionic was concerned, Collins was a silent investor.
Of course, then he’d seen the headlines and had known it was time to take over. The interim CEO had left Psionic in shambles, and the board of directors planned on parceling up the different revenue streams and selling them off to the highest bidder.
At Psionic headquarters he’d slogged through endless meetings on how to resuscitate his failing company. His blood pressure spiked as he remembered the blatant disrespect his directors had shown in the last meeting, and he took a deep, calming breath. The stress of the job might have been getting to him, but the Arcadian army had taught him how to lead through the uncertainty of what lay ahead.
The elevator doors announced his arrival, and he strode toward the executive conference room. Collins would lead Psionic out of the wreckage. He just needed everyone else to understand his word was law.
His CFO, Rob Wilkins, stopped mid-sentence when Collins entered the room and stood up as if to halt him. “Julian—”
Collins stared hard at the older man. He’d always hated his first name. He only tolerated a select few who dared to say it, and Wilkins didn’t make the cut.
“I mean—Mr. Collins, your attendance isn’t necessary. This is a review meeting to discuss the quarterly performance of our business units.”
Wilkins’s pinched expression spoke volumes, but Collins couldn’t care less.
“That’s why I’m here,” Collins said, sinking into a chair and undoing the button on his suit jacket. He flipped open a leather-bound notebook and pulled out a pen. “I’d like to discuss the Special Projects division.”
“That isn’t really what these meetings are about—”
“You just said we’re here to review business units, didn’t you? I’d say part of reviewing involves gathering information. Or are you in here just to tell each other what a great job you’re all doing?”
The room tensed, and that air of discomfort made Collins grin. One glare was particularly seething, and it was from the director of Special Projects, Cid Harvey. Of the staff, Cid was by far Collins’s least favorite. He was a short, bald man with a red face and a bad temper. He’d been one of Collins’s most outspoken naysayers since he’d taken over.
Collins hoped to knock him down a few pegs. “First off, Cid, how many special projects would you say the division manages?”
“Dozens,” Cid said simply.
“Can you list some of them for us?” Collins asked.
“As I’ve told you before, Mr. Collins, special projects are strictly classified,” Cid said, shaking his head.
Collins grinned, not hiding his disbelief. “But they aren’t really, right?”
The man’s face turned blotchy with rage. “Excuse me?”
“No one mandates they be classified,” Collins said. “We don’t currently hold any contracts with the government, so legally, there’s nothing stopping us from discussing them.”
Directors began shifting in their seats as the tension rose in the room. Collins glanced around, amused that no one met his eye.
Cid said, “It’s company proprietary information. Someone must have a need to know. I’m afraid not even you have that, sir.” The title of respect clearly meant anything but.
“And I take it you’re the one that makes that call?”
“I am.”
His father had been the CEO and a major shareholder, second only to the former UN Vice President, Nathan Gamble. He hadn’t wanted to follow in the footsteps of his father, Jasper Collins. In fact, in the past few years Collins had only done one thing for the company. He had procured the late Gamble’s shares as soon as the probate court had liquidated the estate and released them for sale, securing an uncontested majority for the Collins family.
“I not only have a need to know, Mr. Harvey, but a right to know,” Collins said. “Let’s talk numbers, shall we? Your revenue is shit. And your expenses? Through the roof. I’ve gone back over a decade in the records, and your division has never turned a profit.”
“Some things aren’t about profit,” Cid countered.
“Oh, I agree,” Collins said. “But you see, that’s for me to determine. Not you. This is my company.”
“Your father gave me the green light to start this division,” Cid said. “Furthermore, only the board of directors can cease the operations of a division, and as you are well aware, I am on the board.”
Collins smirked. “I’m aware, but you’re not the only member, and if I recall, the board wanted to call it quits only months ago and sell off everything, your division included. But then I cut a check, buying up all the equity and getting us out of the red.
“My job is to make Psionic lucrative for shareholders like myself. It would be professionally irresponsible for me to let you continue to burn through stacks of my money without looking into it further.”
“How wonderful it must be to be in such a powerful position for no reason other than who your father was,” Cid said.