Collins laughed wryly. “Thanks. Yeah, it’s great.”
What a prick.
“I may not be able to boot you off the board of directors, but if you keep testing me, you’ll see how quickly I can take away your authority and your division. I could easily give it to someone else to manage. Since there’s no legal reason to restrict your classified projects, I’ll expect a data transfer by the end of the day.”
Cid’s rage smoldered as a flicker of doubt crossed his face. Little Napoleon couldn’t bear to lose his kingdom. “What exactly do you want?”
“Everything. All your files,” Collins said. “That’s all.” He stood and walked to the door, shaking his head in amusement at the shared anger in the room. They all hated him, but he didn’t need people to like him. He knew he was right. There was something fishy about the Special Projects division, and he would dig until he found it.
“As for the rest of you, you’re doing just great,” he said, closing the door with a satisfying click.
* * *
In a building full of people who didn’t think him fit to lead, Collins had one loyal employee, and her name was Edith Jenkins. He had known her since he was young. He’d played handheld games in the lobby near her desk while his dad had worked behind closed doors, too busy for his son to even sit in the same room as him.
Edith was in her early sixties, but her dark skin had a youthful golden glow.
She started speaking the moment the elevator doors slid open. “So, I hear you’ve been terrorizing the staff downstairs, son.”
Collins whistled. “Word travels fast. It beat me up here, and I only had to go five floors.”
“I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere,” Edith said, giving him an all-knowing look and pouring him a mug of coffee. It smelled like heaven. “You’d make more friends with honey.”
He laughed and leaned against the high partition that encircled her desk, taking a big sip out of his mug. “I’m not looking to make any friends. Speaking of which, did you call her?”
“Miss Margot—”
“Margot won’t be there. Did you call Quinn?”
“I called her.”
“And?”
“She said she’s coming.”
“Did you tell her it starts at five?” Collins asked.
She tutted and shook her finger. “Your schedule says five thirty.”
“Yes, ma’am. I needed you to lie to her,” he said.
“I told her five,” Edith said, shaking her head.
He grinned. “Excellent. Cid is sending me all his secrets later. Will you notify me when the data transfer arrives?”
“Yes, son, you know I will.”
“One more thing,” he said. “Could you call her back after lunch and remind her about tonight?”
“You’re going to make her mad,” Edith tsked.
“I always do,” Collins said. “Have a great lunch.”
He refilled his mug and entered his office.
Every time he walked into this room a strange feeling washed over him. Memories of visiting his father would assault him and the ache of loss always hit deep.
They’d had two houses growing up, one in Richmond, Virginia and the other in Westport, Connecticut, but this office was where his father had lived. When Collins searched the sidelines through his soccer games, it was for a dad who’d been sitting here. When he’d accepted awards at school and looked out to have his picture snapped by his mother, there’d always been an empty seat beside her. Jasper Collins’s schedule never had room for something so mundane.
Before coming to Psionic, Collins had almost convinced himself that he was over his parents’ deaths, or as over them as anyone could ever get. He’d go through the motions of life—making sure Serah ate her vegetables, tagging up with his friends, or writing another term paper—and he would forget that technically he was an orphan. He would forget about what happened to them—about finding them in that basement.
Collins had moved on from it. Or he thought he had. But this building, this office—it brought it all back. He had thought he’d forgiven his dad, not because his father deserved it, but because he’d died. Still, Collins carried years of resentment and anger inside him.
He closed his eyes and tried to relax in this office that didn’t quite feel like his. He didn’t regret strong-arming Cid whatsoever. Being in charge meant making tough decisions, and he was willing to make a few enemies to save his father’s legacy. He’d do what he had to. He was catching up on his emails when a glint of metal caught his eye.
He crossed to the massive bookshelf that sat opposite his desk. Awards and costly decorations—items his father had displayed to convey his own importance—were scattered amongst the books and other objects. On the upper-middle shelf, a statue of Lady Justice had something sitting atop her scales that Collins hadn’t seen in years. It was a metal tie clip, pointed like the tip of an arrow. His father had always worn it. Collins had often stared at it when Jasper had been getting on his case.
Without giving it much thought, he plucked it off the shelf and put it on. An odd sensation passed through him, settling into his stomach as heavy disappointment. He thought it would feel like his father had passed him the reins to continue his work, but it was just a stupid tie clip.
Still—it made him look the part.
* * *
Part of his job was rubbing elbows with the movers and shakers of the city. It was common for meetings to eat up the entire day. Onlookers might think this was a waste of time and company resources, but it was one of the most productive parts of his job. If the right people owed you favors, then you could move mountains.
That’s why Collins had spent his lunch hour with Dimitri Russo, a powerful man with a hearty appetite and a loud mouth. The meal with Russo had grated on his nerves. The man knew everyone, but he was unpleasant to be around. Russo’s support would sway some contracts with the power board in his favor, though, come bidding season, so Collins tolerated the buffoon. That’s what networking entailed—firm handshakes, tailored suits, and winning smiles. All it took was a well-practiced pitch and a joke daring enough to catch attention, but appropriate enough that no one felt guilty for laughing. It was a balancing act, and Collins was good at it.
Climbing into the backseat of his town car after lunch, he pulled up the large user interface to direct it back to Psionic Enterprises. Along the way he detoured past the reconstruction of the UN Capitol Building. It was a sign that life was moving on.
He was tired and regretted how late he’d stayed up the night before, though it hadn’t been by choice. He’d been having a hard time sleeping for months. Maybe it was because this was his first real job, or maybe it was being reminded of his father every day, but when he lay down to rest at night, he’d stare at the ceiling and beg for sleep to come.
He tried to shut his brain down, but it was an effort in futility. So, he’d get up and log on to Arcadian Fortress. Some games called groups of players “guilds” while others called them “linkshells,” but to Collins the Knights of Arcadia were simply his friends. The team consisted of himself, the commander and the most important among them; Simon Harper, the team’s medic, Collins’s best friend, and a field agent for the United Nations Investigation Department; Troy Wallace, a talented soldier both in the game and now in real life; Malachi Weiss, their sniper and a certified conspiracy loon; and Riya Kapoor, their rookie, who also happened to be Simon’s girlfriend and fellow UNID operative.