When Thea entered the conference room, she saw more than a dozen people already seated. The chair in the middle was empty, but at the head of the left row sat Walter Steele—a Black gentleman she had seen once at the funeral. In the future, he would marry Moira and become Thea's stepfather. She wasn't sure if Westerners had a word for "marrying into the wife's family," but one way or another, this man would be living under the same roof with her and her mother for years to come.
Describing a Black man as "gentle as jade" sounded odd, yet Walter truly had that calm, refined presence. He gave Thea an encouraging look, warm and kind, like an elder welcoming a younger relative.
Although this was technically her own family's company, it wasn't hers yet. Today she was just here to show her face, so she couldn't act cold or arrogant. Returning Walter's gesture, she smiled politely.
"Mr. Steele, it's a pleasure to meet you."
"Please, call me Walter," he said, clearly a bit surprised by her politeness. In his impression, this girl had always been distant toward everyone except Robert. A normal, civil conversation like this had only ever happened in very private settings before.
Moira, standing nearby, was almost glowing with happiness. Her daughter was calmly speaking to her boyfriend—surely a good sign! Recently she'd been deliberately avoiding Walter, terrified her unpredictable daughter might stumble upon something inappropriate and have a mental breakdown.
After all, Thea was only fifteen—her father and brother had just died. If Moira told her, "Oh, by the way, your dad isn't who you thought he was, and now I'm remarrying," anyone would go insane. Honestly, if she were in Thea's shoes, she'd have checked herself straight into Arkham Asylum. But seeing her daughter now—strong, composed, maybe that resilience really was Malcolm's genes at work.
Moira started introducing everyone in the room. "This is the head of Administration… this is Finance…" Round after round of introductions later, Thea realized Walter was still only Vice President. She could've sworn he was supposed to become CEO, with Moira handling Finance. Did I remember wrong—or did history just… shift a little?
Soon her own role was announced—Assistant to the CEO, which was the polite way of saying personal secretary. And the CEO? None other than her mother.
Her memory wasn't wrong. In the original timeline, Moira and Walter's relationship had progressed rapidly—from colleagues, to friends, to lovers, to marriage—leveling up daily like some sort of late-life rom-com. The board had approved Walter as CEO once the "couple" was official.
But because Malcolm's secret had been exposed early, Moira had been focused on comforting Thea, keeping Walter at a distance. Their relationship hadn't reached that stage yet. And, truth be told, Moira didn't want her charming teenage daughter working directly under her own boyfriend. Things were complicated enough already—no need to stir the pot further.
So, after much consideration, Moira had taken the position herself, reluctantly. She had no passion for the job but would endure it for her daughter's sake.
The meeting that followed was mind-numbingly dull—requests for budget increases, talks of staff cuts. Not trivial, exactly, but standard corporate chatter.
Moira kept sneaking glances at Thea, worried she'd start fidgeting, yawning, or doodling. But to her delight, Thea sat upright, attentive, jotting notes diligently without a trace of boredom.
A daughter of mine, indeed, Moira thought proudly. Her heart swelled.
After an hour, the meeting finally wrapped up. Moira summarized in her usual formal tone, declaring it "a successful and productive session" and encouraging everyone to "continue working hard for the company."
Just as she was about to adjourn, a narrow-faced, shifty-eyed middle-aged man smiled and said,
"Miss Queen, it's your first time joining one of our meetings. Do you have any insights to share?"
Ah, there it is, Thea thought immediately. This man clearly wasn't on friendly terms with her mother—or with the Queen family at all. A classic trap: if she spoke well, they'd call her arrogant; if she misspoke, she'd become the punchline. Typical corporate politics, bullying the newcomer.
"Mr. Andre," Thea replied with perfect composure, "I'm new here and still know very little about the company. I couldn't possibly offer any meaningful advice—let alone insights. You flatter me."
He hadn't expected her to sidestep so neatly. This girl's sharper than her playboy brother ever was. Still, he pressed on. "Oh, it's fine—just speak freely. We're all your father's old subordinates, your elders in a way. No one's going to laugh at you." He chuckled, pretending to be magnanimous.
No one's going to laugh? Thea felt her temper flare. You're already calling it a joke before I even open my mouth!
She flipped open her notebook, scanning her notes. Ah—Andre, head of the Weapons Development Division, a man she'd already marked as problematic. Robert's hiring standards must've been off that day; this guy clearly had issues with the Queen family. Yet he'd somehow lasted three years. That division, though, was critical to her future plans. She couldn't let this man stay.
"Mr. Andre," Thea began evenly, "I don't have any advice to offer—but I do have a question I'd like your help with."
"Of course," he said, forcing a smile.
"In your earlier report, you suggested increasing investment in the Weapons Development Division, correct? I reviewed the company's financial data, and over the past few years, funding for your department has risen annually—by exactly 20% compared to the previous year. Why such a perfect, consistent number?"
Andre relaxed. "Ah, that—there's scientific reasoning behind it. The 20% increase is more or less coincidental, really. I've already explained it to the Vice President." His tone implied this is complicated—too much for a young girl to grasp.
Walter nodded, confirming he'd been briefed.
Thea remained perfectly calm—she'd expected that answer. "Mr. Andre, you've been in charge of the Weapons Division for three years. In those years, your department filed 19 patent applications in 2004, 12 in 2005, and 17 in 2006. That's quite a fluctuation in productivity, isn't it?"
Andre was starting to sense danger but could only double down. "Yes, well, research and development naturally have ups and downs. That's the nature of science."
Thea smiled slightly. "Interesting. Among those, the G-12 Anti-G Suit—a high-G protective uniform—was completed two years ago, correct? Then why, in your current report, is it listed again among this year's research projects with another funding request? Care to explain that, Mr. Andre?"