NOVEL NEXT Chapter 139: Authority
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Excerpt – Presidential Briefing Document, Sec. 4.3:
41% of infrastructure-class He³ freighters—including all models over 20 years old—rely on Binary Systems' Twin-Sun reactors. Though non-modular and requiring proprietary training before hardware burn-in, these dual-core engines remain unmatched in long-haul plasma stability. Their continued viability, now dependent on Claire Stone's oversight following Hiram Stone's abrupt retirement, is in question and may warrant external review.
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November 30th, 2090, about 1:00 pm MST, Montana City
Claire sat in the conference room, her hands folded neatly on the polished table. She didn't fidget. She didn't lean back in her chair or let her expression waver. Years of training—training she'd tried to forget, training she'd hoped she'd never need—settled over her like a second skin.
"Miss Claire," the acting chair of the board began, his voice slow and deliberate. "I trust you understand the significance of this meeting?"
She nodded, but her words were measured. "I do. I also understand this wasn't my decision."
A few members exchanged uneasy glances. One cleared his throat. "Gordon has made his position clear. He has declined the CEO role. Permanently." The word hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. "He also made it clear that you were his designated representative. The board. . . reviewed this decision and determined it was within his rights to appoint you to speak in his place. What we didn't expect—" He hesitated, adjusting his glasses. "—was to consider you as his successor."
Claire's stomach clenched, but her face didn't betray her. "I wasn't aware that was on the table," she said evenly, though she could feel the weight of her father's shadow pressing down on her, suffocating in its inevitability.
"It is now," the acting chair said simply. "With Gordon's outright refusal, the company requires leadership. Effective immediately."
"You're making a decision this big based on a single meeting?" Claire asked, her tone calm but sharp. "With all due respect, this feels like a knee-jerk reaction to Gordon's rejection."
Another board member leaned forward, his expression cold. "Miss Claire, this is not a reaction. This is a contingency. You were raised for this, just as Gordon was. Trained for it, just as Gordon was. The difference is—" he glanced briefly at the empty chair where Hiram's projection would have been, then back at her, "—you haven't walked away from your responsibility."
That stung. She hated how much it stung, but she didn't let it show.
"Gordon isn't walking away from his responsibility," Claire said uncertainly. "He's staying on as Head of Audits, a role he's uniquely suited for and one the company desperately needs him in. He made the right choice for himself and for Binary Systems."
"And now you have a choice to make," the acting chair cut in. "Your father raised both of you to lead this company. Gordon has declined. That leaves you."
The words hit her like a hammer, though she'd seen it coming from the moment she stepped into the room. It didn't make it easier. She'd always been the spare. Always the one standing just behind Gordon, filling the gaps, never stepping into the spotlight. And she'd been fine with that, even if she'd never thought it would last.
"This isn't a choice," she said quietly, her voice steady but low. "It's an obligation."
"We need your decision."
"I will take up the role," she admitted. "But without my father to weigh in you lack the votes to elect me."
"As fifteen-percent shareholder with restricted shares, I support her bid for the position," came Gordon's voice. His projection flickered where her father's often would have been. She smirked slightly, vaguely unsurprised. Such a dominance move would wait until he'd given up his claim.
"The aye's have it," the acting chair concluded with the faintest nod, as if the outcome had been a foregone conclusion.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Claire felt like crying.
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Karen didn't say anything at first.
She just watched the way Claire stood—molten and alive, surrounded by scurrying trustees and assistants.
This was her element.
Claire stood with her back to the windows, light catching in the pale twist of her braid and the gold phoenix pin that held it in place. The hairpin was new, and sparkled in copper and citrine. As did the rest of her jewelry—simple, citrine. Fire, at the right angle. All to match Harry's ring.. One gem at her throat, two at her ears. In the sunlight, they didn't glitter. They glowed.
Karen watched, remembering her friend from elementary school, through college—she had never been this angry. And it was all for her.
Her eyes began to pour freely.
"Ms. Summer," thundered her best friend,
"—it is my understanding that, due to this call from my father—"
She pulled up the damning clip, its image projecting cleanly above the table. It had already gone viral. It hardly needed repeating.
"—my friend Karen has lost her place in your master's program.
In flagrant violation of educational ethics."
The troll—Karen corrected herself—the asshole from advising looked furious. Key-your-car, call-all-your-contacts-and-tell-them-your-sex-life fury. And she couldn't do anything, any more than Karen could have.
This was reparations.
This was justice.
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"You thrust this on me," Claire said. "I didn't want it any more than you did. I never did."
"You knew I couldn't do it," he noted.
That had been an awkward conversation.
"Yes," she admitted. "But you were supposed to buy me two more years, Gordon. This wasn't supposed to come up until you turned thirty."
"I'm sorry," he said sadly. "I couldn't think of what else to do."
"Karen was mildly concussed," Claire mentioned. "She thought you did this as a gesture of love."
Gordon winced.
"A grand gesture indeed, giving up your birthright all because someone hit her. Foolish, and she felt so guilty, but she was also so happy."
"And?"
"And someday she'll realize that cutting ties just makes going to Mars that much easier for you. I SWEAR if you do not communicate an unambiguous choice to her THIS WEEKEND I will skin you."
Gordon turned to leave.
"And Gordon?" asked Claire. "We both know you didn't realize that was a benefit you'd reap until later. I think you DO love her. And you need to tell her."
Gordon paused, his hand on the doorframe, but he didn't turn around. "I'll think about it," he said softly, before stepping out and letting the door swing shut behind him.
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"I'm sorry," said Marie. "I really am. I didn't know they'd force you to take his place."
Claire hesitated.
She wasn't feeling generous.
Marie had never quite been a friend—but she'd been solid. A good co-worker. Professional. Decent. And she'd clearly been trying to help Gordon. Or maybe Karen.
Claire still hadn't decided how she felt about that complication.
"I'm too tired to comment," she said finally. "Please just loop me in next time you foray into politics, yeah?"
Marie gave a small laugh, quick and nervous. "Soon, maybe that'll be business as usual for us."
Claire blinked.
Wait—what?
Marie's voice turned soft. Measured. Uncharacteristically unsure.
"I'm most of the way through applying for my Earth visa. American, specifically. I just have to pass PT and biometrics."
A pause.
"I. . . haven't told Gordon. I don't know if I'll pass. But I'm trying. And if it works out—"
Hell of a time for it, thought Claire.
Dammit. I'd hoped they'd broken up. Or. . . something. But I don't hate her either. Not quite.
Marie gave a lopsided attempt at a smile. "Then I guess you'll be seeing a lot more of me."
Claire forced a grin. It felt brittle. "Lucky me."
Marie didn't rise to it.
"Hopefully," she said instead. "I'll try not to surprise you with anything else. Shouldn't be too much left that can surprise us out there anymore. . . ."