NOVEL NEXT Chapter 30: Hiram Flashback
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Hiram: When your enemies gather and plot against you, do you know what the most vitally important asset in your toolbox becomes?
Claire: A seat at the table.
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Monday, November 11th, 2091, about 2:00 pm MST, Montana City
Hiram started speaking without preamble. "I'm told your stream has become more successful."
He sat next to Claire and Gordon as they ate their breakfast, watching Marie's stream. Unlike Gordon, Marie kept her chat constantly visible—its scrolling text in one of the upper corners. Gordon couldn't help but notice the same few names—Randoon_the_wizard, among others—kept popping up. On his own chat, he had regulars, including that particular one, but not as many—certainly not this many. It appeared her chat was composed nearly entirely of these familiar names, or else those who weren't regulars were staying suspiciously silent.
Had she driven off most of the casual viewers? Or was something else happening here?
As he watched, Gordon began to notice a pattern. Marie seemed to be regularly flustered by things her chat was saying. The timing, the wording—it wasn't just random conversation. Her chat was baiting her, fishing for those reactions, and she was giving them exactly what they wanted. Gordon wasn't sure if he was jealous of the attention she commanded or just relieved that his own chat didn't treat him like that. Certainly, it was a different dynamic. While Claire sometimes played to her audience—"Fire or ice, guys?" she'd ask with a dramatic pose—Marie wasn't playing at all. She was reacting, and they were guiding those reactions.
For his part, Gordon's chat had a much lower-stress rhythm. He would just respond verbally whenever someone said something worth acknowledging—"Oh yeah, I probably—no worries," or "I hadn't heard of that dungeon, that sounds like a great idea." Sometimes he fielded questions, sometimes a quarter-hour would pass with nothing in particular happening. It was relaxed. He'd never had such a concentrated mass of regulars, nor the overwhelming intensity that Marie's stream seemed to draw. He wasn't sure whether he should feel envious or vindicated.
"We've been hitting new milestones," he told his dad. "I believe forty-five-thousand simultaneous viewers was the most recent one."
"Very good. Now, I'm given to understand that with streamers of your caliber, sponsorships are much desired. Is that right?"
"Yes, Father," Claire said. "I'd been considering tossing the idea around with the group soon. I didn't really expect things to blow up this fast after the internet got hold of Gallant."
"Quite well. Here's what we're going to do," her father said. "I'll have Baird write something up. He'll schedule appointments with appropriate streaming providers and ensure you're getting the best possible terms. I can't have my daughter—my only daughter—signing something predatory."
Claire exhaled sharply and set her fork down with a little more force than necessary. The tension in her posture had been building, and now it was practically humming. Gordon wasn't sure if their dad noticed or if he was deliberately ignoring it.
"And once that's squared away, there will be no risk of future embarrassments," Hiram added, as though, if left to Gordon, such a thing would have been inevitable. Or perhaps that was just Gordon feeling touchy.
"I have to admit that your taste in this girl is not as misplaced as I had anticipated," Hiram continued. "She shows respect for her own dignity and intelligence; she interacts with her audience in a positive way; she follows through on her commitments. You can learn a lot about the sort of partner someone is by how they speak of their partner behind their back. As far as I've seen, she's been nothing but respectful toward you. So, perhaps your choice of partner was better than I've given you credit for. There are, of course, certain realities. Mars remains… difficult. The long-term effects on the body, the social isolation… but I'm sure the two of you have considered that."
Gordon felt a flicker of something complicated at that—discomfort, maybe. This was playing nice for his dad, and it still had an edge. He could feel the pointedness in every word, the implicit contrast with his past relationships. Isabelle's name reared its ugly head before he quashed the thought. Firmly.
Claire's fingers tightened around her napkin. She hadn't met Marie. Hadn't spoken to her. Didn't know her. And yet—judging by the tension in her shoulders, the way she avoided looking at their father—she'd already decided she didn't like her. This whole conversation—her dad speculating about Marie, offering her his grudging approval, discussing where she might live—was clearly getting under Claire's skin.
"Clearly we are all aware, then, that her location on Mars remains untenable and unrealistic," Hiram went on, oblivious or indifferent to Claire's growing frustration. "But perhaps that isn't—perhaps it isn't an insurmountable problem. I've been thinking," he said, "and the therapy she'd require to adapt from Mars to Earth gravity should be well within the budget I'd already set aside for your one-day wedding gift. We could make it a little…preemptive wedding present. She could move here, join us at the mansion. Truthfully, I think that would be good for us all."
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Claire's jaw clenched. Gordon was right there with her. Us? We? This was moving so fast, and Hiram was speaking like it was all but inevitable. Marie would move to Earth, and support Gordon. Gordon would then be free to focus on the company, and take his place as CEO when the time came, with a support structure in Marie to help him with his little anxieties. He would produce corporate heirs, Marie would sparkle on his arm, Claire could presumably make little Harry's until she needed to step into a corporate role herself. Hiram would love being a grandfather. He truly meant every word he said, the bastard.
"Honestly, I don't know what to say," Gordon admitted. "I don't think you've ever liked one of my girlfriends before."
His father smirked. "I think that's probably accurate. To date, your rule for picking girlfriends has seemed to be: the more frivolous, the better. They'd sink time into pointless hobbies, associate with the wrong crowds…I never understood why, with such a surplus of options, you always came home having set your sights on the worst."
Claire was done. Her napkin hit the table, and she pushed her chair back. "Bye. I'm taking my leave."
"Very well," Hiram replied, nodding—seemingly unaware, or uncaring, that she was upset. "I should probably retire as well. It promises to be a busy morning."
Gordon found himself in a quiet room, lit only by the sportscaster's announcements about Marie's delve preparations. And while he could watch her for hours—her little gestures, the incidental smiles—even so, watching someone shop for hours did eventually get dull.
He exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face, letting himself sink into the quiet for a moment. Then, finally, he sat up, stretched, and reached for his phone.
I wonder what Harry's up to, he thought. He's going to be excited to hear this.
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"I'll send Baird over to take a look at it for you," Gordon's father said. Claire had really come through clutch. Gordon was under no misapprehensions—if she hadn't primed the pump, Hiram wouldn't have felt the need to claim a seat at their table.
Baird and Gordon had a complicated history. Gordon hadn't learned the full extent of it until much later. It all started with a phone—his father's phone—which contained a collection of compromising, risqué, and supposedly artistic photos of himself with another woman. Gordon's mother had discovered these photos, intentionally or not, and backed them up before filing for divorce.
Gordon's father had been wealthy long before marrying her—streamlining and patenting the design of a fusion reactor tends to have that effect. Given his financial status, he had insisted on a prenuptial agreement, which she had signed. But her lawyer had been confident that, with evidence of infidelity, they could argue for an at-fault divorce, void the prenup, and secure a massive share of his wealth. A very large share, given the assets at stake, whether measured in dollars, pesos, or private jets.
Baird had been young at the time, much younger than the other lawyers Gordon's father could have hired. But he was also a distant relative, and after discussing the case with him, Gordon's father was impressed. They had come up with a plan that they both found ingenious, and despite his relative inexperience, Gordon's father chose him over more senior lawyers.
On the first day of court, the proceedings began with the tedious but necessary groundwork: arguments about the validity of the prenup, the standards for proving an at-fault divorce, and the equitable division of assets if the prenup were voided. Baird focused on painting Gordon's father as a stable, prudent man—a wealthy husband trying to protect his pre-marital fortune and the future of his three-year-old son. He emphasized that there were no irregularities in his finances, no history of domestic disturbances, and no witnesses to any serious conflicts—at least not until Gordon's mother hired her divorce lawyer.
On the second day, Gordon's mother took the stand. She began to recount the marriage, her suspicions, and how she uncovered the affair. That's when Baird stood and objected. He calmly reminded the court of her right not to incriminate herself, noting the existence of wiretap statutes. He made it clear, without any need for the judge or opposing counsel to be informed, that acquiring the photos without consent had been illegal. Then, with the precision of a scalpel, he added that while they had no desire to take the matter to criminal court, they could do so if necessary, with hundreds of counts of unauthorized access on the table. He hinted at the potential consequences and left the suggestion hanging: settle out of court, or risk it all.
Her lawyer called for a recess. During their discussion, he explained that backing up the photos had indeed been illegal. While she might face $50,000 to $500,000 in damages and 10 to 15 years in prison, the evidence would undoubtedly win her the case, giving her half of Gordon's father's fortune. But she'd have to serve the time.
This was the first time Gordon found out it was illegal to go through other people's phones. Well, he knew that for strangers, but not family, and not spouses.
In the end, she withdrew her case and settled. She kept primary custody of Gordon but relinquished any claim to his father's wealth. Five years later, after she died in an apparent accident—intoxicated, sunbathing, and drowning in the pool—Gordon returned to live with his father, his stepmother, and his new stepsister Claire.
Baird had remained in Gordon's father's life ever since. Sharp as a tack, a bit stuffy, and entirely ruthless when the situation demanded it, he had become his father's trusted legal advisor. Friendly enough, yes, but always a bit stuffy, and Gordon could never quite forget how he'd come to have his father's trust in the first place.
She'd made out like a bandit, prenup or no—alimony, child support, nearly a million dollars a year, according to the papers. But six years later, she was dead—drowned while sunbathing and drinking wine on a breezy May afternoon. A terrible accident, the report said. An inevitable outcome, his father suggested, the one time Gordon had dared to ask about it. He'd been ten at the time, and the answer had stung enough to crush any curiosity he might have felt. From that day on, he avoided asking what his father thought about anything that mattered.