The keycard buzzed once. The doors slid open.
Lucas stepped into Cyrus Han's private office for the first time.
It was larger than his entire apartment. The far wall was floor-to-ceiling glass, revealing the smog-frosted Shanghai skyline in every direction. A long, polished desk of black marble stretched across the center like a monolith. Dark oak shelves climbed the side walls, filled with old business books, odd artifacts, and neatly aligned prototypes of devices Lucas couldn't name.
And on the desk, in a low matte-black frame, was a photograph.
Lucas stopped.
It was of him, maybe six years old, standing beside Diana Pan on a pier. He was holding a paper fan with both hands like a sword. His mother was laughing at something just out of frame, wind tugging at her hair. It was summer. Lucas remembered the heat.
His throat tightened.
"That photo was never removed," ATHENA said softly in his ear. "He allowed few people into this room. Only those he trusted not to ask about it."
Lucas moved around the desk and sat in the chair.
The leather still held shape. Like someone had been here not so long ago.
For a moment, he felt like a trespasser.
Then his name popped up on the center console, welcoming him.
The system unlocked. Drawers released. A wall panel lit up to reveal encrypted communications, folders, and a secure vault terminal.
"You now have access to 87% of Cyrus Han's private operating systems." ATHENA's voice had returned to its steady cadence. "I recommend beginning with personnel."
Lucas glanced at the monitor.
One section blinked.
CORE STAFF: HAN PRIVATE TEAM
He opened it.
Eight profiles unfolded across the screen—elite operators, each with a specialty: intelligence, security, R&D, media control. Cyrus's most trusted inner circle.
Lucas tapped to authorize reinstatement.
"You're in the news," ATHENA added. "This will expedite loyalty. They've already read the coverage."
"What coverage?"
A side window opened.
BREAKING: HAN'S SECRET SON TAKES CONTROL
"From basketball court to boardroom: Lucas Pan, heir to the Han legacy, walks into power with scandal, charm, and unknown intent."
Lucas groaned. "Who wrote this?"
"Someone we'll buy out by tomorrow."
At 2:14 p.m., his first evaluation meeting began.
Lucas was scheduled to meet with three internal department leads—chosen by Frances Luo to assess his "readiness."
The first two passed in a blur of corporate lingo and thinly veiled condescension.
The third was worse.
Mason Lei, "Chief Systems Efficiency Officer," was a thin-lipped man in a salmon-colored tie who spoke like a spreadsheet come to life. He smiled too much. Agreed too quickly. And pushed one oddly specific proposal three times:
A "temporary restructuring" of ATHENA's input privileges, to "minimize bandwidth drain and maintain ethical compliance."
Lucas stared at him. "You want me to… restrict the AI I just inherited?"
Mason grinned. "Just a formality. Of course, you'd still have ultimate control."
"This is sabotage," ATHENA said crisply. "He is connected to Frances Luo via three shell subsidiaries. His goal is to cripple your access before the next vote."
Lucas's expression didn't change.
"What's your background, Mason?"
"I was brought on two years ago by the board to—"
Lucas raised a hand. "No, no. Before that. You ran a procurement firm that botched a logistics contract in the northeast, right? Resulted in a ten-million-dollar write-off?"
Mason blinked.
"That's in your personnel file now," Lucas continued. "Because I own the personnel files."
The smile dropped.
Lucas leaned back. "Do you really think I'd let the guy who almost destroyed a warehouse chain tell me how to 'streamline' a system built by Cyrus Han?"
Silence.
Mason opened his mouth.
"Say one more word and I'll play your private call to Frances from last week," ATHENA added. "He referred to you as a 'babysitting risk.'"
Lucas didn't blink. "You're fired."
Mason stood up too fast, knocking over his tablet.
"I—I'll notify the board—"
Lucas smiled faintly. "Tell them the babysitting risk just slapped you with legacy."
By 3:30, Lucas was back in his father's office, trying not to spin in the chair like a child with a new toy. He was adjusting the desk lighting when the door opened—without knocking.
A woman walked in like she already owned the place.
Tall. Hourglass figure in a white silk blouse tucked into sharp black trousers. Red lips, dark waves of hair, and heels that sounded like the beginning of an expensive problem.
She carried no folder. Just confidence.
Lucas stood.
"You're either lost or late," he said.
She extended a manicured hand. "Rhea Zhao. PR. Effective immediately."
He shook her hand slowly.
"You work for me?"
She tilted her head. "No. I work on you."
He raised an eyebrow.
Rhea moved to the window, pulled out a phone, and snapped a photo of him against the skyline.
"You photograph well when you look tired," she said, typing something. "Makes you sympathetic. You're going viral, by the way."
Lucas walked around the desk. "Should I be worried?"
"Yes. But that's why I'm here."
She scrolled, then looked up. "You've got the edge. Background. Height. A tragic dead billionaire father. But you don't know how to control your image yet. That's where I come in."
Lucas crossed his arms. "And what do you need from me?"
"Access. Candor. And at least one real smile every seventy-two hours. The rest I can manufacture."
He gave her a wry look. "You always this charming?"
"No," she said, already walking toward the door. "But it tests well."
She paused at the threshold.
"Oh, and Lucas?"
"Yeah?"
"You're not a mystery anymore. You're a myth in motion. The second you bore them, they'll turn on you."
Then she was gone.
Lucas turned back to the desk.
The sky outside was getting darker.
Lucas leaned back in the chair, still watching the door Rhea had walked through.
"Give me the full file," he said. "Rhea Zhao. Everything."
There was a brief pause.
"She's extremely competent," ATHENA said. "And terrifying. Keep her close."
Lucas narrowed his eyes at the door she'd just walked through. "Give me her file. I want the details."
A beat passed, then a holographic dossier appeared over the desk console—clean, efficient, and dense.
"Rhea Zhao. Thirty-three. Reputation architect. Former crisis communications director for Han Global's private portfolio. Managed four corporate acquisitions, two political ties, and every breakup scandal your father ever had. Discreet. Surgical. Expensive."
Lucas blinked. "Wait—she handled his breakups?"
"Every one. She made each of them seem like the woman left him. Publicly, at least. Most of them sent flowers after."
Lucas stared at the screen.
"She knows more about Cyrus Han's private life than almost anyone alive. She left the company for two years, then returned under direct request in his final quarter. No exit interview. No public statement. NDA locked."
Lucas closed the file slowly.
"She's going to be around a lot, isn't she?"
"Daily. She now manages your public image, external narrative timing, and personal optics. You will see her more often than most executives see their assistants."
Lucas sat back in the chair.
"Great," he muttered. "She terrifies me already."
"That's a good instinct. Let it sharpen you."