The GreenTech Expansion Committee meeting started late.
Lucas didn't flinch as the last of the forty-seven boardroom chairs were filled, mostly by men who looked like they still read newspapers in print and believed time zones were a conspiracy. The polished table gleamed. Digital displays scrolled across the room with growth projections, quarterly metrics, and hypothetical carbon futures.
None of it impressed him.
What did catch his attention were the tones—patronizing, polished, and softly aggressive.
"Mr. Pan," one said, adjusting his glasses without looking up. "We've appreciated your father's vision. But surely this level of international scaling should be reviewed by those with—experience."
"Meaning you?" Lucas asked, voice flat.
A few coughs. Someone chuckled nervously.
ATHENA's voice slipped into his earpiece like silk-wrapped steel.
"Board Member Ronald Tsai has three active lawsuits pending. One regarding insider dumping at Q-Grid, buried under a silent settlement. Two others for conflict of interest."
Lucas tilted his head toward Ronald. "I've reviewed your file. Including your Q-Grid statements. We'll revisit your vote after we audit your conflict disclosures."
The silence hit like a body slam.
A different man leaned forward. "With respect, you're quite young to override a model that's already proving profitable. Perhaps caution—"
"Paul Lien," ATHENA whispered.
"He pushed through an over-budget solar corridor deal last fiscal. Resulted in a 4.6 million dollar write-off."
Lucas cut him off. "Caution is what lost us last year's 4.6 million on the failed solar corridor. Your name was all over it."
Paul's mouth shut. Fast.
One by one, the room shifted. Men who had arrived upright and armored now leaned back. Stiff. Quiet. Watching.
Lucas leaned into the table.
"We're not going to limp into climate tech like it's charity. We're going to build the most profitable green pivot this company has ever seen. And I don't care whose seat I have to take to make that happen."
No one interrupted him again.
ATHENA chimed gently."Meeting control established. Strategic resistance neutralized. Reputation score: upward surge."
Lucas didn't relax.
He leaned in, elbows on the table, gaze sweeping the room. Each executive stared back, some cautious, some cornered.
"Let's be efficient," Lucas said. "Mr. Lien, your cost projections for Phase 3 expansion were off by exactly 2.7%. That discrepancy reflects an outdated supplier index. Drop the recommendation. Immediately."
Paul Lien swallowed hard. "Understood."
Lucas turned. "Mr. Ho, your hiring model depends on labor density data from 2021. We've updated that region with AI-monitored workforce overlays. The region is not sustainable for scale. Cancel the recruitment pipeline."
ATHENA whispered in his ear, a second ahead of each strike."Confirmed. Error margin: 11.3%. Supplier rating downgrade triggered last week."
He kept going. Each name. Each line item.
"Mr. Fan, your R&D report cited patents that expired eight months ago. Either your department is incompetent, or you think I won't read past the headline page. Which is it?"
Fan blanched. "I… will revise."
"No. You'll submit your resignation by end of day."
A ripple moved through the room like a storm front.
Lucas stood slowly. Calm. Tall.
"I'm not here to impress you. I'm here to fix what you've all been pretending isn't broken."
His eyes swept the table one last time.
"In three months," he said clearly, "there will be a mass restructuring. If you're part of the solution, stay ahead of it. If you're part of the legacy problem…"
He paused. The silence thickened.
"You won't see the next quarter from this side of the table."
ATHENA's voice coiled in his ear like a final verdict."Final board sentiment: 41% fear, 49% uncertainty, 10% admiration. Recommend tactical exit while they process."
Lucas didn't need prompting.
He turned. Walked out.
The double doors whispered shut behind him.
Lucas didn't break stride.
He veered off the main corridor, ignoring the executive elevator. Past the emergency stairwell. One floor down. Through a storage wing that smelled faintly of old wiring and cleaner residue.
There—exactly where he'd seen it before. An unlabeled coat rack tucked behind an AV cart. A forgotten gray hoodie. He pulled it on, tugged the hood low.
A black KN95 mask went over his face, followed by mirrored sunglasses from the lost-and-found drawer nearby.
ATHENA chimed softly in his earpiece.
"Disguise integrity: 92%. You now resemble a slightly depressed intern."
"Perfect," Lucas muttered.
"Threat index: zero. Emotional stress levels stabilized. You may proceed. All exit paths are monitored."
He took the service stairs down. Two flights. Slipped through a side exit into the alley behind the GreenTech building. No press. No assistants. No prying eyes. Just afternoon light slanting between steel and concrete.
He walked.
Past sleek glass storefronts and umbrella-covered cafés. Past the endless buzz of people glued to phones and pulled by urgency that didn't seem to touch him.
No one gave him a second glance.
Hood low. Mask on. Hands in his pockets. He looked like any other thirty-something out to kill time between meetings and disappointments.
He watched.
A couple arguing over coffee. A delivery guy dancing to music only he could hear. A kid tugging his mother toward a bubble tea stall. All of them alive in ways that didn't require legacy or influence or empires.
Lucas kept moving until the air changed—thickened with heat and charcoal smoke.
He stopped in front of a small street-corner grill. No name on the sign. Just a glowing red OPEN light, half flickering. A man inside manned a long metal grill stacked with skewers of meat, brushing them with glaze, flipping them with quiet precision.
Lucas stepped in without a word.
He took the corner seat by the window. No tablecloths. No fanfare.
Just the hiss of meat meeting flame.
The grill master didn't ask questions—just pointed to a menu board scrawled in marker. Lucas nodded at the beef skewers, held up two fingers, and added a beer.
ATHENA's voice whispered low."Nutritional deviation noted. Risk: negligible. Emotional equilibrium: rising."
"I needed something real," Lucas said under his breath.
"This qualifies. Enjoy it. You've earned the silence."
The first skewer hit his table minutes later. Hot. Crispy. Greasy in the best way.
Lucas bit in and finally stopped thinking.
The meat was tender and smoky, charred at the edges with the exact kind of flavor no corporate chef could fake. He chewed slowly, letting it anchor him.
Around him, the little grill shop filled in.
A group of college students slid into the booth beside him, arguing about internships and the price of textbooks. An older woman sat at the counter across from him, carefully folding napkins into triangles while waiting for her soup. A delivery guy stomped snow off his boots, face red and windblown, his phone buzzing with six missed calls.
Life was loud again. And Lucas didn't have to be part of it.
He just watched.
The waiter—a thin guy in his late twenties with slicked-back hair and a t-shirt that said "Meat is Peace"—walked over with another skewer. "You from out of town?"
Lucas shook his head.
"You look it," the guy said, smirking. "Or maybe you just look like someone who left their problems somewhere and came here to chew on 'em."
Lucas gave the smallest smile. "Maybe."
"Well, lucky for you, this is a great place to look like hell. Everybody else is too hungry to care."
He dropped the second skewer and left.
Lucas looked down at his reflection in the dark tabletop. The hoodie, the mask now pulled below his chin, the exhausted posture. He looked like a man who'd lost something.
Truth was—he had.
A day. A layer of protection. Maybe a little faith in how much control he really had over any of this.
ATHENA's voice was quieter than usual."You are not losing. You are recalibrating."
Lucas took another bite. Looked around the room again. The kids. The old lady. The man on his fifth delivery.
All of them carried something.
And today, so did he.
He didn't feel powerful. Not in this moment.
He just felt human.