The rented event space buzzed with energy as over a hundred students filed in, filling rows of chairs arranged theater-style. Jerry Stone stood at the front, adjusting his tie with practiced calm, watching his empire assemble.Charlie would have dismissed this as undergraduate theatrics six months ago. He'd have been wrong.Victoria Hunt approached with a printed agenda. "Final headcount: one-oh-seven. Twelve corporate sponsors confirmed for fall. Budget approved by student activities."Jerry nodded, scanning the crowd. YEN had evolved from a loose coalition of wealthy students into something structured, professional, and undeniably legitimate. Officers wore matching blazers. Committee chairs coordinated logistics. A constitution—actual bylaws, governed operations."Ready?" Victoria asked."Always."Jerry stepped to the microphone as conversations died. "Good evening. Thank you for being here."The room quieted completely."A year ago, this organization didn't exist," Jerry began. "To

Marlowe's Coffee House felt like neutral ground, a Saturday morning refuge where the corporate world and campus politics couldn't quite reach. Charlie sat across from Maya, both nursing oversized lattes, the familiar ritual offering comfort he hadn't realized he needed."You look stressed," Maya observed, studying him over the rim of her cup. "More than usual. What's going on?"Charlie exhaled slowly. "Campus stuff. It's complicated.""Try me."He started carefully, outlining YEN's expansion, Jerry's successful networking event, the way his own MOP program had withered while he was at Claire Corporation. The Grant brothers' involvement. The subtle erosion of his campus influence while he'd been focused on real professional work.Maya listened, patient but increasingly skeptical."So Jerry Stone built a student organization that helps people get internships," she said when he paused. "And this bothers you because...?""Because it's not genuine," Charlie replied. "He's positioning himse

The Claire Corporation boardroom occupied the forty-second floor, floor-to-ceiling windows offering panoramic views of a city that suddenly felt much smaller than Charlie remembered. Twelve leather chairs surrounded the mahogany table, eleven occupied by executives whose combined experience exceeded three centuries. The twelfth chair—George Maxwell's remained empty, replaced by a video screen where his grandfather's face appeared, visibly diminished but eyes still sharp.Charlie sat in the observer section, hands folded, trying to project calm he didn't feel. Joseph White sat beside him, expression unreadable. Marcus Blackwood caught Charlie's eye from across the table and nodded once. Reassurance or warning, Charlie couldn't tell.Perry Stone sat three seats down from Marcus, posture perfect, face neutral. Only someone watching carefully would notice the tension in his jaw, the calculated stillness that preceded strategic strikes."Let's begin," George Maxwell's voice crackled throug

Emily Torres's office felt colder than Charlie remembered, though nothing physical had changed. Same glass walls. Same pristine desk. Same view of the city skyline stretching beyond. But the atmosphere carried weight now with expectation, scrutiny, and something harder to define."Sit," Emily said without looking up from her monitor.Charlie sat.Emily finished whatever she was reviewing, then turned to face him with an expression that offered zero warmth."Congratulations on the promotion," she said flatly. "Now let me tell you what it actually means."Charlie straightened, recognizing her tone. This wasn't mentorship, this was preparation."Most of this company won't take you seriously," Emily began, ticking points off on her fingers with clinical precision. "They'll smile to your face while questioning every decision behind closed doors. They'll defer in meetings, then ignore your directives when you're not present. They'll wait for mistakes and document them carefully."She leaned

The video call connected at eight p.m. Sunday, but Charlie was ten minutes late. When his face finally appeared, the reaction was immediate."Jesus," Jacy breathed. "Charlie, you look terrible.""Thanks," Charlie replied, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes."No, seriously," Jacy continued. "You look five years older. When’s the last time you slept?""I sleep," Charlie said defensively."For how long?" Daniel pressed, humor absent. "You look like a ghost. Dark circles, hollow cheeks—man, you’re disappearing."Charlie rubbed his face, suddenly aware of how he looked compared to three weeks ago. "It’s been busy with the Meridian acquisition, board meetings, three major decisions in two weeks—""You barely text anymore," Daniel interrupted. "Missed last week’s call entirely. And now you show up like this." His voice carried real concern. "Are you okay? Actually okay?"Charlie opened his mouth, then stopped. What was the point of lying to people who might understand?"No," he admit