SEVEN

Susan stood outside and stared at the chain of buildings. The Hawthorne Corporation rose from the ground in all it's glory. The building intimidated and terrified her. It renewed her vow to prove that she belonged there.

Susan stood at the security gate for a moment longer than necessary, her pulse steady and alert. She clipped her badge to her blazer.

Susan Whitmore

Strategic Investment & Security Analyst

Clearance: Executive-Restricted

Her name looked unfamiliar beneath the title, like it belonged to someone unfamiliar, someone braver than she felt most days.

The scanner lit green.

Inside, the air was cooler. Quieter. Conversations were muted, purposeful. No wasted laughter. No eye contact. Everyone here walked like they were already late to something important.

Susan followed the signs to her new office.

It wasn’t large, but it was precise. Glass walls reinforced with privacy tinting. A huge desk built into the floor. From where she stood, she could see the executive corridor. She peered at the name tag above the door: A. Hawthorne.

Her heart skipped a beat. Why was her office so close to his office?

She entered her office and sat. The system login accepted her immediately. She got to work immediately.

By mid-morning, Susan had forgotten where she was.

She worked the way she always did, quietly, obsessively, following threads other people dismissed because they didn’t scream danger. Hawthorne’s systems were impressive, layered and expensive.

It was designed by people who assumed intelligence alone was enough but it never was.

She noticed the first inconsistency while reviewing a secondary firewall, a legacy code embedded so deeply it had become invisible. Trusted because it had always worked and never questioned because it had never failed.

That was a familiar trap. Susan frowned, then leaned closer. The exploit wasn’t active. It was patient and that was the problem. It waited for the right permissions and the right access route.

Her chest tightened with recognition. Whoever had written it had thought long-term. It was strategic and cruel. It could cost the company an astronomical amount of loss.

By early afternoon, she had isolated the vulnerability, mapped its potential damage, and shut it down without triggering a single alert.

She documented everything and sent the report to one person, Adrian Hawthorne.

She hesitated before hitting send, not because she doubted her work, but because first impressions carried weight here. Then she pressed it anyway.

Ten minutes passed. Her screen blinked.

"Approved. Escalate immediately.

A. Hawthorne".

No commentary. No praise.

Her shoulders loosened unconsciously and she heaved a sigh.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of risk assessments and investor modeling. Susan flagged potential vulnerabilities tied not just to systems, but to people.

This was where she belonged. It felt just right.

When she finally powered down her workstation, the building had thinned out. Evening light stretched long through the glass corridors, painting everything gold.

She stepped outside. And then stopped.

Julian stood across the street. Waiting.

Her body reacted before her mind, heart skipping, palms warming, a familiar tightness settling beneath her ribs.

He crossed toward her the second he saw her. He didn't try to pretend it was a coincidence.

“So,” Julian said, voice sharp with anger, “this is where you ran to.”

Susan made to keep walking. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“Leave me alone", she said, through clenched teeth, her heart pounding.

“You don’t get to disappear,” he snapped. “Not after everything. You love me".

She almost laughed. Almost.

“Love? Everything?” she asked quietly. “You mean the years you pretended I was invisible unless it inconvenienced you?”

His jaw tightened. “I didn’t know who you were.”

“You didn’t care to find out. Not that it mattered to you anyway.”

Julian stepped closer. Too close. The old instinct flared, to soften, to explain, to make space for his feelings before her own. She crushed it.

“You’re working for Hawthorne,” he said. “You know what that means.”

“It means they hired me,” Susan replied. “Because I’m good at what I do.”

“You were my wife.”

“I was a burden, a mistake,” she corrected. “You made that very clear.”

His eyes flickered briefly with guilt and regret.

“You took my child,” he said.

Anger immediately flooded her body.

“I took myself,” she said, her voice beginning to rise. “And I took my daughter because I was the only one who wanted and loved her.”

People passing were starting to throw suspicious glances at them.

“You think this makes you powerful?” Julian asked softly.

“No,” Susan said. “It makes me free.”

"Admit you were wrong and I can still let you come back".

Susan laughed scornly for a few minutes. Then she shook her head and walked away.

At home, Susan locked the door and leaned against it, eyes closing. Her breath shook. Then she straightened, kicked off her shoes, and went to the kitchen like an old wound hadn't just been opened.

On the top floor of Hawthorne Corporation, Adrian stood by the window, watching the city darken. Howard Hawthorne sat nearby, cane resting against his chair, eyes sharp despite his age.

“She ran into him today,” Howard said mildly.

Adrian didn’t turn. “I know.”

“And?”

“She handled it.”

Howard smiled faintly. “Good. She’ll need that strength.”

Adrian’s reflection in the glass was unreadable. “Julian won’t stop.”

“No,” Howard agreed. “Men like that never do.”

Adrian finally turned, jaw set. “You’re more invested in her than you admit, Grandpa. Why?

Howard studied him for a long moment. "I like her and I think she'll be good for you".

A muscle in Adrian's jaw ticked.