Chapter 3 - The Mask Cracks
Maya stood frozen, the color draining from her cheeks until her freckles stood out like dark spots against marble. "You... you can't fire me for that. I was just—"
"I can fire you for any reason I deem fit, Miss Lin," Eleanor sneered, stepping closer until she was inches from the young woman's face. "This company operates on discipline, order, and respect for authority. You clearly lack all three. You want to defend the garbage? You can go sit on the sidewalk with him."
Arthur slowly pulled himself up from the floor. He used his mop handle for support, his eyes fixed on Maya's trembling shoulders. He saw the tears welled in the corners of her eyes—not tears of fear, but of sheer, bitter frustration at the injustice of the world.
He remembered that look. Forty years ago, his daughter had looked at him with that exact same fierce, uncompromising morality before she was torn away from him by corporate greed and political ambition.
"Ms. Vance," Arthur spoke up, stepping between the two women. His tone was no longer submissive; it was flat, level, and heavy. "The girl was only trying to assist an old man. There is no need to ruin her career over a dropped pile of paper."
Eleanor turned her glare back to Arthur, her disgust overflowing. "Shut your mouth, old beggar. You don't speak to me. You don't even look at me. Hand in your badge to facilities before the end of the hour. You're done here too."
She turned on her heel, preparing to strut toward the executive boardrooms at the end of the hall.
Arthur stood in the center of the open floor. He reached into the frayed side pocket of his worn brown cardigan. He didn't pull out a dirty rag or a key ring.
He pulled out a sleek, ultra-thin satellite smartphone encased in titanium—a device that cost more than Eleanor’s annual bonus.
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The movement was smooth, fluid, and devoid of any frail hesitation. He brought the phone to his ear. His entire posture shifted in a single second; the slouch vanished, his spine straightened into an imposing six-foot-two frame, and his messy hair no longer looked pathetic—it looked wild, dangerous, and ancient.
"It's me," Arthur said into the receiver. His voice wasn't raspy anymore. It was a deep, resonant baritone that commanded absolute, terrified obedience. "Tell the board I'm coming up."
