The door clicked shut behind him, the cool air of the corridor slicing clean through the heat Mila had left hanging in his blood.
By the time Lucas reached the car, Julius was already in the backseat, laptop open, two devices synced, and Rhea was in the front passenger seat with a hard folder in one hand and a tablet in the other.
Lucas slid in.
Julius didn't even look up. "You alive?"
"Barely," Lucas muttered, adjusting his collar. "She offered me three landmines and a kiss."
"She offered you her tongue?" Julius asked casually.
Lucas ignored him.
Rhea turned around and handed him the folder.
"I don't care what you did up there," she said. "You've got sixty meetings in the next ten days."
Lucas blinked. "Sixty?"
"Sixty-two,"ATHENA corrected in his ear.
"Three were added during your elevator descent. One is a breakfast. The other is technically a yacht."
Lucas opened the folder. Pages of back-to-back logistics, schedules, time blocks, name tags, media kits.
Rhea continued, flipping her tablet to mirror mode so he could see the charts. "Each meeting ends in a press interview. Not optional. This isn't a charm offensive—it's a strategic occupation."
"You'll be on camera after every handshake," Julius added. "Every deal is a story now. You either write the headline or someone else will."
Lucas sighed. "When's my next meal?"
"There's a protein bar in the left console,"ATHENA offered helpfully.
"Also: blood sugar is at 89%. Below optimal. Please chew slowly."
Julius raised his cup of iced black coffee. "Welcome back to the empire, boss. Hope your lips aren't too sore to talk."
Lucas flipped open the file again and stared at the top page:
DAY 1:
8:00 AM – CEO Welcome Breakfast & Orientation (with Rhea & ATHENA)
10:00 AM – GreenTech Startup Review & Acquisition Plan
1:00 PM – Media Briefing #1: "Who Is Lucas Pan?" Interview
4:00 PM – HR Restructuring Round One (First Firings)
7:00 PM – Dinner with Julius, Leo, and Adam (Private Circle Meeting)
...and on it went for a full ten day details by the hour.
He closed the folder slowly.
"Sixty meetings," he said. "Ten days."
ATHENA chimed in.
"Success probability with compliance and charisma: 82%. Success probability with sarcasm and sabotage: 46%. Recommendation: hydrate."
Lucas leaned back in his seat and looked out the window at the blur of city light.
"Let's burn the next ten days," he said quietly.
Rhea grinned. "That's what I like to hear."
Julius smirked. "And here I was worried you'd gotten soft upstairs."
ATHENA purred.
"Hard edges restored. Myth status: recalibrating."
The car pulled away from Mila's building, and the real work began as Lucas started to read the paper work.
"Lucas," ATHENA's voice chimed in his earpiece, "you have an incoming request from an encrypted channel. The sender identifies as Prince Samir al-Fayeed of the Al-Zahra province."
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "Al-Zahra? That's not a country."
"Correct," ATHENA confirmed. "Al-Zahra is a semi-autonomous province, recognized by a limited number of nations. Prince Samir was a close associate and secret business partner of your father."
Rhea glanced at Lucas, her expression unreadable. "We need to make a detour. The prince is expecting you at the Al-Zahra Embassy Suite."
Julius leaned forward, concern evident in his eyes. "Lucas, are you sure about this? Meeting with a figure like Prince Samir could have implications."
Lucas nodded. "If he was important to my father, I need to know why."
The car pulled up to a discreet entrance of a luxurious hotel. Inside, the suite was opulent, adorned with intricate tapestries and golden accents.
Prince Samir al-Fayeed stood to greet Lucas, his presence commanding yet warm. Looking much like his wiki profile that Lucas has looked up.
"Lucas Pan," he said with a smile, "the son of Cyrus Han. It's an honor."
Lucas extended his hand. "The honor is mine, Your Highness."
Samir chuckled. "Please, call me Samir. Your father was like an older brother to me. That makes you family."
They sat, and Samir poured two glasses of aged whiskey.
"Cyrus and I shared many ventures," Samir began. "Some known, many not. He trusted me, and I him. I see that same spark in you."
Lucas sipped his drink, the weight of his father's legacy pressing on him.
"I appreciate your words," he replied. "But I have much to learn."
Samir nodded, his tone light, almost teasing."And I am here to help. Our families are intertwined, and I intend to honor that bond like a good uncle."
Lucas gave a polite smile, tipping his glass. "My father had few people he kept close. Anyone who made it that far… earned it."
Samir's eyes softened. "He was a complicated man. Brilliant, driven, and maddening."
He reached into the breast pocket of his tailored jacket—dark navy, soft silk—and pulled out a small, worn leather wallet.
From it, he carefully unfolded a photograph. The colors had faded just slightly, but the moment it captured still held its weight.
Three figures stood together in sunlit defiance.
Cyrus in the middle, arms casually slung over both shoulders—Lucas on one side, barely seven, clutching a basketball with too-serious eyes. And on the other, Samir, younger then, wearing a white button-down and an expression that didn't quite smile but held something close to pride.
"You've met me before," Samir said gently, sliding the photo across the polished table. "But you wouldn't remember. It was in Marrakesh. You were obsessed with your sneakers. Wouldn't take them off. Cyrus let you wear them to dinner. Caused a scene."
Lucas stared at the photo for a long beat.
He didn't say anything. But something in his shoulders eased.
Samir leaned back with a diplomatic ease, pouring a little more whiskey into both their glasses. "Cyrus brought me into several of his deeper ventures. Mostly the ones that needed less... public attention."
"Energy?" Lucas asked.
Samir nodded. "And then some. We brokered a trade corridor through northern Africa for refined synthetic fuel. Helped with policy infrastructure in exchange for regional data. Clean on the books. Expensive in favors."
Lucas sipped. "You want to continue those deals?"
"I want you to have the option," Samir replied. "There's also movement in digitized oil bonds—backed by national reserves but traded privately through sovereign shells. Cyrus was drafting the architecture. The model is sound. With a few updates, it could be your signature play in six months."
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "Sounds aggressive."
Samir smiled. "So was your father. But effective."
He folded the photo gently and tucked it back in his wallet. His fingers lingered on it just a second longer than needed.
"ATHENA," Lucas whispered, barely moving his lips, "how much of that photo checks out?"
"Timestamp confirmed. Location matches records: Marrakesh, 2001. Facial recognition: 93% match. Emotional analysis of subject Samir: genuine."
Samir refilled both their glasses again.
"I know what it's like," Samir said quietly, "to walk into a world that expects you to carry the name of a man larger than life."
He held Lucas's gaze with something softer now—something personal. "Let me help you carry it the right way."
Lucas didn't reply right away. The whiskey between them felt heavier suddenly.
Samir set his glass down. "I spoke with your father a week before he passed."
Lucas straightened slightly. "About me?"
Samir nodded once. "Yes. But what was said between us… stays between us. That was Cyrus's wish. I'm not here to rewrite his choices, only to do my job."
He leaned back, exhaled, then shifted tones. Lighter, but not less serious.
"So tell me, nephew—what do you need?"
Lucas caught the word. Nephew. The second time he'd used it. Familiar, casual... but loaded.
"I need control," Lucas said. "Without burning everything down."
Samir gave a wry smile. "Spoken like your father—just with fewer cigars and more restraint."
He reached for the bottle again but didn't pour.
"My position," he said, "is complicated. I'm heir to my family's portfolio—oil, logistics, heritage assets dating back four centuries. The Al-Fayeed name isn't just a brand. It's blood."
"And your children?" Lucas asked.
Samir shook his head. "I have none. No wife. And no interest in ceremonial marriage for headlines."
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "So who's next in line?"
"My younger brother. Brilliant man. Scholar. Married his husband last year." Samir smiled fondly. "But no son. And in our family… heirs don't just inherit capital. They inherit weight."
Lucas sat back, understanding dawning beneath the diplomacy.
"I'm not offering anything formal," Samir said smoothly. "Yet. But I like to know my allies. I like to build for a hundred years—not five."
He stood, adjusted his cufflinks.
"So again, Lucas. I ask not as a partner, or a strategist, or even a prince. I ask as someone who loved your father, and owes your mother more than she'll ever call in."
He met Lucas's eyes.
"What do you need?"
Samir stood tall, adjusting his cufflinks with effortless grace, as though the room itself were simply an extension of his presence.