At 12:29, the glass doors to the HR conference room slid open, and Lucas stepped inside.
The room wasn't large—just a twelve-seat setup overlooking the city with soft carpet, chrome finishes, and a subtle hush in the air, like someone had tried to soundproof the discomfort.
Three HR executives already sat waiting, each with tablets, posture tight. Across from them were department leads, handpicked by the old guard. Familiar faces. Tense ones. Two didn't make eye contact. One gave him a smile that meant nothing.
Lucas didn't waste time.
He sat at the head, adjusted his sleeves, and said, "Let's talk people."
No one moved.
So he opened the folder.
"Here's where we start: we've had six internal complaints escalated without resolution in the last four months. Two were flagged as interpersonal violations. Four were flagged as systemic neglect. Zero of them made it to board review."
Silence.
Rhea, seated beside him, added calmly, "Three of those were buried before they even reached legal. All by people in this room."
The oldest HR exec cleared his throat. "We followed procedure. We have layers for a reason."
Lucas didn't even look up. "Then the layers are the problem."
He held up a thin report—marked, highlighted, lean.
"This is a revised protocol tree. All complaints bypass middle filtration. They go straight to a new three-person accountability panel—reporting to me, not you."
One of the department leads, a woman with steel-gray hair and a thin mouth, spoke up. "Mr. Pan, we've had these processes for a reason. This isn't a school district. People here know what they're getting into."
Lucas finally looked at her.
His voice didn't rise.
"No. They know what they used to be getting into. That changes now."
He stood and stepped beside the projection screen.
"Here's how it works going forward. Every person in this company should know that speaking up won't cost them their future. It'll cost you your seat if you ignore them."
ATHENA's voice chimed softly into his ear."Three facial tension shifts. One visible blink rate spike. They're already recalculating their job security."
Lucas turned to face the table.
"We're keeping talent. Not politics. If you've coasted here because you're untouchable, get ready to find out what gravity feels like."
The younger HR exec—barely thirty—glanced nervously between his two colleagues.
Lucas caught it.
He pointed. "You."
The man blinked. "Yes, Mr. Pan?"
Lucas gave a small nod. "You're interim lead on the new review committee. Your record's clean. Your office will report to Vivian Kuang until further notice. The others will step down as of 5 p.m. today."
Rhea passed three small brown envelopes down the table, each marked with a single name.
The gray-haired woman opened hers and paled.
"You don't have the authority—"
Lucas tilted his head.
"I am the authority."
ATHENA added, with no hint of irony:"Termination protocols logged. Transition packages pre-cleared. No legal gaps."
He looked back at the rest of the table.
"You want to stay here? You don't need to flatter me. Just do your job better than anyone else. If that's too much, I'll replace you faster than this coffee gets cold."
The room held still.
Then the young man stood. "I'll get started right away."
Lucas nodded once. "Do that."
But he didn't dismiss the room. Not yet.
Instead, he stood, paced slowly to the far end of the table, then turned back—eyes clear, voice colder now.
"I know what some of you have been whispering behind closed doors."
No one moved.
"I'm not Cyrus. I'm not building empires from scratch, taking jets at midnight, or slamming deals through six countries in three hours."
He paused.
"I don't need to."
He walked back toward the head of the table.
"Because what he built?" Lucas tapped the table. "I own it. Every desk, every title, every shadow deal you thought was too buried to matter. It all ends with me now."
He looked at each person, slow, intentional.
"So let me save you some time: If you think I'm temporary, think again. If you think I won't find out what you're hiding, try me. If you think calling in favors from the old days will protect you—just remember who signed your last bonus."
ATHENA's voice whispered into his ear:"Three employees are showing signs of performance fear. Two have messaged legal liaisons. One has begun transferring internal files. Monitoring initiated."
Lucas gave a dry smile.
"I don't want loyalty out of fear. I want results. But if fear gets us there faster, so be it."
He leaned forward, resting both hands on the edge of the table.
"I'm not Cyrus."
Then, softer—and sharper:
"I'm the version of him that doesn't forgive."
No one spoke. No one blinked.
He let that silence stretch, heavy as a closing door.
Then he straightened, looked to the young HR exec.
"Start with department heads. I want updated culture audits by end of week. No filters. No edits. I want the dirt first."
The young man nodded, jaw tight. "Understood."
Lucas picked up his coffee.
"Meeting's over."
Chairs scraped gently as the executives began to stand—reluctantly, quietly, calculating.
Lucas took one final sip of his now-lukewarm coffee, then added, almost offhand:
"Except you two. Stay."
The words cut through the room like a switchblade.
Two people froze—Renée Gao, the gray-haired legacy HR director, and Daniel Zeng, compliance liaison and longtime internal fixer with too many buried favors and not enough discretion.
Rhea didn't need to speak. She sat back down.
Everyone else filed out in silence. No one looked at the two still seated. No one said goodbye.
Once the door clicked shut, Lucas set the coffee down and stood.
"I thought about sending this through legal. Quietly. Professional severance. A few smiles and a signed NDA."
He walked slowly around the table to face them directly.
"But that would give you the illusion of dignity. And the last thing I want to do is reward arrogance with ceremony."
Renée's mouth tightened. "You have no cause—"
Lucas cut in. Calm. Absolute.
"I have ATHENA."
"Confirmed," ATHENA said, voice filling the air. "Communication records. Internal document suppression. Financial obstruction. Two independent complaints ignored under your jurisdiction. One related to Daniel Zeng's department."
Daniel opened his mouth.
Lucas raised a hand. "I've already had your badge disabled. Your access revoked. HR will provide a clean exit, and legal will confirm no further involvement. You'll get the standard package because I don't waste time on court drama."
He let a moment stretch.
"But let's be clear: you don't work here anymore."
Renée stood stiffly, shoulders squared. "Your father wouldn't have handled it like this."
Lucas smiled faintly.
"You're right. He would've done it colder. You should be grateful I took the time to make it personal."
Daniel said nothing—just clenched his jaw, nodded once, and walked out.
Renée followed, silent but trembling.
The door shut behind them.