The hover car’s door sealed shut behind Keaton. Silence lasted three seconds before an insistent chi shattered the peace. A holographic display flickered to life above the backseat armrest.
An incoming call.
Keaton felt the incoming headache after reading the na on the caller.
His middle-aged driver glanced back through the small privacy partition—apologetic, exasperated, and more than a little uncomfortable.
That look said everything without a single word: This call has been going on for a while. I tried to stop it, but it just kept coming.
Keaton sighed a resigned breath.
Figures.
He loosened his tie with two fingers, the silk sliding coolly against his knuckles, then leaned back and forced his shoulders to soften.
He pressed "ACCEPT"
The connection sparked instantly.
"You finally rembered how to answer a damn call!"
The voice blasted through the hover car. Even the driver flinched, shoulders jerking up toward his ears.
Keaton closed his eyes for a mont.
Damn it, he forgot to activate the privacy filter and voice-only option.
His every micro-expression was currently on display for the caller to observe and use against him.
The holographic projection sharpened into the three-dinsional upper body of a distinguished middle-aged man: George Hewitt. His salt-and-pepper hair was styled immaculately, face clean-shaven, posture straight with a practiced confidence that scread corporate dominance.
George Hewitt was the sort of man who aged like expensive wine—a successful, well-maintained, man of power and authority, very much intimidating.
Except his eyes, which currently blazed with fury.
"Do you have any idea," George continued, voice dropping to a low growl, "how many tis I called? What the hell were you thinking—"
"Father—"
"—Chairman!" George cut him off.
Keaton, seemingly used to this, shut his mouth and waited for George to speak again.
"What were you thinking," George repeated, "sending Mick to the police station?"
So this was why.
Whenever George used this tone, Keaton used to flinch and straighten his posture instinctively. It had carved itself into his spine throughout his youth.
But now?
Now—Keaton only felt tired.
He stared at the holographic display of George’s image and felt sothing cold and distant settle in his stomach.
Age is catching up to him... but the entitlent isn’t fading. If anything, it’s getting worse.
"What do you think after doing sothing so stupid? Do you have any idea of what this does to our family’s reputation? To the company?"
Keaton’s fingers curled into a fist before he forced them open again. His nails had already left crescents in his palm. He was forced to maintain his nonchalant expression, but his narrowing eyes betrayed him.
"I couldn’t do anything else," Keaton said, keeping his voice even.
"Couldn’t?" George’s laugh was sharp and humorless. "Or wouldn’t? There’s a difference, Keaton."
"The situation was—"
"The situation," George snapped, leaning forward in the holographic display, closing to Keaton’s face. "was supposed to be handled discreetly—quietly and efficiently."
His voice rose with each word.
"Instead, you throw your own brother to the authorities like trash. Do you have any idea what people are saying? What questions are being whispered? Even the board demanded an ergency briefing!"
The word brother hit Keaton like a slap, like reopening an old wound.
Keaton’s teeth ground together hard enough that his jaw ached.
"What was I supposed to do?" he asked. "Pretend it didn’t happen? Cover it up like every other—"
"Yes!" George shouted. "If that’s what it takes, then, yes!That is how you protect the family na!"
His hand slamd against his desk—the hologram distorted for a second with the movent.
"You protect the bloodline," George said word for word. "You certainly don’t give ammunition to our competitors. Maxwell Corporation is already making us look weak!"
"Weak?" Keaton’s voice rose before he could stop it.
His driver subtly hunched lower and covered his ears, as if shrinking into the seat to avoid being caught in the crossfire of the conversation he couldn’t escape.
"We looked weak the second Mick made a spectacle of himself, throwing a tantrum and throwing his weight around!" Keaton said tightly. "He assaulted an employee in public, and he even tried to drug them prior to this. Or did you miss that part?"
"An employee?" George scoffed coldly, waving one hand dismissively. "So nobody—"
Keaton’s lips pulled back in sothing like a mirthless smile.
The casual cruelty in that statent sent ice through Keaton’s veins. The ease with which George dismissed the suffering of soone who was not useful to him.
This was the man who had raised him. The man whose approval he yearned for and spent his entire childhood chasing. The sa man he was desperate for even a scrap of acknowledgnt.
The realization of what that said about his own priorities made him feel vaguely nauseous.
"That ’nobody’ works under Grayson Maxwell," Keaton said, voice tight but managed to force himself to continue. "Assaulting him is the sa as assaulting Maxwell’s people. Or did you get so disconnected from reality that you can’t even understand that?"
"Don’t you lecture !" George coldly said. "Maxwell. Maxwell. You’ve been saying nothing but Maxwell all morning. For god’s sake, Keaton, stop acting like the man is untouchable."
"He is," Keaton said bluntly. "At least compared to Mick. Or to us."
George froze, his face flushed as the carefully maintained facade cracked to reveal the temper underneath.
"I raised the HW Corporation to its current heights while you were still learning how to walk. Which is why I’m telling you to fix this ss!"
"Fix it? How? Mick committed actual, legally binding cris. There’s evidence. Witnesses. Maxwell Corporation isn’t going to let this slide just because I ask nicely."
Keaton paused, sothing sharp and spiteful rising in his chest.
"Or maybe you’re suggesting I should have just fought harder? Is that it?"
"That’s exactly my point!" George exploded. "I didn’t raise you to fold the mont soone challenges you. I didn’t raise a son who bows when Maxwell snaps his fingers."
Not that Mick had done sothing extre. Not that their family na was being dragged through a scandal. But that Keaton had shown weakness. That he had backed down without a fight with soone George clearly viewed as beneath them.
George continued. "You’re the eldest. You’re the heir I raised. You are supposed to protect this family’s interests."
"Is this what this is really about?" Keaton asked, his voice dropping dangerously. "That I didn’t fight against Grayson Maxwell?"
George stiffened. "Don’t put words in my mouth—"
"Because that’s what it sounds like." Keaton countered calmly. "You don’t actually care about Mick either. You care that The Great George Hewitt’s son was made to look foolish by soone you consider a greenhorn in the industry."
Keaton leaned back against the seat.
"That’s it, isn’t it? This is about your ego."
George’s gaze sharpened like a blade.
"Don’t change the subject! This is about you not having the spine to stand up for your family!" George berated him. "If you can’t handle a simple power play, how do you expect to run this company when I step down?"
"Simple power play?"
Keaton laughed, the sound hollow.
"Father—No, Chairman. Grayson Maxwell is a forr general. A war hero. He is soone who turned a struggling company into one of the most successful starship manufacturers, a corporate powerhouse, in the Imperial Galaxy in under five years. He has connections at every level of governnt, military, and even public support. Exactly what ’simple power play’ did you expect to use against soone like that?"
He said with finality. "He’s not just another executive, Chairman. He is soone who can crush people like us without lifting a finger."
"That man is a glorified soldier," he snapped, almost like an accusation. "Don’t elevate him."
Then he let out a faint, humorless laugh.
"What would you have had do?" he asked quietly, humoring the logic of the old man. "Use the family na to bully Maxwell Corporation? Throw money at him? Threaten legal backlash? He’s immune to all of that. You know that."
"Just say, you’re afraid of him," George said, looking directly at him.
Keaton blinked and smiled.
"Maybe I am," he calmly admitted. "Maybe anyone with a brain should be. Mick doesn’t have any. Look where that got him."
George’s expression beca twisted.
Keaton stared at the holographic display. He suddenly felt very, very tired. He leaned back, head gently resting against the cushioned seat. The city lights outside blurred through the hover car’s tinted windows in soft neon streaks.
"If I tried to cover for Mick," he continued, "we’d be having a different conversation. One where you asked why I let another scandal attach itself to our na. Why I didn’t ’handle things’ properly. Why I let Maxwell Corporation screw us over in the aftermath."
George inhaled sharply, like the truth was personally offensive.
Keaton held his gaze.
"It was a lose-lose situation," he continued. "But this was the option in which no one else got hurt."
The silence that followed was the loudest sound in the hover car.
The exhaustion in his bones made him realize that he no longer feared his father’s disappointnt.
And that frightened him more than anything else.
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