Claire Whitmore sat in her corner office on the forty-second floor, holding the small square of paper Lucy had left behind.

By Thursday morning, a photograph was circulating among the members of Northstar Robotics' board of directors.

It showed Claire Whitmore sitting on the rainy rooftop terrace, leaning forward in deep conversation with an hourly electrical contractor in a stained work shirt.

The narrative Richard Vance attached to the photograph was vicious: The CEO’s emotional stability is deteriorating. She is neglecting corporate governance, holding private meetings with low-level contractors, and displaying erratic social behavior following public outbursts.

Claire sat in her private office at 7:00 AM, looking at the email Richard had sent to the executive committee.

Arthur stood beside her desk, his face grim.

“He’s calling for an emergency vote of no confidence at the annual gala next Tuesday,” Arthur reported, his voice tight. “He’s claiming that your focus on local manufacturing and non-standard corporate interactions proves you are no longer fit to manage a three-billion-dollar corporation.”

Claire closed the laptop screen.

Her hands were steady, but a cold, familiar rage burned in her chest.

“He thinks I’m weak because I sat with a human being instead of a lobbyist,” Claire said quietly.

“Richard has secured the backing of three major institutional investors from Chicago,” Arthur warned. “They hold forty-one percent of the voting stock. If he convinces two more independent board members, he can force your removal as CEO.”

Claire spun her wheelchair toward the window.

In the old days, she would have called her legal team, unleashed a barrage of private investigators on Richard’s personal finances, and crushed him before sundown.

But as she looked out at the city, she realized that winning the old way wouldn't fix the real problem.

If she fought like a cold, heartless corporate monster, she proved Richard right. She proved that the wheelchair had turned her into stone.

“Where is Mason Reed today?” Claire asked.

Arthur blinked. “He’s completing the primary junction installation on the fifth floor.”

“Bring him to my office.”

Ten minutes later, Mason stepped into Claire’s office. He looked confused, holding his hardhat in his hands.

“Claire?” Mason asked. “Arthur said you needed to see me. Is something wrong with the rooftop panels?”

Claire turned her wheelchair to face him. She pulled a blue file folder from her desk and set it in front of him.

“Mason,” Claire said, her voice clear and direct. “What do you know about Northstar Robotics’ new mobility exoskeleton project?”

Mason looked startled. “The Orion Project? Every technician in the Midwest knows about it. It’s the micro-hydraulic suit designed to help paralyzed individuals walk again. My union rep said it’s still stuck in human trials.”

Claire opened the folder.

“It’s not stuck,” Claire said. “It was delayed because Richard Vance cut the research budget by thirty percent to inflate quarterly profit margins. The prototype is complete, fully functional, and resting in our subterranean engineering lab.”

Mason stared at her. “Why are you telling me this?”

Claire looked into his eyes—the tired, honest eyes of a father who worked with his hands to give his daughter a future.

“Because on next Tuesday evening, Northstar Robotics is hosting its annual charity gala in the main ballroom,” Claire stated. “Richard Vance plans to use that event to remove me as CEO. He’s going to argue that my vision for human-centered technology is financially irresponsible.”

She stepped forward—or rather, rolled her chair forward—stopping right in front of him.

“I am going to demonstrate the Orion Project live on stage,” Claire said, her voice shaking with a mix of fear and wild, incredible hope. “And I need an electrician who understands micro-conduits to oversee the final field setup.”

Mason swallowed hard. “Claire... I’m just a guy with a wire stripper and a lunchbox.”

“You’re a man who respects the voltage,” Claire corrected gently. “Will you help me?”