H: No one important
R: They never are. One day, Ho, you’re going to meet someone or someones who leave an impression.
H: Now you are talking shit.
I put my phone face down on the island bench and ignore the insistent and steady pings of her texts as I search out her art project from under Sim’s bed. It’s there, along with a basket full of snacks and a spare bottle of wine which I also pull out and leave on the kitchen bench. And now I’m running late and have to rush the finishing touches on my appearance.
Swapping the vase for my phone, I scoop up my briefcase and shut the door on our little condo. Sprinting through the empty corridors, I put Raney’s project in the art room before heading out.
I barely acknowledge Bradley as I climb in the back of my waiting town car. Max is looking at me expectantly.
I like Max, I don’t trust Max. The only thing he focuses on is driving. He’s one of the few people on my security team I chat with.
“Afternoon, Max, I’ve got a five o’clock meeting I can’t be late for.”
“Of course, Miss Heidi.” He answers with a professional smile before raising the privacy screen, and cutting off any distractions so I can focus.
Settling back, I keep my eyes closed and listen to the audio I pre-recorded. In no time, the car dips down to the parking garage, and I’m as ready as I can be.
The underground parking area appears pretty standard, but it’s not. The whole building has supposedly been designed to withstand any attack man or Mother Nature throws at it, according to the building prospectus. No expense has been spared on M1—polished ebony inserts are fitted on titanium wall mounts even in the garage, smoky grey bullet proof glass has been installed on all external and internal windows and doors. Every small detail or feature has been carefully considered and speaks volumes of the amount of money needed to occupy one of the offices.
Following standard process, I wait until Bradley checks the area before he opens my door. Then he and Charlie trail behind me as we move through the brightly lit parking garage. At the secure electronic locked glass doors, we wait. They look off discreetly so I can input my security access plus a randomly generated code that gets sent to my mobile.
The security in M1 borders on obnoxious, although judging by the low vacancy rate there’s a lot of people who get off on the endless locks, alarms, and features. I didn’t have much option when I was looking for an office, this was the only building the board would approve.
All it is, is another of the stipulations I have to abide by. The Executive and the Board like to word it differently—using words like precautionary and necessary security measures instead. Either way, we all know it’s just another tool they use to control me.
As soon as we step out of the lift, I use the app on my phone to disarm the alarm in my office and unlock the front door. And like clockwork, Bradley makes a small noise of frustration, letting me know how disappointed he is that once again I have breached protocol. Later, on our way back down to the car, I’ll get his usual lecture about how unsafe it is using the app to unlock my office before he can check. Really? The other twelve or so locks aren’t good enough for him?
Leaving him and his shitty mood along with Charlie in the foyer of my office area, I push through the door of my private office. I most certainly flick the lock, locking me in and keeping them out because they’d go ballistic if they knew what I was doing. Although the reality is, even the balcony has been overly designed with raised walls and extended bulletproof overhangs to minimise any chance of being seen by stalkers or paps or being shot at. Like I said, M1 has attracted a certain clientele.
Kicking off my heels, I open the sheer gossamer curtains that hide my view. Unlocking the doors, I flick the television on to hide the sound of doors as they slide open. But they’re heavy and huge, and they always make a noise no matter how much oil I add to the tracks. But once open, the entire world behind me falls away.
It’s become a habit of mine, an addiction. Every time I come into my office, I lock myself away, before I lean over the parapet wall to stand in the fresh air, without anyone watching.
My moment of peace. Even a couple of minutes out here feels more rejuvenating than a hot oil massage. Today, the view is just as amazing as always, but it’s the feeling of freedom that makes me think in lyrical descriptives.
Sadly, like always, the buzz of my alarm reminds me how full of falsity my reality is.
And as usual, I’m the first person to the Board Meeting. I watch the others arrive and take their usual positions around the expensive and expansive mahogany table my grandfather chose. And like every other time I make sure a small smile is plastered on my lips despite the conflict I have being here and watching them all meet and greet each other.
There’s a huge part of me that wishes I had what they have. It’s not that they don’t try to include me, but it is virtually impossible considering the rest of the board meet in person and I link in through a webcam.
Right on time, Troy Oberdan, current elected Chairman, takes his seat at the head of the table.
The way the tech team have me set up I stream onto a screen in the room that makes it appear like I’m sitting next to Troy as his protege. On paper, that is exactly how we are meant to work together, but like everything else relating to my position at Verdune, it’s a facade because none of the Alphas sitting around the table believe I’m capable.
Despite my flawless grades and education, the endless hours I have spent interning at Verdune plus the impressive insider knowledge and understanding of everything my family does—none of the board members, hell none of the staff at Verdune, look at me as a peer.
Since the minute I was attacked, I’ve been relegated to nothing more than a vulnerable Omega. Every report I write earns me a conciliatory ‘pat on the head’ but my concepts get overlooked until, of course, one of the Alphas tables something eerily similar. And then my idea gets the attention it should without the recognition it deserves.
Today is no different. But since this is the norm, I endure everything with my practised bland smile and a locked jaw. There’s a hundred things I could offer during the discussions on finance, marketing campaigns, and unionised pay increases, but it’s got to the stage where I don’t even bother. I listen without responding, except to take notes, when William tables a request for a research team to investigate a way of helping Alphas locked in bonds as another alternative to Omara, but it’s all been said before.
The mention of my name has me tipping my head in interest, the ping of an incoming email alert has my palms sweating. Reading the subject line, my stomach plummets, and I seriously don’t know how to react.
Acting before any of them tell me not to, I flick an email to Douglas, sending a weblink so he can join the meeting.
My faithful lawyer is always on standby for any Verdune meeting in case I need clarification on the convoluted and often conflicting terms used. The members don’t particularly like it when he joins because his focus is always on me which often clashes with the Board’s interests, and today is no exception.
