"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves."
— William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar
But sometimes the fault lies deeper—
Not in ourselves, but in what we were never meant to be,
In the plans that excluded us,
In the thrones designed for others,
And in the moment we decide
That plans can be rewritten.
Nicholas gestured to the chair. Lizzy sat, but her posture remained tense, coiled like a spring.
He pulled up a holographic display—not the financial data that had been scrolling before, but something else. Files. Photos. A timeline stretching back decades.
"Your sister," Nicholas began, "spent two years compiling a complete history of GDI's origins. Every algorithm. Every contribution. Every name your father... borrowed."
He emphasized that last word with surgical precision.
"Thomas Reardon's prediction frameworks. Marcus Chen's quantum computing insights. Isabella Moreno's core architecture."
Lizzy's jaw tightened. "Then she knew Father didn't build this alone."
"She knew," Nicholas confirmed. "Better than anyone. She traced every line of code back to its source. Interviewed former colleagues. Reconstructed correspondence. It was meticulous. Academic-level research."
"Then why didn't she—"
"Expose it?" Nicholas's expression was almost amused. "Because she wasn't stupid."
He pulled up another file—Anna's own notes, handwritten.
"This is from her personal log. Read it."
Lizzy leaned forward, reading:
"Confirmed: Father's primary contributions to CrystalSight were:
1. Strategic vision for commercialization
2. Capital acquisition and deployment
3. Team assembly and management
4. Market positioning and scaling
Technical innovations: 70-80% derivative of T.R., M.C., and I.M. work.
Ethical question: Does this matter?
Practical answer: Only if I make it matter.
If I expose this, I undermine:
- Company valuation (est. 40-60% decline)
- Board confidence
- My own legitimacy as heir
- Thousands of employee jobs
What do I gain?
- Moral satisfaction
- Historical accuracy
- The destruction of everything Father built
Conclusion: Keep the documentation. Use it as leverage if needed. But publication serves no strategic purpose. Father didn't invent electricity, but he built the power grid. That's not nothing.
Decision: Archive and move forward."
Lizzy looked up, her face unreadable.
"She chose to bury it."
"She chose to understand it," Nicholas corrected. "There's a difference. Anna wasn't naive. She didn't pretend Father was a solitary genius. She just recognized that tearing down his mythology would achieve nothing except chaos."
He walked to the window, hands behind his back.
"You want to know why your father chose Anna over you?" Nicholas asked. "This is why."
He pulled up another set of files—years of Anna's work at GDI.
"She was nineteen when the Orion crisis hit. Do you remember it?"
Lizzy shook her head.
"Regulatory investigation into GDI's offshore financial structures. Your father was personally implicated. The board was panicking. Legal counsel was suggesting he step down temporarily."
Nicholas pulled up a specific document.
"Anna didn't panic. She created a fictional holding entity in a defunct Swiss canton. Backdated a merger agreement to make it look like the structure had existed for thirty years. Fabricated board minutes. Forged signatures."
He turned to face Lizzy.
"It worked. The investigation collapsed because they couldn't trace the ownership through the deliberately tangled corporate genealogy. Your father walked away clean."
"So she lied," Lizzy said flatly. "She broke the law."
"She protected the empire," Nicholas replied. "That's what heirs do. They don't question the foundation—they build on it."
He swiped to another file.
"Three years ago. You were in operations. There was a systems diagnostics project."
Lizzy's stomach sank. She knew this story.
"You took a routine audit tool and modified it into an emotional stability assessment. Called it 'care-driven compliance.' Said it would identify managers who needed support."
Nicholas pulled up her original proposal.
"It flagged Olivia. Publicly. In a board presentation. Marked her as 'high-risk for emotional instability.'"
"She was collapsing," Lizzy defended. "Working eighteen-hour days. Not eating. Snapping at people. Everyone could see it—"
"It wasn't your place," Nicholas cut her off. "Olivia is a senior executive. If she was struggling, there were channels. Procedures. Instead, you humiliated her in front of the entire leadership team because you felt it was the right thing to do."
He leaned against his desk.
"Anna would have handled it differently. She would have quietly restructured Olivia's workload. Arranged for her to take a medical leave. Solved the problem without destroying her credibility."
"But that's manipulative—"
"It's leadership," Nicholas said. "Protecting people sometimes means protecting them from public knowledge of their weakness. You exposed Olivia because you needed to be seen as compassionate. You weaponized your empathy."
Silence fell between them.
Lizzy's hands were clenched in her lap.
"So Anna knew Father was a thief," she said slowly. "And she chose to protect him anyway. That's what made her worthy?"
"That's what made her strategic," Nicholas replied. "She understood something you're still learning: moral purity is a luxury. Leaders don't get to have clean hands. They just get to choose which dirt they're willing to carry."
He pulled up one more file—a conversation between Anna and Sebastian, recorded two months before she died.
"Listen to this."
ANNA: "I know about Thomas Reardon. And Marcus Chen. And Isabella."
SEBASTIAN: [long pause] "What do you plan to do with that knowledge?"
ANNA: "Nothing. I plan to do nothing."
SEBASTIAN: "Nothing?"
ANNA: "You taught me that empires aren't built on invention—they're built on execution. Edison didn't invent the light bulb, but he made it matter. You didn't invent CrystalSight, but you made it change the world. That's not theft. That's leadership."
SEBASTIAN: "You're defending me?"
ANNA: "I'm defending the empire. There's a difference. I don't care if you're a saint or a sinner, Father. I care that you built something that works. And when I inherit it, I'll do the same. I'll build on whatever foundation exists—even if that foundation is... complex."
SEBASTIAN: "You've become ruthless."
ANNA: "I've become practical. There's a difference."
The recording ended.
Nicholas turned to Lizzy.
"That conversation happened six weeks before she died. Anna wasn't killed for knowing too much. She wasn't assassinated to protect secrets."
His voice softened.
"She died because she was in a relationship with someone who couldn't handle her strength. Who turned his insecurity into violence. It was domestic. It was personal. It was senseless."
"She called me," Lizzy whispered. "Three times that night."
"I know."
"I didn't answer."
"I know."
Lizzy looked up, eyes bright with unshed tears.
"If I had answered—"
"She might still be alive," Nicholas finished. "Or she might not. We'll never know. But I do know this:"
He moved closer.
"Anna died because she was human. Because she made a mistake in trusting the wrong person. Because even the strongest, smartest, most strategic people can be vulnerable in ways they don't expect."
"And now I'm supposed to what?" Lizzy's voice cracked. "Pretend Father didn't steal from people? Pretend Anna was right to bury the truth?"
Nicholas sat down across from her.
"No. You're supposed to decide what kind of leader you want to be."
He pulled up three documents, side by side.
"Option one: Expose everything. Publish Anna's research. Restore the stolen names. Admit that Sebastian Grant was a brilliant assembler, not an inventor."
"That's honest," Lizzy said.
"That's suicidal," Nicholas replied. "Stock crashes. Board revolts. Lawsuits from every direction. GDI collapses within six months. Thousands unemployed. Billions in value destroyed. And for what? Historical accuracy?"
He gestured to the second document.
"Option two: Bury it deeper. Follow Anna's path. Use the knowledge as leverage when needed, but never expose it. Protect the empire. Build on the flawed foundation."
"That's what Anna would have done," Lizzy said.
"That's what Anna did do," Nicholas corrected. "She made peace with inheriting something imperfect. You're asking if that makes her complicit."
"Does it?"
"That depends," Nicholas said, "on whether you think tearing down an empire serves more people than sustaining it."
He pointed to the third document—blank.
"Option three: Write your own path. Maybe you don't expose it publicly. Maybe you don't bury it completely. Maybe you find a way to acknowledge the complexity without destroying what's been built."
"How?"
"I don't know," Nicholas admitted. "Anna never figured that out. She chose silence. Your father chose erasure. Maybe you're the first one smart enough—or foolish enough—to try something different."
Lizzy stood slowly, something shifting in her posture.
"Anna knew Father was a thief," she said, voice steadier now. "And she chose to be his heir anyway. Because she believed preservation mattered more than purity."
"Yes."
"But I'm not Anna."
"No," Nicholas agreed. "You're not."
Lizzy moved to the window, looking out over London's glittering sprawl.
"You said I was never in the plan. That Father filtered me out because I was too emotional. Too reckless. Too... human."
"That's what I said."
She turned to face him, and for the first time since entering the office, there was something new in her eyes. Not anger. Not grief.
Clarity.
"Then maybe," she said, "that's exactly why I'm the right person for this moment."
"Explain."
"Anna would have buried the truth to protect the empire," Lizzy said. "Father erased the truth to build the empire. But me?"
She stepped forward.
"I'm impulsive. Emotional. I make things personal. Everyone agrees that's a flaw."
She smiled—sharp, unexpected.
"But what if it's not? What if the only way to transform this company is to stop treating it like a machine and start treating it like something human? Something flawed? Something that can admit its mistakes and still survive?"
Nicholas studied her carefully.
"That's ambitious."
"That's necessary," Lizzy corrected. "Anna chose silence because she believed in stability. But stability built on lies doesn't last. It just delays the collapse."
She moved toward the door, then paused.
"Plans can be rewritten, Nicholas. Anna taught me that—just not in the way she intended."
After she left, Nicholas sat alone in the silence.
He pulled up a secure channel and typed:
TO: I.MORENO
"She's not going to bury it. She's not going to expose it either. She's going to try something else. Something Anna never would have attempted."
A reply came almost immediately:
FROM: I.MORENO
"Is she brave or foolish?"
Nicholas stared at the question for a long moment before responding:
TO: I.MORENO
"Yes."