Walter Steele arrived at the Queen mansion just after sunset, his polished shoes clicking against the marble foyer. Thea waited for him in the study, perched on the edge of Robert's—her—desk. The room smelled of old leather and ink, the weight of her father's absence pressing against her ribs.
She'd changed out of her funeral attire into something sharper: a black micro crop top and low-rise, skintight leather pants. Her hair was pulled into a tight ponytail.
"Walter," she said, gesturing to the chair across from her. "Thank you for coming. We need to discuss Queen Consolidated's future."
Walter sat, adjusting his suit jacket with a practiced motion. "Of course. Though I assumed Moira would be leading this conversation, given her interim control of Robert's shares."
Thea's fingers tightened around the edge of the desk. "My mother hasn't left her room in four days. She can barely look at the at a picture of them without breaking down." She met Walter's gaze head-on. "We both know she's in no state to run QC right now."
Walter sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. "Grief takes time, Thea. The board will grant her—"
"The board will eat her alive if we let them." Thea slid a thick folder across the desk. "I've compiled a list of urgent priorities—acquisitions, restructuring, shareholder concerns. All of it needs immediate attention, and Mother isn't capable of giving it."
Walter blinked, then opened the folder with deliberate slowness. His eyebrows climbed as he scanned the first page—a proposal to acquire a floundering biomedical firm called *Palmer Technologies*, followed by aggressive green energy investments. "These are… unconventional choices for QC."
"They're necessary ones." Thea tapped the file. "Dad kept this company afloat on legacy contracts and reputation. That won't last another five years."
Walter studied her for a long moment. "You've clearly done your research. But Thea—you're seventeen. The board will never accept you as interim leadership, regardless of how prepared you are."
"I know." Thea's voice didn't waver. "That's why I'm not asking for me. I'm asking for you. I want you to take the role of CEO."
Walter exhaled sharply, his fingers pausing mid-drum on the armrest. "Even if I agreed, Thea, you're underestimating the board's resistance. Sanderson will never—"
"Sanderson's golfing buddy is about to be indicted for insider trading." Thea slid a grainy photo across the desk: the QC director shaking hands with a known hedge fund manager. "He'll vote however keeps his reputation clean."
Walter's jaw tightened as he examined the evidence. "That's not how Robert would—"
"Article 14.7," Thea interrupted, tapping the open bylaws binder between them. "Twelve-month interim CEO appointment with simple board majority. No shareholder vote needed." She produced a second file. "Here's how we secure six votes without Mother's participation."
Walter scanned the dossiers—each board member's vulnerabilities and alliances neatly categorized. His breath caught at the third page. "You can't seriously be suggesting we leverage Cho's divorce—"
"I'm suggesting we remind him his ex-wife still owns 5 million dollars in QC stock through her trust." Thea's voice remained clinical. "A fact he's failed to disclose in three annual filings."
The study's antique clock ticked loudly as Walter processed her moves. When he finally looked up, his voice held new respect. "You've been planning this."
"Since the day Dad first let me shadow a board meeting." She met his gaze unflinching. "Two years of watching how this company really operates. Who takes shortcuts. Who covers for whom." A beat. "Who deserves to keep their seat."
Walter leaned back, cufflinks glinting in the lamplight. "And what's my role in this... housecleaning?"
"The respectable face of it." Thea pushed forward her acquisition plans. "You implement these reforms as interim CEO—modest enough not to panic the old guard, transformative enough to position us for the next decade. By the time permanent succession talks begin..."
"...you'll be of age and would have consolidated power." Walter leaned back in his chair, shaking his head with a wry smile. "Does Moira know what you've become?"
Thea's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Does it matter?"
Silence stretched between them until Walter reached for his pen. "Three conditions. One: no blackmail gets traced back to QC. Two: you're my shadow in every meeting. Three—" He fixed her with a look she remembered from childhood boardroom visits. "—we protect the employees caught in the crossfire."
Thea extended her hand. "I learned that last one from you."
Their handshake lasted precisely three seconds—the standard duration for QC contract agreements. As Walter gathered the files, he paused at the door. "For the record? This ruthlessness didn't come from Robert's side of the family."
Thea's fingers curled around her father's old letter opener. "No," she agreed softly. "It didn't."
She waited until Walter's hand touched the doorknob. "One more thing." The click of the lock engaging echoed through the study as she opened the desk's hidden compartment. "This was meant for you."
Walter turned, his sharp blue eyes narrowing slightly as Thea reached into the desk drawer. The lamplight caught the edge of a yellowed envelope as she pulled it free, the paper slightly crumpled from years of concealment. Robert's handwriting stood out starkly against the aged surface: For Walter Steele – To be opened in the event of my death.
Walter's breath hitched. "Where did you get this?"
"My father's safe," Thea said, her voice steady. "Mother hid it after the funeral. She didn't want anyone knowing what was inside."
Walter took the envelope, fingers brushing the unbroken wax seal. "And you just… found it?"
"I've known about it for years," Thea admitted, leaning back against the desk. "I just never had a reason to bring it up before."
Walter exhaled, then broke the seal.
Thea watched his face as he read—the way his brow furrowed, the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, the way his grip tightened almost imperceptibly on the paper. Then, finally. "Robert had another daughter." It wasn't a question.
"Yeah," Thea said, her voice softer now. "Emiko Adachi. She lives in the Glades. My father had an affair with her mother, Kazumi. He visited them for the first eleven years of her life."
Walter looked up, his expression unreadable. "How did you find out?"
Thea's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "My father thought he was being careful. Different cars, fake business trips. But my mother found out anyway. She gave him an ultimatum—her and us, or them."
Walter's jaw tightened. "And the letter?"
"His last attempt to make things right," Thea said, her fingers tracing the edge of the desk. "He wanted you to look after them if anything happened to him. But my mother found it before the will was read. She hid it."
A beat of silence.
Then Walter let out a slow breath, folding the letter carefully. "Does Emiko know?"
Thea shook her head. "About who her father is? Yes, and I plan on visiting her."
Walter studied her for a long moment. "And I assume you want me to accompany you when you do?"
Thea met his gaze, her green eyes sharp. " Precisely."
The private lounge at The Vault was all smoked glass and shadow, the kind of place where the ice never melted and secrets cost more than the whiskey. Thea's stilettos sank into the plush carpet as she approached Tommy's usual booth, her reflection warping in the black marble tabletops. He sat slumped over a half-empty bottle of Pappy Van Winkle, his usually immaculate collar undone to the third button, his tie hanging loose like a noose.
She slid onto the stool beside him, swiping his drink with practiced ease. "Jesus, Merlyn. You look like hell reheated in a microwave."
Tommy blinked at his empty glass, then managed a smirk that didn't reach his bloodshot eyes. "And you look like you raided my 'bad decisions' closet. Since when do you wear leather pants to a wake?"
Thea took a slow sip of his whiskey, letting the burn distract her from the hollow feeling in her chest. "Since I realized black hides bloodstains better. And stop deflecting - you've been brooding here every night for three weeks straight."
"Brooding?" Tommy scoffed, signaling the bartender with two fingers. "I don't brood. I reflect. There's a difference."
"Reflecting involves actual thinking," Thea shot back, swirling the amber liquid, "not just drowning yourself in overpriced scotch and pretending you're the tragic hero in some bad noir film."
Tommy clutched his chest dramatically. "Ouch. And here I thought you'd be sympathetic. You did just lose a brother too."
Thea's grip tightened on the glass until her knuckles turned white. "Yeah, well, I'm handling it. You're just..." She made a vague gesture at his disheveled state. "Wallowing in self-pity like some Shakespearean fuckboy."
For a second, Tommy's mask slipped completely. The raw, aching grief beneath made Thea's breath catch - it mirrored the thing she'd been running from since the Queen's Gambit went down.
She nudged his shoulder with hers, softer this time. "Talk. Or I'll tell Laurel you cried during Titanic. Repeatedly."
Tommy groaned, running a hand through his already-ruined hair. "You're a vicious little gremlin, you know that?" But he didn't pull away. Instead, he exhaled a shuddering breath, his fingers tracing nervous patterns on the rim of his fresh glass. "It's the stupid shit, you know? I'll see some meme about boats or hear 'Sweet Child O' Mine' at a club and think 'Ollie would love this,' and then..."
His voice cracked. Thea watched his throat work as he struggled to continue.
"And then I remember he's not here to steal my drink and make some dumb joke about it," he finally whispered. "And it fucking hurts like someone reached into my chest and ripped out a lung."
Thea's nails bit into her palms. She knew that feeling all too well - the way the world kept spinning mercilessly forward while part of you remained frozen in that moment of loss. The way every laugh since felt like a betrayal.
They sat in heavy silence for a long moment, the jazz piano in the corner transitioning into a melancholy rendition of "Blue Moon." Thea studied Tommy's profile - the new hollows under his cheekbones, the way his usually bright eyes had gone dull as tarnished silver.
"He'd hate seeing you like this," she said finally, her voice softer than she intended.
Tommy let out a wet, broken chuckle. "Yeah? What would His Royal Dickishness say?"
Thea allowed herself a small, real smile. "'Stop being a pussy and order another round, Merlyn. And stop hogging the good whiskey.'"
The sound Tommy made was half-laugh, half-sob. He signaled the bartender again, this time holding up the entire bottle. "To Ollie," he said, pouring two generous measures, his hands steadier now.
Thea clinked her glass against his with more force than necessary. "To the idiot who couldn't stay on a goddamn boat."
They drank in comfortable silence for a while, the weight between them shifting from oppressive to something almost companionable. Tommy swirled his whiskey thoughtfully.
"Remember that time he tried to convince us tequila was 'basically health food'?"
Thea snorted. "And then puked in your dad's prized rose bushes?"
"My dad was furious!" Tommy's laugh was more genuine now. "Made him replant every single one while hungover as hell."
Thea grinned, the memory warming her better than the alcohol. "He looked like death warmed over, but still managed to flirt with the gardener's daughter while he worked."
"Classic Ollie." Tommy's smile faded slightly. "God, what I wouldn't give to hear one of his terrible pickup lines right now."
Thea studied the way the light played through her glass. "I bet he'd tell you to stop moping and go find some poor woman to annoy."
"You're probably right." Tommy sighed, then smirked. "Though I think he'd be more shocked that little Thea Queen is drinking his favorite bourbon like a seasoned pro."
Thea raised an eyebrow. "Please. I've been drinking Oliver under the table since I was fifteen. He just never admitted it."
As the night wore on, their conversation meandered from shared memories to stupid jokes to comfortable silences. The sharp edges of their grief didn't dull exactly, but they became easier to hold - less like broken glass and more like sea-smoothed stones carried in a pocket.
When the bartender finally called last call, Tommy turned to Thea with an expression she hadn't seen since before the Gambit. "Same time tomorrow?"
Thea finished her drink and stood, offering him a hand up. "Only if you're buying. And showering first. You smell like a distillery's floor mat."
Tommy laughed - really laughed - as they stumbled out into the cool night air, the weight between them just a little lighter than it had been before.
Moira Queen stood at the window of her bedroom, her reflection fractured in the rain-streaked glass like the pieces of her life. Five days since the funeral. Five days of hollow condolences from people who would be vultures at her door by week's end. Five days of meals left untouched on silver trays that no longer bore the Queen monogram - she'd had them all removed yesterday in a fit of grief-stricken rage.
Her fingers trembled against the cold glass. The storm outside mirrored the one in her chest - all thunder with no release. Somewhere below, the grandfather clock struck midnight. Another day beginning in this endless purgatory.
Behind her, Walter cleared his throat. "The board approved the transition." His voice was carefully neutral, the same tone he used when delivering unfavorable quarterly reports. "I'll take over as CEO tomorrow."
Moira didn't turn. The raindrops blurred the city lights into smears of color. "Thea's idea, I assume."
A beat of hesitation. "She's... remarkably capable for her age."
A bitter smile touched Moira's lips. Thea had always been more Robert's daughter than hers - all sharp edges and quiet intensity where Moira preferred calculated charm. "She would have made him proud," she said, then immediately wished she hadn't. The words hung between them, heavy with unspoken comparisons.
Walter's shoes whispered across the Persian rug as he stepped closer. "You're not alone in this, Moira."
She watched their fractured reflections in the glass - his tie loosened at the collar, her black dress hanging like a shroud. When his fingers brushed hers, she didn't pull away. The warmth was startling after days of numbness.
"They're already talking," she said quietly. "The board members. The shareholders. Wondering how long before the grieving widow sells her stake."
Walter's hand tightened around hers. "Let them talk. You built half of what Queen Consolidated is today. They'll remember that soon enough."
Moira turned then, really looked at him for the first time since the funeral. The lines around his eyes had deepened, his salt-and-pepper stubble grown out farther than his usual precise trim. He'd been grieving too - not just Robert, but Oliver. The boy he'd helped raise after his own father walked out.
"You should get some rest," Walter murmured, his thumb tracing circles on her wrist. "Tomorrow will be..."
"Another battle," Moira finished. She exhaled sharply through her nose. "I've been preparing Thea for war since she could read financial statements. Now I find myself wishing I'd let her be a child a little longer."
Walter's smile was sad. "Thea was never just a child."
The truth of it settled between them. Moira's fingers laced with his without conscious thought. For the first time in days, the crushing weight in her chest eased just slightly.
Outside, the rain slowed to a drizzle. Somewhere in the mansion, a floorboard creaked - Thea prowling the halls like the ghost of her father. Moira listened to the sound, anchored by Walter's steady presence at her side.
"Stay," she said quietly. Not a request. Not quite a command.
Walter didn't reply. He simply nodded and drew the curtains against the breaking dawn.
Thea entered the boardroom precisely at 9:00 AM, draped in an open black blazer with nothing underneath, exposing the curve of her bare chest save for a single delicate chain resting between her breasts. Her sheer, high-slit pants clung to her hips, revealing the smooth expanse of her legs with every step. Strappy stilettos laced up her calves, accentuating the confident sway of her hips as she took her seat beside the vacant chairman's position.
"Good morning," she greeted the assembled directors with a measured nod, her voice carrying just enough to be heard without straining. She placed her leather-bound portfolio on the table, aligning it perfectly parallel to the edge.
As Sanderson called the meeting to order, Thea listened with her hands folded before her, back straight but not rigid. When the interim CEO discussion began, she spoke with deliberate precision:
"If I may," she interjected at the appropriate pause, waiting for Sanderson's acknowledging nod before continuing. "The bylaws provide clear guidance for this transition. Mr. Steele's fifteen years as CFO and his institutional knowledge make him the obvious choice to maintain stability during this period."
Her words were carefully chosen - neither emotional nor cold, but carrying the weight of someone who had studied both the legal and human aspects of the situation. When the vote was called, she raised her hand with calm assurance, her signet ring glinting under the boardroom lights.
After the unanimous decision, Thea stood when Walter did, offering a firm handshake and brief eye contact. "Congratulations, Mr. Steele. The company is in good hands."
As directors approached to offer condolences, she accepted them with gracious nods and brief but sincere acknowledgments: "Thank you. Your support means a great deal." Her responses were polished, attentive but not overly familiar.
Only when alone in the elevator did her posture soften slightly, one hand briefly touching the tie pin - Robert's last birthday gift to her. By the time the doors opened on the lobby, her composed mask was back in place, her stride measured and purposeful as she exited into the sunlight.
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**Author's Note:**
Hey everyone,
First off, thank you all so much for reading and for your amazing support! I truly appreciate every comment, vote, and bit of feedback—it keeps me motivated to keep telling this story.
Now, a quick heads-up: my final exams start on Monday, which means I'll be buried in textbooks and caffeine for the next couple of days. As much as I'd love to dive right into the next chapter, I probably won't be able to start writing again until after my exams are done.
Don't worry—Thea's scheming, Tommy's existential crisis, and all the corporate drama (and eventual vigilante chaos) are still very much on my mind. I'll be back with updates as soon as I've survived my finals!
In the meantime, feel free to drop any theories or thoughts in the comments—I'd love to hear what you think is coming next.
Wish me luck, and see you on the other side of exam hell!
P.S. If anyone has any last-minute study tips, I'm all ears. (And if you're also in finals right now—solidarity, my friend. We've got this.)