Page 143 of The Echo of Forever

My father was on the floor now, probably going on and on about my lack of focus and leadership skills. Let him tell it, the only person capable of the job was him. But he’d had no choice but to give up his seat to me. No man was ever bigger than the program, and like our government, some roles came with a time limit.

I rested my head against the wall and closed my eyes.

Carmen had gone to submit the evidence for all the points I would hit on today, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the light headache attached to them.

The ibuprofen worked enough to keep me standing upright most of the day, never taking the pain away completely, but doing more than the Naratriptan ever had.

I opened my eyes and stared at the chamber door, trying my hardest not to bite my lip and fuck up the perfect liner and gloss combo I managed. Shaking my head, I shot off a text to Carmen and straightened.

There’s a bottle of Naratriptan in my office bathroom. Send it off for testing.

She replied a few seconds later.

Got it. Submitted the evidence and just finished packing the trunk for later. Will be back in less than ten.

I tucked my phone away and pretended as if I didn’t hearandsmell Millicent coming. Her perfume of choice didn’t settle well with my stomach, and I gagged a little without thinking.

“Just so you know,” she mused, coming to stand beside me. “If you cross me, I won’t be an easy opponent.”

I kept my eyes forward, a tiny smile playing at my lips.

“I’ll give you three days before he kills you on my behalf, but good luck until then,” I replied, pushing off the wall as the chamber doors opened.

A security guard gestured for me to enter, and I stepped forward, pausing at the threshold to glance over my shoulder at Millicent.

In a moment of pure childish spite, I stuck my tongue out at her, enjoying the flash of disgust on her face before the heavy doors began to close.

The chamber itself was small and dominated by rich mahogany wood, from the curved rows of desks arranged in a semicircle to the elaborate paneling that stretched up to the vaulted ceiling. Twenty-five leather chairs sat behind the desks, each positioned on tiered platforms. The chairman’s elevatedpodium commanded the center, flanked by the society’s seal carved into the wall behind him.

Their elevated positions forced anyone testifying to look up at them. Most were old money, but a few younger faces peppered the crowd, descendants who’d inherited their positions through blood rather than merit.

But who the fuck was I to judge?

Most of us got here the same way and were fighting to either keep or rise above our station.

My father stood in the corner to my right; our eyes met briefly as I crossed to the podium.

The chairman tapped his microphone twice, bringing the murmuring room to silence.

“State your name for the record,” he said as I stepped onto the raised rostrum and took my seat.

I leaned toward the microphone, my decision made long before I’d entered this room.

“Forever Reid Cannon, chairman. James is my maiden name.”

The reaction was immediate. A wave of whispers rippled through the trustees, heads turning toward my father, who, to his credit, didn’t react at all.

The chairman glanced down at his notes, more like my father’s complaint, clearly thrown off-script. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t told Eliel about the marriage, but that he’d already petitioned for the hearing without all the facts.

“And your rank, Mrs. Cannon?” he went on, stumbling over the title.

I held my dad’s gaze across the room for a moment before responding.

“I inherited the Broker title almost eight months ago from my father, Eliel James,” I replied, resting my elbows on the table and leaning forward slightly.

The chairman cleared his throat.

“Did you murder five society doctors without prior approval?”