Typically, that would be an invitation to investigate the inefficiency. Was it a matter of not getting enough etherium, was it a matter of the etherium’s desire or charge? And when he knew that, he could then go about troubleshooting the best way to address it. But Hunter didn’t know how to even begin addressing what he was feeling. He knew it had to do with his affinity, and the process of how the body became a conduit of etherium when it came in contact with a drawstone. Beyond that, he felt like he was in the dark. There was no way to figure it out, at least not now. Maybe one day, he’d have a clearer answer.
The large wooden doors leading to Trey Oberon’s office cracked open. Hunter suddenly felt nervous. The first thing Hunter noticed about the man who stepped out of the office was an incredible suit. His father had always loved suits, and had tried to stoke Hunters interest in them as well. Hunter never cared much— but he learned enough to tell a good suit from a great suit. The man was shorter than Hunter, which was nothing new to him. His peppered hair was receding, and he had a scruffy, short grey beard which appeared simultaneously ungroomed and strategically contained. He gave Hunter a brilliant, thousand-watt smile which caused the skin around his eyes to crinkle. He put his hands on his hips and leaned back a bit, taking Hunter in.
“You must be Hunter,” he said, the smile on his face unwavering. Hunter didn’t know what to do.
“Mr. Oberon?” He asked. Of course it was him. Who else would it be? The exhaustion he’d been feeling must have been deeper than he thought— his neurons were probably short-circuiting.
“In the flesh!” Trey Oberon said, pushing the door open slightly and gesturing for Hunter to lead the way, “after you, come take a seat.”
Hunter stepped into the office. It was bigger than the hotel suite he’d been staying in.
The roof appeared to be taller than the rest of the mansion, and Hunter figured that it could just as well be the case. Despite its size, it felt cozy. It was homey, yet ornate. Big leather couches ringed a large, solid wooden coffee table. The couches were flanked on both sides by bookshelves that stretched almost the entirety of the office, but for the last third of it. At the point where the bookshelves terminated, two shallow steps elevated the rest of the room, centered by very modern-looking desk made of steel and glass. Two cozy armchairs were stationed towards the desk. Trey passed Hunter and took his spot behind the desk, where he sat on a modest swivel seat. As he sat, he spun himself in the chair to face the large windows that showcased an incredibly view.
He could see the mountain’s descent, and in the distance he could make out the capital city.
An earthy, smokey scent filled the air. He could also smell coffee, and felt a sudden urge to ask if there was any prepared, but he worried that there was an etiquette around that which he hadn’t been aware of.
“So?” Trey Oberon said, spreading his arms wide as he looked back towards Hunter, “What do you think, gorgeous, right?”
“It’s beautiful,” Hunter said.
Trey was about to say something, but then he appeared to change his mind.
“Sit down, young man. Relax. I trust that Idra already asked, but is there anything I can get you? Water? Coffee? Right, you’re definitely a coffee guy. I remember watching you chug that 20 oz. before starting the final round,” he said with a sharp laugh.
“Uh, yeah. Sure, some coffee would be great,” Hunter said, feeling like he’d just been caught off guard. Was this the monarch of the Oberon domain, offering to make him a cup of coffee? Is this how the script was supposed to go?
“Perfect, I just had some made a short while ago. You wouldn’t believe how tedious morning meetings can be. Maybe one day you will, and if so, you have my condolences,” he said, his voice grim. He left his chair and walked back towards the leather sofas— which was quite the walk considering how big the office was. Hunter started to get out of the chair, and saw that there was a small table behind one of the sofa’s which he hadn’t seen. There was an ornate coffee press, some cups, and what looked like cream and sugar. Trey’s face scrunched up and he waved at Hunter, indicating that he should sit back down.
“What kind of host would I be if I made you get up to get your own coffee? What do you take?”
“Sorry?” Hunter asked.
“In your coffee, what do you take? Cream, sugar?” Trey asked, raising his voice slightly as he neared the table, which must have been 20 yards away from the desk.
“Oh,” Hunter said, cursing himself. He raised his voice slightly so that Trey could hear him, “yeah, maybe three of each?”
He felt strange, sitting in the armchair and looking out a the view while one of the most powerful people in the world was making him a cup of coffee.
Was he still asleep? Maybe he’d collapsed mid-round and was now comatose, stuck in a dream world.
He pinched himself to make sure.
This was definitely real.
Trey returned with the coffees.
“Your dad liked it black, you know,” Trey said as Hunter took a sip. He almost spit it out after hearing Trey’s casual comment.
“You knew my dad?” Hunter asked, careful not to choke on the warm liquid. It was perfect, better than perfect, even. Do rich people have better sugar than poor people? It didn’t taste like an alternative sweetener. It was definitely sugar, but it was just better than any other sugar he’d ever had.
“Knew him? We practically spent the majority of our teenage years together. I had more money than I knew what to do with and he had more ideas than he knew what to do with, so we started a few businesses.”
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“As teenagers?” Hunter asked. He’d never heard this from his father before. He felt like that would be a significant piece of information.
“I didn’t say they were great businesses, but some of the lessons I learned in those early days are things that have helped me keep this corporation seated for the last couple of decades. New worlds, new physics, the rising accessibility of constructs, you know? The whole landscape of business and governance is changing. And it wasn’t just business lessons I learned during those days either,” Trey said, his eyes defocusing, seeming to get lost in some nostalgic dream.
Hunter was curious to hear more. Now that he thought about it, his father had never been too open about his past, and Hunter had never felt the need to ask.
“But those are stories for another time. Where were we? Right,” he said, smirking, “Your dad was almost religious about how he took his coffee. I gave him one like mine once, and I take more cream and sugar than you do. He spit it out, onto an incredibly expensive carpet, mind you,” Trey laughed, “‘That’s not coffee, that’s candy,’ he said to me. Can you believe that?”
Hunter laughed too. It did sound like something his dad would say.
“I loved that rug,” Trey continued, “I’ve still got it somewhere, I think. Anyways, yeah, me and your dad went way back.”
“I had no idea,” Hunter said, “He never really mentioned you, but to be fair he never mentioned much about his past.”
“That’s not surprising,” Trey said, “After your mother died, he changed. Which— fair enough, you know? And then he had you to take care of as well, and his company. And he always loved to research, always tinkering. By the time he passed away, he and I hadn’t talked for years.”
Trey sighed, and Hunter considered what he could possibly say.
He’d never known his mother. He didn’t really feel attached to her, but his mood would always sour when the subject of his father’s death was brought up.
“I see,” Hunter said, taking a breath to keep himself centered and calm.
“So, Jimmy told me he met with you and filled you in on the basics, but Jimmy only knew enough to do the job he was hired to do. The first reason I brought you here was to answer any questions you might have, and I expect that you might have a few,” Trey said, spreading his hands wide, “I’m an open book. Ask me anything. Within reason, obviously.”
Of course Hunter had questions. But the questions he wanted to ask the most were questions that could burn a bridge before it was even built. Obviously, he suspected that his father’s death was a conspiracy. He knew that his father would never hurt innocent people, the evidence was planted. The problem was that he couldn’t ask Trey Oberon if he had a hand in that, could he?
He was tempted to. He felt a rage just below his chest, threatening to force itself up through his tongue.
“Why’d you help me?” he asked after he took a second to pull his anger away to a safe distance.
Trey nodded, and took a sip of his coffee.
“As I said, your father and I go back. Before we went on to live our lives, we were great friends. I valued those years immensely. I learned a lot about humility and loyalty from that man. I learned about people— people who weren’t born as privileged as I was. Your father and I helped them whenever we could. One of the reasons why most of the businesses we started ended up failing was because we were far too charitable. Don’t get me wrong, it was usually your father who managed to pull me over the line. If I’d had my way, the businesses probably would have succeeded,” he said, looking wistful again, smiling at the memories.
“But I don’t think I’d be half the man I’d be now if your dad hadn’t persuaded me to make so many misguided financial decisions,” he said with a chuckle, but it seemed forced, “so, when I caught wind that some of my colleagues on the Council had invoked certain emergency policies regarding their acquisition of your family’s estate, I felt compelled to act. You were the child of one of the best friends I’d ever had, how could I not?”
It occurred to Hunter that all he had was Trey’s word about the relationship he had with his father. He squinted his eyes as he thought. Then, he almost slapped himself.
He hadn’t been thinking.
This was a Council Seat. Why had he been so tempted to just take his word at face value?
Mrs. Verilion had said that Trey was different, as far as Council Seats go, and why did he believe her?
Did he believe her? He felt tempted to.
Why?
Because she’d been friendly. She’d appeared so completely different to him than the typical corporate drone that Hunter’s guard had been completely bypassed. It was the exact same way with Trey Oberon. He’d need to be more careful, going forward. However, he realized he needed to exercise rational judgement. What if there was truth to Trey’s words? He needed a way to verify it.
“I wonder if you have anything from those days, something of my fathers. You people-- the Council took everything from me,” Hunter said, practically choking out the words. He almost regretted the way they came out, but there was suddenly a burning feeling in his solar plexus. It was a familiar rage, mixed with a grief that he’d never known how to deal with.
Trey considered him for a second.
“I feel like there’s another question you want to ask me. You know, your father had a bit of a rebellious streak,” Trey said, studying Hunters face.
Hunter didn’t trust himself to speak, Trey took his silence as an invitation to continue.
“He didn’t trust authority. I’m sure you knew that,” Trey said. Hunter nodded.
It was true. His father thought very little of the council corporations, including Oberon Enterprises. Although, if he thought about it, maybe he could honestly say that Oberon never really received the same degree of vitriol from his father that the other corporations did.
“So I suspect the real question you want to ask me is, ‘why the hell should I believe a word you’re telling me?’ Don’t worry, I’m not feral dog. I won’t bite, Hunter. Tell me what’s on your mind, let’s talk.”
Hunter took a deep breath.
Well, he asked for it.
“Yeah, you’re right, I don’t know if I can trust you,” Hunter said, feeling like he needed to force out the words. Every syllable felt like a risk.
“Over the years I've thought about what you might want from me. I wondered why you’d set me up with a house and a fake ID, and then seem to forget that I ever existed.”
“And, any theories?” Trey asked, seeming genuinely intrigued by Hunters thoughts.
“I knew you’d have to be pretty high in the corporate ladder, so I figured it was a game. Maybe you thought that I, being Gideon Koars’ son, might know a thing or two about my fathers research and work that you didn’t want your competition getting their hands on.”
Trey nodded.
“A compelling theory. But why wouldn’t I have contacted you in order to try and gain that information, myself? After all, I had years with which I could have built a connection with you, years where I could have found a way to extract what you know.”
Hunter frowned. He’d realized the same thing. As the years went on, and no one came to cash in on whatever credit they figured Hunter owed them for getting him away from interest of the people who wanted him, he stopped thinking about it too much. He had other more immediate concerns to deal with.
“What about the accusations? If you knew my father, you’d know that he never would have done the things the Council accused him of. What was your role in that?” Hunter asked.
Trey shook his head.
“That was something that confused me for a long, long time. I had harbored similar suspicions about my colleagues. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d have pulled something like that. But I looked, Hunter,” He said, his tone lowering and his voice growing quieter. His whole demeanor changed, he sagged a bit.
“I investigated for years. So many rounds of questions, interrogations, fact checking, over and over again, constantly retreading the same ground, checking for any sign of a contradiction or an inconsistency that could point me in the direction of a conspiracy. I found nothing.”