Chapter 3 - The Broken Axle
By eight o'clock that evening, the corporate tower was quiet, but the third floor of the nearby residential loft district was bathed in the warm light of a kitchen lamp.
Claire sat at her low wooden dining table in her accessible apartment. The space was beautifully designed—open floor plans, wide doorways, and low countertops custom-built for her height.
Across the table, Lucy was happily building a sprawling LEGO castle, while the smell of roasting chicken filled the air.
In the kitchen, Mason stood at the lowered stove, stirring a pot of garlic mashed potatoes with a wooden spoon.
“You really don't have to cook for us, Mason,” Claire said, watching his broad back with a faint, fond smile. “I have a private catering service on retainer.”
“Catering service food tastes like cardboard wrapped in silver foil,” Mason said without turning, a quiet laugh in his voice. “Besides, you paid for the emergency electrical parts out of your personal account tonight. The least I can do is make sure you and Lucy eat something that didn't come out of a plastic tray.”
Lucy looked up from her LEGOs. “Dad’s mashed potatoes are famous, Claire. He puts extra butter in them so they taste like clouds.”
Claire chuckled—a soft, genuine sound that felt natural in the warm apartment.
Over the past four hours, after securing the server vault and filing an emergency security hold on the building’s power grid, Claire had invited Mason and Lucy to her home. She had claimed it was to review the technical schematics in a safe location, but deep down, she knew the truth: she didn't want to spend another evening alone in a quiet room.
Mason brought two covered plates to the table, setting one in front of Claire and one in front of his daughter. He pulled up a stool and sat down.
“So,” Mason said, leaning his elbows on the table, “the board meeting tomorrow morning at ten A.M.”
“It’s the final vote on the Department of Defense contract,” Claire explained, taking a bite of the potatoes. Her eyes widened slightly. “Lucy was right. These do taste like clouds.”
Mason smiled faintly. “Told you. Go on.”
“If the demonstration succeeds,” Claire continued, her tone turning serious, “Northstar secures a two-billion-dollar government grant to develop robotic prosthetics—neural-linked limbs that can give wounded veterans and paralyzed individuals full mobility again.”
Mason’s eyes shifted down to Claire’s lap beneath the table. “That’s your project, isn't it? The neural link.”
Claire nodded slowly. Her hand rested on her thigh, where her legs remained entirely devoid of sensation.
“Four years ago, three months after my accident,” Claire whispered, her voice tight with old memories, “I realized that the medical world viewed people like me as solved problems. They gave you a chair, taught you how to transfer to a toilet, and sent you home. They stopped fighting for a cure.”
She looked up, her dark eyes blazing with an incredible, fierce passion.
“I built Northstar Robotics to change that,” Claire said. “The prototype suit downstairs—the Mark-IV Exoskeleton—is directly linked to human brainwaves. It doesn't just assist movement; it reads the motor cortex. But Julian Vance and his backers on the board don't care about wounded veterans or paralyzed children. They want to strip the medical tech, weaponize the chassis, and sell it to private military contractors for three times the profit.”
Mason listened, his deep respect for the woman sitting across from him growing into something profound, powerful, and real.
“They’re going to try to stop you tomorrow, Claire,” Mason said quietly. “Not just with the electrical grid. Julian is desperate. Men like him don't lose quietly.”
“I have my legal team,” Claire said, though a shadow of fatigue passed over her face.
“Legal teams move on paper, Claire,” Mason said, reaching across the table. His broad, rough hand covered hers—warm, strong, and unyielding. “Julian moves in the shadows. But you’re not alone anymore. Me and Lucy... we’re in your corner.”
Claire looked down at his hand resting over hers. The heat of his touch seeped into her skin, sending a sweet, thrilling wave through her chest that she hadn't felt in years.
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“Thank you, Mason,” Claire whispered, her fingers gently weaving through his.
From across the table, Lucy set her LEGO brick down and grinned happily. “See? I told you Tuesdays were the best day to make friends.”
