Slade dropped the commander, watching his body hit the wooden floor with a sickening thud. When he looked up, he saw Joe standing not five feet behind him, by his mother’s body. She lay partially propped against the bookcase.
A pool of blood was beginning to bloom on the boy’s chest. The bullets had passed clean through DeForge’s body, striking Joe directly in the heart. He tried to mouth something before falling to the ground in a heap.
The sight staggered Slade, breaking through his rage. He took a step toward his dead son and ex-wife, eyes welling. What have I done? Slade fell to his knees, lifted his son’s form, and found himself on the edge of hysterics, regret and rage bursting forth, Joe and Adie’s blood on his hands.
“This is his fault.”
Suddenly he stopped, and looked up to find Shado standing over him.
“He’s to blame,” she hissed, “for all of this.” She pointed to the television, the news report still playing amidst the carnage. Footage of Oliver Queen filled the screen.
Slade dropped his son’s body and stood up, the rage overtaking him once again.
“Find him,” Shado said. “Make him pay.”
She caressed his face.
“Avenge me.”
Slade nodded, dead focus in his eyes.
“He will have allies.”
“Then so will you,” Shado answered.
Slade nodded, a plan beginning to take shape.
“This time, I will wait.”
“Yes…”
“When he least expects it, I will strike…”
“Yes…”
“…and I will make him suffer.”
1
THE PRESENT
Dark, melancholy clouds blanketed the morning sky in Starling City. The rain had been falling consistently and showed no signs of letting up, enveloping the skyline of the beautiful city in gray and rendering it nearly invisible.
From her corner office window at Stellmoor International, Isabel Rochev watched through golden-brown eyes as pedestrians ran for cover. Her long brunette hair was lightly curled and flowed perfectly over her shoulders. Her face was stern and expressionless. She wore thick black stockings to complement a maroon pencil skirt, which hugged her slender figure in all the right ways. She completed her outfit out with a soft cream silk blouse, which was buttoned up to the collar and left enough room to show off a small, understated necklace.
Dark chocolate wooden bookcases lined the walls, stacked with books and magazines. The walls were covered in art that she had collected over the years—Isabel took great pride in her collection of original pieces. An abstract painting was propped against one of the walls, the canvas splattered with deep tones of red and a charcoal gray. Her newest acquisition, its colors appeared to vibrate. On the opposite wall was a framed sketch of Starling City that Isabel had bought while at a local art fair many years ago, when she had first arrived in the area. The tall buildings lent themselves to an elegant rendering.
Turning, she moved to her glass desk. No personal effects interrupted her workspace. As a young girl, Isabel had dreamed of a life where she would have a thriving career that she had built on her own, and that at the end of the day she would go home to have a family by her side. She had believed she could have it all—it wasn’t a question of how, but of when.
Today all she needed was a computer and her favorite ballpoint pen, feeling most at ease when she was working. She perched her reading glasses on her nose and returned to her keyboard, typing furiously. Abruptly the glass door to her office swung open as her assistant, Theodore Decklin, entered with a latte and a notepad in hand.
“Good morning, Miss Rochev,” Decklin said as he placed the latte next to Isabel’s computer. “I was hoping we could go over today’s agenda.”
Isabel continued to work without acknowledging him, so he leafed nervously through the pages in his notepad and continued.
“Today you have a meeting with the board at 10:30, followed by a business lunch with Mr. Wu—anywhere in particular I should make a reservation?” he asked.
Isabel removed her glasses. “It is 10:15, and I am not done with the proposal for the meeting about which you so kindly reminded me,” Isabel said tersely. “So I suggest you leave me to do my work.” Without another word, Decklin turned on his heel and left her office. Isabel rolled her eyes, put her glasses back on, and returned to business. Her fingers typed with precision as she fell into a rhythm. A slight smile played across her face as she read through her report.
Suddenly a loud and vocal commotion erupted outside of her office. She glanced toward the door, then returned to her keyboard.
The exchange continued, and became louder.
I’m not paying them to talk, Isabel fumed, and she rose from her desk, grabbing her files and stepping briskly toward the office door. She pulled it open, and discovered that most of her staff were huddled together, staring at the television monitor. BREAKING NEWS flashed upon the screen.
“Oliver Queen is alive,” the newscaster announced.
The blood drained from Isabel’s face, and she felt a moment of dizziness. The Stellmoor employees buzzed with questions.
“What does this mean?”
“Where was he?”
“Is he coming back to the city?”
But she didn’t hear any of their inane chatter. Tears started to burn in her eyes—tears that she hadn’t allowed herself for years. The files fell freely from her grasp, hitting the floor with a clatter.
She felt the rate of her breathing start to pick up rapidly, as her employees began to turn in her direction. Several looked shocked at the emotion that was evident in her expression. Some looked away, as if afraid of what it might mean.
2
SIX YEARS EARLIER
Isabel hopped off the subway and alighted in Starling City. Her hair was pulled back into a loose bun and she wore thick-framed glasses. Patent leather flats accompanied a tweed knee-length dress that was a little too tight for her full figure. She looked a little frumpy, and slightly unsure of herself. A business student and time-poor, she quickly checked her watch and picked up the pace as she reached the sidewalk.
I’m going to be late…
She wove her way gingerly through the pedestrians, trying to appear invisible as she passed them. When she finally reached her destination, the headquarters of the mega-corporation Queen Consolidated, Isabel smiled as she entered the building.
“Good morning, Bobby!” She greeted the security guard as she swiped her QC badge to enter.
“And hello to you, Miss Rochev,” Bobby replied. “You look happy for a Monday.”
“Not much to complain about when you intern at the number one company in the city,” Isabel said, grinning now as she headed for the elevator.
A few minutes later Isabel arrived at her cubicle, placed her bag down, and logged into her computer. She walked over to her cubicle neighbor, Marcus, to see his head down, buried into his arms on his desk—asleep.
Isabel giggled.
“I guess I don’t need to ask you how wild your weekend was.”
Sitting up with a jolt, Marcus looked groggily at her.
“Ergh,” he responded. “I hate Mondays. I have all this work due to Mr. Klein by the afternoon staff meeting. I’m not nearly finished, and this hangover won’t quit.”
“Okay, well, I’m happy to help you if you need it,” Isabel said.
Marcus smiled weakly. “You love work way too much for an intern, my friend.”
* * *
Later in the afternoon, Isabel and her friend Becca caught up while en route to a meeting. They chattered down the hall, carrying their notes with them.
“So tell me about your weekend,” Isabel said. “Anything fun and noteworthy happen?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary. I partied way too hard at Spark.”
“What’s Spark?”
“It’s a club! Geez, Isabel, you have to come next time—the boys are so cute there, and they’ll buy
you endless shots.” Isabel smiled shyly at this revelation. It sounded pretty far out of her comfort zone. “Then I don’t really remember how,” Becca continued, “but I ended up at Big Belly Burger, and I woke up yesterday with this massive hangover.” She frowned, remembering the pain, then brightened. “But next time—you are coming!”
“Yeah, well… maybe,” Isabel said doubtfully. “I’m not much of a drinker.” This warranted an eye roll from her friend.
“So what did you do this weekend?” Becca asked.
“I pretty much just worked on my reports that were due to Mr. Klein. I wanted to get a head start on things. Then I went for a jog—”
“Seriously,” Becca interrupted, “you need to come out with me—you need a life. It can’t be all about business school and this internship.”
Isabel turned without stopping. “I don’t see anything wrong with getting my work done,” she protested. “Plus isn’t now the time where we should be all work and no play—”
WHAM!
She ran right into someone as she turned the corner into the hall. Her files and notes flew up into the air and landed, scattered, on the ground. Recovering her balance, she bent rapidly to pick them up.
Becca burst into giggles.
“I am so sorry! I am so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” Isabel babbled as she looked up to see who she had hit. It was none other than the CEO of Queen Consolidated, Robert Queen. Isabel felt her heart start to race and her stomach drop to the floor. Then, to her surprise, a loud, contagious laugh escaped her victim’s mouth as he bent down to help Isabel pick up her work.
“It’s my fault really,” he protested. “I was too distracted by such a young woman saying that her life should be all work and no play, Miss…” Mr. Queen said as he handed Isabel her files.
“Rochev,” Isabel managed to croak out. “Isabel Rochev.”
Ohmigod, he’s talking to me.
“Isabel. What a beautiful name. What department do you work in that keeps you from living your life in such a way?”
“I’m just an intern, Mr. Queen,” she replied meekly.
“Intern? All the more reason to be out there enjoying yourself—you only live once, you know?” he said with a wink.
“Yes…”
“What is it that you want to do, Miss Isabel Rochev?” Mr. Queen asked.
“She wants to take your job,” Becca blurted out.
“Well… not exactly,” Isabel said, glaring daggers at her friend. I can’t believe she said that!
“My job!” he responded, and he smiled. “I like that. Hopefully someday,” he added without taking his eyes off her. “A word of advice, though, since you’re going to be taking over for me one day—business is supposed to be interesting, and fun. If you concentrate too much on the tedium, you’ll miss out on all the good.” Mr. Queen gave Isabel another wink, then adjusted his tie.
His confidence was almost intoxicating.
“I hope to be seeing more of you, Miss Rochev,” Mr. Queen said, placing a hand on Isabel’s shoulder as he moved past her to continue down the hall. She and Becca turned slowly to watch—his swagger undeniably attractive—as Isabel touched her warm cheeks, which were flushed with embarrassment. She took a breath, feeling completely the fool. To her surprise, however, she also felt intrigued, and wanted more of whatever it was that she had just had.
* * *
A few days later, Isabel was in her cubicle working diligently on a complicated report after business hours. She was startled when her intern advisor, Mr. Klein, suddenly appeared, peering down at her, giving her a strange look.
“Working late again?” he said. “Isabel, I can’t tell you how impressed I am with your work. The presentation you did with your team went above and beyond the call of duty.” Humbled, she thanked him profusely and expressed her gratitude for all his support and guidance. But she could tell there was something else on his mind.
“You’ve made an impression on me,” he said, “and, it would appear, you’ve also made an impression on Mr. Queen. He’d like to speak with you directly… in his office.”
Isabel gulped hard. “Mr. Queen?” she said. “Why does he want to talk to me?”
Mr. Klein smiled. “Don’t worry, Isabel, your future here at Queen Consolidated will be bright and long, of that I’m sure. There’s no reason you should be intimidated.” With that Mr. Klein went on his way, leaving Isabel in a panic-stricken daze.
What did he mean by that? she wondered.
She got up abruptly, reached into her desk drawer, and pulled out some perfume and gum. After a few puffs of perfume, and shoving gum into her mouth, Isabel headed for the elevator. During the ride up, she fretted about what might be waiting for her at the top. Emerging from the elevator, she saw Robert Queen standing next to the large glass doors. He was dressed in an impeccable suit.
“Miss Rochev, please come in!” He beamed as Isabel entered his office, outfitted with a lot of dark, expensive-looking furniture. She sat down nervously in a leather club chair, scanning her surroundings, admiring the artwork on the walls and the array of books displayed on high shelves. There was a framed photo on the side table next to her—it was a photo of the Queen family. Everyone who worked at Queen Consolidated recognized the golden ones. Robert and his wife, Moira, were smiling while Oliver and Thea made faces into the camera.
Isabel smiled. Suddenly her eyes went wide as she realized she still was chewing her gum.
He’ll think I’m an idiot—a stupid little girl.
As Queen turned to step behind his desk, she pulled it out of her mouth. Glancing around, she couldn’t find a wastebasket, so she slipped her hand under the edge of the chair and stuck the gum there.
“Your daughter is adorable, Mr. Queen,” she said nervously, motioning to the photo.
“Oh, don’t let her cuteness fool you,” Mr. Queen said. “She’s a handful, that one—but so smart and beautiful. I love her for keeping me on my toes.” He smiled proudly as he offered Isabel a glass of Scotch from a nearby sideboard. She set the glass on the table, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
“Most girls tend to do that to their fathers,” she said, and she laughed in spite of herself. He smiled in agreement.
“My son, Oliver, he was easy as a child,” he said. “We’d play catch, or I’d take him to a game and he would be the happiest kid in the world. Now, Thea, on the other hand, she loves to challenge me in ways I never thought possible, always asking for the moon, and I always try to give it to her.” Mr. Queen was glowing with pride as he spoke. That made Isabel smile.
Abruptly he grabbed his glass of Scotch and raised it.
“Cheers,” he said. “To challenges and new possibilities.”
“Oh… I probably shouldn’t,” she replied, eyeing her glass and trying not to sound too meek. “I’m not much of a drinker.”
“Nonsense, this is the ‘mixing work and play’ part of the job, Miss Rochev,” Mr. Queen said, giving her a wink as he took a sip from his drink and sat down on the couch opposite her. “Still, you’re probably wondering why you’re here. I can assure you, it’s nothing to be alarmed about.
“As you know,” he continued, “being CEO of this great company comes with great responsibility, and I take pride in knowing what everyone is doing within these walls. I asked Mr. Klein how the presentations were going, and he immediately singled you out among our fine crop of interns this year.” Isabel was thrilled to hear this, but tried her best to hide her growing excitement.
“And as much as I hate to admit it, I am not getting any younger,” Mr. Queen continued. “I won’t be around forever and even though my son, Oliver, will someday take over the company, Queen Consolidated will only survive with good, strong-willed people on the board helping him, supporting him. We’re only as good as our best employees.” He reached for his Scotch and took another sip. Then he peered at her intently.
“I’d like to become your mentor, Miss Rochev. You show great promise, are a true asset
to the company, and I want to make sure you get the chance to shine.”
What… how…
Isabel sat very still, unable to speak. She wasn’t exactly sure what she could say that wouldn’t sound completely unprofessional—and then it would be over. She ran her fingers through her hair, thinking carefully about how to thank him.
“Mr. Queen, I don’t even know what to say,” she replied slowly. “Working here has been a dream of mine for so long. I love coming to the office every day, and I am so flattered that you see potential in me. I’d be honored if you became my mentor.” She paused, trying to maintain her composure. She then picked up her drink and extended it toward him.
“To new challenges and endless possibilities,” Isabel said as the two clinked their glasses together.
3
Monday morning, and Isabel arrived at her cubicle, as usual. She walked with confidence and purpose, dressed in a sleek black pencil skirt with a pink long-sleeved shirt on top. She had traded in her patent leather flats for a refined black stiletto. Her hair had a light curl to it, and her heavy glasses were nowhere to be seen.
“Oh… you look fancy, who are you trying to impress?” Becca inquired.
Isabel smiled, knowing she looked good. “No one.”
“Perhaps… Mr. Queen?” Becca suggested.
“Becca, he’s my boss!” she protested. “Actually, I’m going to try to make the intern mixer tonight, if I can get everything done in time.”
“Finally!” Becca squealed. “We get you out of this cubicle and into the world with us! I’m so excited!”
For more weeks than she could count, Robert had been Isabel’s mentor, meeting with her regularly, showing her the ropes. She had already learned so much–things she would never find in a book or back in a classroom. She felt as if she mattered in some way to the company, and, more importantly, to someone in the company. Robert had real life experience—at building an empire, and making a name for himself.
That was what she wanted, and to get it she had to continue making changes. One of them was to practice the art of socializing.
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