Asterion’s Red Face

A black town car halted behind the patrol cruisers. Arthur Sterling stepped out into the afternoon heat, his silver hair uncombed and his tie loosened at the collar. He walked with a heavy, dragging gait.

Victoria rushed toward him, her hands outstretched. “Dad, tell them. Tell this officer who we are.”

Arthur raised an open palm between them. He did not hug her. He did not look at her face.

“Step back, Victoria,” he said. His voice rattled like dry paper. “Put down the phone.”

“Dad, he’s lying to—”

“If you delete one server log, I will call the prosecutor myself.”

Her mouth fell open. She dropped her arms to her sides.

Arthur walked past her without another word. He stopped two paces from Marcus, his gaze dropping to the red abrasions circling Marcus’s wrists. Arthur closed his eyes and pressed two fingers hard against his left temple.

“Mr. Vaughn,” Arthur said, opening his eyes. “I apologize. There is no excuse for this conduct on your property.”

Officer Miller shifted his boots on the gravel, his jaw tight. The sergeant standing beside him took a note in a small pad.

“Your daughter used Asterion credentials to direct armed officers to my home,” Marcus said.

“I know,” Arthur said. “She had no operational authority. She violated our compliance charter.”

Arthur paused, drawing in a long breath. “Can the company be saved?”

“Tools are easily fixed,” Marcus said, “once you remove those who treat them like personal weapons.”

Arthur nodded once, a slow dip of his chin. “You hold fifty-one percent of the voting shares. Name your terms.”

“A forensic audit,” Marcus said. “Independent investigators. Every ticket, override, and suppressed complaint from the past three years comes into daylight.”

“Agreed,” Arthur said.