— Jan 2002, Miami, Florida —

Arthur Hayes stepped into the sleek, sunlit lobby of A.I.M. like any other high-level investor—well-dressed, punctual, and utterly unremarkable.

Aldrich Killian met him personally, all nervous energy wrapped in a too-confident smile. “Mr. Hayes! You’re early.”

“I prefer punctuality,” Arthur said simply. “Show me everything.”

Killian did. For the next hour he walked Arthur through the facility with the zeal of a man convinced he was about to rewrite what it meant to be human.

The Extremis laboratories were impressive. State-of-the-art equipment, brilliant researchers, genuine progress on cellular regeneration. Killian walked him through the facility with obvious pride, explaining each breakthrough with infectious enthusiasm.

Maya Hansen, the lead researcher, was presenting the latest molecular structures when Arthur arrived. She was brilliant, focused, clearly the brains behind Extremis’s actual progress.

“We’re close, Mr. Hayes,” Killian said, eyes bright. “Another few years and we’ll have a safe, reliable formula. Extremis will cure disabilities, reverse aging—eradicate disease. This will change everything.”

Arthur studied the data impassively. He’d reviewed all of this remotely through Eve’s monitoring. Extremis was progressing—slowly, carefully, exactly as he expected.

The truth was, Arthur could accelerate this research dramatically if he chose. His understanding of advanced technology, combined with Eve’s processing power, could have Extremis stable within a year.

But he didn’t want that.

He did not want Extremis to come out too soon. A formula that could turn anyone into a superhuman—enhanced strength, regeneration, the ability to breathe fire. In the wrong hands, it would be catastrophic. And it would be in the wrong hands. Terrorists. Criminals. The research was already out there, and once A.I.M. was successful, the world would start copying it.

Arthur’s investment in A.I.M. had only one purpose: to keep Aldrich Killian from becoming the villain he was meant to be. He had no desire to unleash an army of unstable super-soldiers on the world.

Eve monitored all data, blocked espionage attempts, and ensured no leaks ever left the network.

Extremis, in Arthur’s eyes, would only be a success when it healed—nothing more. If it ever crossed that line, he’d shut it down himself.

“How many years until human trials?” Arthur asked.

Killian hesitated. “Five, maybe seven. The stabilization is complex—”

“I expected as much,” Arthur interrupted. “Which is why I told you to develop other products in the meantime.”

Killian’s enthusiasm dimmed. “Right. The accessibility division.”

They moved to the accessibility division.

The labs were smaller. Not inadequate, but clearly secondary. Researchers worked on various projects—wheelchair designs, prosthetic prototypes, hearing aid iterations.

But the energy was different. Less urgency. Less investment.

“We’ve made progress,” Killian said. “We’re developing lighter wheelchairs and improved prosthetics—”

“Incremental improvements on existing technology,” Arthur said quietly. “Not innovations.”

Killian’s jaw tightened. “Mr. Hayes, these projects are not priorities. They won’t change the world the way Extremis will. Once Extremis succeeds, it’ll heal deafness, repair spinal injuries, regenerate lost limbs. Why waste resources on intermediate solutions when we’re developing the ultimate cure?”

There it was. The core issue.

Arthur had suspected this was Killian’s reasoning. Extremis would solve everything, so why bother with anything else? From a certain perspective, it was logical—if you truly believed your miracle cure was only a few years away.

But Killian didn’t know what Arthur knew.

“I reviewed your Extremis research myself,” Arthur said quietly. “Every paper, every data point, every theoretical model.”

Killian blinked, surprised. “You did?”

“I’m not just an investor, Aldrich. I understand the science.” An understatement. “Your work is promising, but it’ll take time. Real time. Not five years—closer to ten, if everything goes perfectly.”

“But—”

“I have no problem waiting,” Arthur continued. “I invested knowing Extremis was long-term. But until it succeeds—until you have a stable, safe formula—what is this company doing? My investment should generate returns. Should make a difference in the world. That’s why I asked for the accessibility division.”

He gestured at the modest laboratory. “I want products that can help people now. Wheelchairs that respond to brain signals. Prosthetics with genuine sensation. Hearing aids that filter and enhance naturally. These aren’t intermediate solutions—they’re solutions, period. For people who need them today, not in a decade when Extremis might be ready. Maybe not even then, since Extremis might not be affordable for everyone.”

Killian was silent, processing.

“You’re chasing the ultimate cure,” Arthur said more gently. “I understand why. But you’re ignoring the good you could do while pursuing it.”

“I… didn’t think of it that way,” Killian admitted quietly.

“I know.” Arthur turned to leave. “You have six months to show me real progress in this division. Not incremental improvements—genuine innovations ready for production. If you can’t do that, I’ll pull my investment and fund someone who will.”

“Mr. Hayes, wait—”

“Six months, Aldrich.” Arthur’s voice was final. “Don’t waste them.”

—

Over the next month, AIM transformed.

Killian launched an aggressive recruitment campaign. Senior researchers from established companies. Talented PhDs who’d been overlooked. Engineers who cared about impact over profit margins.

The accessibility division’s budget tripled. New labs were built. Equipment upgraded. Leadership roles created. The company’s entire priority structure shifted.

Arthur monitored the changes through Eve, satisfied. Killian was taking the challenge seriously.

The new hire reports came through regularly. Arthur reviewed them with mild interest—competent people, good qualifications, exactly what the division needed.

Until one name made him pause.

Eileen MacEacharn.

Arthur stared at the file for a long moment. He double-checked the records. Scottish, Cambridge graduate, management experience, stellar recommendations for coordination and user-focused research.

Was this fate’s sign? Otherwise, what were the chances of a girl from Scotland applying for a job in a little-known company in Florida and getting selected?

What Arthur didn’t know was that this wasn’t fate’s doing. The one responsible was the Artificial Intelligence who was silent and watching.

Eve had seen Arthur’s interest in Eileen by the fact that he checked up on her status every now and then—something he did for no one else. Knowing what this meant, Eve had quietly submitted Eileen’s resume through the right channels, nudging it past filters and onto the right desk.

Neither Eileen nor Arthur ever knew. And Eve never told—keeping the secret carefully, believing that sometimes “the universe needs a nudge.”

— Jan 2002 – June 2002 —

Eileen threw herself into her new role with relentless focus.

Arthur was preoccupied with his own projects, but Eve kept him updated with detailed progress reports.

And what he saw surprised him.

Eileen wasn’t a scientist. She didn’t design the technology. But she was extraordinary at everything else.

She coordinated teams with remarkable efficiency—getting engineers and researchers to actually communicate, translating technical jargon into clear goals, identifying bottlenecks before they became problems.

More importantly, she understood what the technology was for. She insisted on user testing. Brought in people with disabilities to provide feedback. Made sure the brilliant innovations actually worked for the people who needed them.

Within three months, she was promoted to senior manager. Arthur had nothing to do with that decision.

He never interfered directly—but when a senior engineer tried to take credit for Eileen’s user research framework, Eve quietly intervened. Killian found out, and the man was gone within a week.

Eileen never knew. She just assumed A.I.M. unlike other companies valued integrity.

By summer, the division was gaining serious traction. The neural-interface wheelchair had moved from concept to prototype. The prosthetics team achieved their first sensory feedback success. Hearing aids were redesigned thrice over, each version more refined than the last.

Progress. Real progress. Not breakthroughs, but the steady, unglamorous work of turning brilliant ideas into products that might actually help people.

And Eileen’s contribution to all this was clearly visible.

Arthur watched through Eve’s reports and felt something complicated in his chest. Pride. Longing. Regret.

He’d run from her once because being near her and her family had broken something open inside him. Because she’d reminded him of everything he’d lost.

But she’d found her way back into his life anyway.

One day Killian sent a message: “A.I.M. has secured a spot at the Global Science and Innovation Conference in Geneva. The Accessibility Division will be presenting their prototypes. Would you like to attend Mr. Hayes?”

Arthur stared at the message for five minutes.

The tech wasn’t ready. He knew that. But the conference was a major stage—governments, investors, media, competitors. A.I.M. wanted exposure.

And Eileen would be the one presenting.

After a long pause, Arthur made his decision.

He would attend.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep