AN: The 'pink-haired intern' is exactly who you think it is.

Chapter 20 - Inheritance Part 2

"You! Pink-haired intern!" barked a member of Psi Industries' board of director, Saul Bridgewater. He was a big man, clean-shaven on the top and bottom of his head, who appeared to have good inertia when he moved, owning to a rotund middle. He wore the standard business suite fare, with a black jacket, red tie, pressed pants, and Italian leather shoes. In his forties, with a booming voice, a pronounced jaw, he seemed to strike terror into anyone.

The said pink-haired intern, who was at the copier, looked back. He looked young, probably a yuppie in his first year at a university, living on mommy and daddy's money. He dressed warmly, with white collard long sleeves, and knitted green vest, gloves, khakis, and black suede shoes. Like one of those fabled avocado toast eating, precious snowflake Millennials, he wore one of those green-tinted glasses to look cool. His expression was decidedly stuck in a frown, clearly unhappy to be here.

The few other employees immediately ducked lower inside their cubicles, chatting through the office instant message program about the fate of this new person who just started that morning.

Saul's focus was still on this somewhat outlandish looking intern. He could understand why the intern was so unhappy. It was never easy to start a new job at a temporary location. They've set up cubicles and meeting space in the middle of an abandoned aircraft hanger per the emergency plan concocted at some point. The place was damp. There was no air conditioning. It was not the beautiful headquarters with its cafes, modern furniture, tastefully decorated with interpretive art located in lively downtown Cambridge.

No. That brand spanking new building of two years had burned down.

Everyone had made it out, except for the Chairman of the board, and CEO of Psi Industries.

Which was part of the many reasons why Mr. Bridgewater was stalking through the area like the fabled leviathan, wreaking havoc, and fear as he goes.

As a major stockholder, the chief operating officer, a member of the board of directors of Psi Industries, Mr. Bridgewater's personal worth had decreased.

The loss of their Chairman was a major intellectual, financial, and personnel hit. The company was started initially to patent and make commercial headway on the Chairman's inventions and commercial headway did the company make. Anything from personal care products, to defense contracts, their Chairman could invent anything and it would be a hit. The Chairman was so creative and efficient that he kept a log of invention releases for the next God-known how long.

But inventing and creating products were not the only thing the Chairman dabbled in. He was an oracle who can predict the future and human behavior with uncanny accuracy. Stocks, trends, options, shorting. He personally negotiated many trades, garnering respect and fear in the business world. Even Saiko corp appreciated him as an opponent in business. Only the most senior negotiators were sent to discuss deals with Chairman Psi. It was said that only Chairman Psi had ever seen the Saiko Corp owner in person.

Rumor had it that Chairman Psi was also consulted by the heads of state.

And now, all that the Chairman Psi's reputations, his craftiness, all sunk because of a fire. The only thing that hasn't caused a complete sinking of the company was that stock ownership was private, held by the employees themselves with Chairman Psi being the majority owner of the stocks.

Things were in terrible disarray which suited Saul Bridgewater just fine. As technically the second-in-command, he saw it as an opportunity to take control of the company and take the majority of the profits from Chairman Psi's patents.

Things went swimmingly too. Bridgewater had pushed the paperwork through to get investigative authorities and the courts to issue the much-needed documents regarding the death of Chairman Psi. There was the wrinkle that the body was never found so relying on circumstantial evidence to pronounce death usually took some encouragement. The board of directors had several emergency meetings to determine company ownership and direction. The necessary people were paid off and kickbacks promised.

Everything should be completed today, except for the wrinkled of Chairman Psi's will.

Somehow, stock ownership was traded like an estate due to how Chairman Psi set up the company as a quasi sole-proprietor. The details were hidden in a few well-selected phrases in the articles of incorporation, that apparently, all the lawyers missed when Bridgewater was executing his grand master scheme.

Presently, Bridgewater threw a briefcase at the intern, aiming for the head, trying to relieve some of the frustration from realizing that, after all the fine planning, suffering through Psi Industries earlier years, that he was not going to get his due.

To Bridgewater's surprise, the intern caught the briefcase, without a problem.

The whispering chatter around them in the makeshift cubicles grew a couple of decibels.

"Go make twenty copies of whatever report that was in there," barked Saul, refusing to be impressed. "And you better make it quick. We're having a meeting of the Board at 10:00 a.m. Our new chairman is supposed to be here. He will likely want a debrief."

Saul stalked off toward the temporary board room which was one of the few actual office spaces in the hanger with condition space. His own personal assistant, a red-haired buxom woman followed him, looking panicked at her master's bad mood, but still had a moment to smirk at the hapless intern.

Back at the copier, three of the cubicle workers nearest to the copy machine, all looked to be in their mid to late twenties, get out of their cubicles and milled around the new intern. They gazed upon the intern sympathetically.

The intern looked like he was still supposed to be in high school, not a University student doing some real-world experience type. His expression was oddly flat, like he was not sure how to react to such treatment, so he did not react at all.

"Hey. Sorry mate, about Bridgewater," said one of the workers. The name tag indicated that his name was Hendrix. He was a tall stick of a person, with pitch-black hair and luminous blue eyes. "He's not usually like this."

"He probably thought that he was going to get the company," said another worker. This one's name tag said 'William.' He was a bold red-head and green eyes, with a full beard that made him automatically appear twenty years older. "Rumor said that the company got signed over to Chairman Psi's next-of-kin. It happened days ago."

"That's probably a good thing, right?" said Hendrix. "Bridgewater would've broken up the company. That bloke is famous for selling the less profitable part of the business and making short term gains. You know, standard venture capitalist strategy."

"Well, getting a family member as a new boss is probably just as bad too," said William. When pairs of eyes looked at him with puzzlement, he further explained, " It's hard to remember that Chairman Psi is younger than us and that standard estate laws mean that the next-of-kin is his father. I met his father before, when Chairman Psi was still in school and showing off the old testing bunker to his parents. Chairman Psi's dad didn't seem like he knew what he was looking at."

"Oh yeah. I remember that visit." remarked Hendrix, smacking a fist down into a cupped hand in an 'ah-ha!' moment. "He had a pretty brunette woman with him and we all thought it was his girlfriend. She turned out that to be his mom." Hendrix's expression turned wolfish, "She's pretty cute. I would date her."

"I know, right? She's such a MILF," said William with a wicked grin. "No disrespect to Mr. Psi, intended." He looked to the fresh intern and realized that he was talking to someone who was probably ten years younger and likely lived a sheltered life. It would be good to educate the young on adult matters. "Do you know a MILF is?"

The pink-haired intern had a half scowl that wordlessly said 'this-is-highly-inappropriate.'

William could not keep himself from teasing. "It means, 'mothers I like to fuc-'"

"You turds, get your head out of out of your pants," yelled a kind looking female employee, whose name tag spelled 'Violet.' Per her name, she had dark curly hair with a tint of lavender-color, black-brown eyes, and beautifully smooth olive skin from being of mixed ethnicity. She looked upon the pink-haired intern with kindness. "Ignore the prats," she advised sagaciously. "Here. let us help you with the copying. Do you know how to use these machines?"

Seeing a shake of the head, the woman continued her instructions. "See, touch here to wake it up. Then press this button to set the number of copies. What do you have to make copies of?"

The pink-haired young man opened the briefcase.

Violet looked sympathetically at the intern whose expression visibly blanched when he saw the first document.

On the very top was Chairman Psi's death certificate, in his actual name of 'Saiki Kuusuke.' Right beneath it was the documentation of Chairman Psi's pseudo name, 'Keith Psi', and holdings associated with that pseudo name. Chairman Psi was known for compartmentalization, separating his academic life from business life by using different known names.

As a respected scientist and academic, Chairman Psi's given Japanese name caught little prejudice from the ivory tower intellectuals of the world. In academia, Chairman Psi's given name commanded respect.

In business, though, a familiar name to the natives was absolutely necessary to secure contracts, arrange deals with the banks, and hence the pseudo name and how everyone in the business knew of Keith Psi. Some did realize that he had ninja letters for his given name, but most individuals would not know that at first glance. Chairman Psi's pale blonde coloring helped him blend in seamlessly into English society.

Several reports were underneath the all-important certificate and documentation of pseudo name, mostly insurance information, and extractions of ownership information. Combined, the paper stack looked to be at least 1,000 pages, single-sided.

"Blimey," uttered William, "The board is going to dance on his grave, aren't they?"

The pink-haired intern gently touched the death certificate. It was noted to be June 15. He seemed stricken.

"I know. We're all very sad at his passing," said Violet kindheartedly as she observed the newbie. "The world has lost a true genius."

There was a general murmur of agreement.

"Yo, mates, you remember what Chairman Psi was like?" asked William. "He was fun to be around."

"I don't know. He's pretty eccentric," said Hendrix. "He's got some wild assed ideas like reverse aging."

"I thought he was pretty charming and kind," said Violet.

"Shut up," said William to Violet. "Don't lie. Mr. Psi is a cutthroat deal maker. He can make anyone run away crying."

"Well, he can be quite terrifying. I don't disagree on that," admitted Violet. "It's probably why Bridgewater is so bold right now. Mr. Psi is no longer around to scare him into having manners."

"Yeah," Hendrix agreed a little sullenly.

The recent days had been pretty stressful. They all came back to work as if the massive fire that completely destroyed headquarters nearly two weeks ago did not happen. Payroll occurred last Thursday without a blip. Contracts were executed and products went out the door smoothly. Cloud computing backup went into action, causing access into the digital space to lag for only about five seconds once. New hires were seamlessly onboarded. Even the set up of this temporary office was planned and ready before the embers at headquarters were cool.

That was the frightening efficiency by which Chairman Psi ran the company. Everything had a contingency plan and there was nothing that cannot be overcome.

"You know, this is just a bunch of bollocks," said William. "Chairman Psi's dad will probably run Psi Industries into the ground or just sell it. It's seriously time to look for another job."

"Well, I'd wait until we meet the new Chairman before I make that decision," said Hendrix. Seeing the curious looks about him, Hendrix further expounded. "I mean, Mr. Psi is one of those crazy exceptional people. He built this business while getting a doctorate at the University of Cambridge. His parents must've pushed and helped him along. Sure, his dad seemed so ordinary when I first met him, and frankly, distracted by touristy things. But who knows, maybe daddy-o is a genius too."

During the chatter, the pink-haired intern had started the copying process. He deliberately made the copies double-sided.

The three Stooges of Hendrix, William, and Violet took the hint.

"Here, let us show you show this office work can be done quickly," said Hendrix, taking a copy of the now 500-ish page packet.

In less than 5-minutes, all five copy machines in the makeshift cubicle office were running. The rest were of the people found binders, hole punchers, and an aluminum hand truck.

"Here!" said Hendrix proudly another five minutes later, presenting a hand truck of twenty bound copies, each binder about six centimeters thick, neatly placed and stacked in storage boxes for transportation. "All done."

The pink-haired intern frowned slightly, like he wasn't sure how to react to his new co-workers helping him out.

"Aww, he's so touched that he doesn't even know how to say 'thank you,'" cooed William.

"Shut up, you nincompoop, be nice to the newbie," said Violet. She smacked William on the back of the head. Then she turned her attention to the intern again. "So, where is your name tag? One of Bridgewater's assistants is going to eat you alive later if you're caught without one. They're weird like that."

The intern himself dug into a pocket and retrieved a name tag. It was a hard metal stripe about the size of a pinkie finger, with a protective plastic covering and a magnetic strip for clipping onto shirts. The name on the tag was "Kenneth."

"Well, nice to meet you, Kenny," said William happily, reaching over and shook Kenneth's hand. "Now, I know you're new to working and everything, but I gotta tell you one thing. Your handshake. You gotta not be so limp...ouch!" William retracted his hand quickly. "Blimey! That's some grip strength you have there. Hey, Hendrix come over here. Test out Kenny's grip strength!"

Now the intern seemed surprised by the reaction.

Hendrix came over and tested out the intern's grip strength. He was impressed. "Wow, mate! You're not wearing one of Chairman Psi's flexible power armors are you?"

"Shush!" yelled Violet. "That's not supposed to be public knowledge!"

In the middle of the horseplay, the obviously top-heavy red-haired woman from earlier waddled over to them. The mounds on her chest looked like they were about to spill out of her shirt. "Where are those darn copies!" yelled the woman in their general direction, "Meeting starts in twenty!"

"Oh no, hell bitch is coming," murmured Violet.

The intern looked to Violet, as if asking for a little more context.

"That's Tyra, and yes, it's pronounced 'tie-ra,' and yes, she's exactly what you think she is to Bridgewater," said Hendrix. "Quick, everybody, look busy!"

In the span of a second, the three stooges slipped right back to their cubicles, looking ultra-focused on their computer monitors.

The poor intern was then by himself, with a hand truck stacked full of binders and paper, standing rather awkwardly next to a copy machine.

The woman named Tyra stalked over, her three-inch needle-thin heel clicked ominously as she approached the intern named Kenneth.

"Where have you been-" Tyra looked down at the odd-looking four-eyed young man. Man, he was short. He did not even look old enough to drink(1). Tyra herself was about a head taller than him. "Kenneth?!" She tapped her expensive smartwatch. "You've been out there for half an hour!"

The intern looked at the hand truck, as if presenting proof of his hard work.

Tyra appeared to be examining the intern's work, a scheming look overcame her face before she suddenly declared, loudly, to him "Leave."

The intern tilted his head slightly and didn't blink.

Slightly taken aback by the non-reaction, Tyra clarified. "You're fired,"

Oddly, the intern crossed his arms and just stared at her steadily as if saying 'what are you talking about, lady?'

That was the problem with Millennials. They want reasonable explanations for everything, like they expected life to be fair.

Well, time to put this entitled little boy in his place.

"You're done. You have no business being here. I don't know who hired you, but whoever-it-is is gonna be fired too."

The presumptuous intern had the nerve to roll his eyes at her.

The interaction was plainly visible to the surrounding cubicle-land workers. By now, half of the dozen people were standing up in their cubicles, fascinated by the real-life drama that was the obvious assistant with benefits to the chief operating officer. The story of the legendary showdown between the current boss's sugar baby and the nubile intern was being spread through instant messaging to the other workers who had to work from home due to cubicle space limitations.

Violet, who was physically close to the action, stood up on her half heel and yelled over the chest-height cubicle wall. She had heard Tyra's overreach of authority.

"Now, just a second," Violet interjected, "just because you're butt-buddies with-"

"Violet, you want to be canned, too?" threatened Tyra with a maddening half-grin on her face, cutting Violet off.

The peril of being unemployed by this hussy only incensed the social justice warrior within Violet. "If that means I get to wipe the floor with you, then yeah, sure!"

"Ooo, chick fight!" whispered William just loud enough for others to hear.

Several more people stood up in their cubicles, or had sneakily gotten close, like groundhogs popping out of their den. By now, the yelling had gotten the attention of the makeshift cubicle land.

"You're willing to lose your job over this nobody?" asked Tyra incredulously.

"If your fuck buddy gets his way, he's gonna find a way to fire all of us anyways," reasoned Violet. "So I might as well slap that grin off your face while I'm at it."

"Chick fight. Chick fight," chanted William.

By now, there was somewhat of a semi-circle around Violet, Tyra, and Kenneth, with Kenneth looking like he just wanted to get on his next task.

The two women were at a standoff like two mixed martial arts fighters, glaring at each other so hard that a ball of electricity could be imagined in between the two.

"What's going on here?" boomed the voice of Saul, almost shaking the rafters.

At the sound of Saul's voice, all the worker bees scampered back to their cubicles, pretending to look busy.

Saul heavily padded back from the meeting room, looking like fumes were coming off the top of his head. "And where are those damn copies? It's ten minutes to start! Most of the board are already waiting."

The attitude of the pretty woman named Tyra completely transformed back to a supplicant. "Right here, Mr. Bridgewater," she said sweetly. "I had to do the work since this worthless monkey doesn't know how to use a copier."

"Now wait a sec-" started Violet before Hendrix covered her mouth and dragged her back to the cubicles.

"Collateral damage," whispered Hendrix into Violet's ear.

"But!" protested Violet.

"Don't fall on your sword, Violet," said Hendrix. "Plenty of time to do that later."

At the moment, Mr. Bridgewater was giving praising his personal assistant Tyra for her ingenuity and quick action while obviously giving the pubescent intern a much-needed vituperation on this haughty Millennial. Mr. Bridgewater's jowls trembled and shook like the fleshy caruncle of a turkey.

The damn intern had the nerve to step sideways to avoid the spittal from Bridgewater's mouth. His expression seemed as flat as before. He took a deep breath, as if he was the one being inconvenienced. He picked up the hand truck by the handle, already rolling the hand truck of bounded paper away toward the meeting room, completely ignoring Bridgewater's very public reprimand.

The cussing started, where the vein on Bridgewater's temple popped out, anime-style.

During this time period, one of those people who dressed in too formal of a business suite, an obvious indication of an attorney, had entered the hanger, wheeling a rolling briefcase. Like many of the curious employees, he took a minor detour to the middle of cubicle land, looking into the excitement.

"What's going on here, Saul?" asked the attorney. The two appeared to be long time professionals and knew each other long enough to be on first name bases.

"Oh. Arthur Reeves," acknowledged Bridgewater. "It's these damn silver-spoon fed Millennials, They expect everything to be handed to them." He looked around the peeping heads that looked furtively toward their direction. "Get back to work!"

Like frightened snakes, everyone slithered back to their work station, this time, not even craning their neck to hear bits of juicy gossip.

The pink-haired intern had come back to cubicle land again after dropping off the paper products. He returned to a rather peculiar work station that was marked for "K. Psi."

Unlike everyone else's standard two-monitor work stations, the intern's work station was far more extensive. He had nine monitors, stacked three by three, his working surface was a built-in tablet, two keyboards. Several large computer towers were tucked beneath the work surface, muted green lights indicating operations. Program codes scrolled through each of the monitor screens too quickly for a normal human to comprehend. The intern mutely observed the rapidly scrolling codes with a machine-like focus, blinking at exactly every twenty seconds.

Oddly enough, no one had commented on how far more extensive this one intern's workspace was, compared to the other cubicles. Or how this one intern had been here since about midnight, staring at endlessly scrolling computer code for hours.

Meanwhile, Saul and Arthur exchanged pleasantries. They had benefited each other from time to time, with Saul throwing business deals to Arthur and Arthur reviewing and executing lucrative contracts.

The two, along with Saul's lady assistant, moved themselves a distance away from the bustle of the cubicles to a waiting area immediately outside of the meeting room for the board of the directors.

"So, what are you doing here, Arthur?" asked Saul.

"Retainer," said Arthur. "Your new chairman asked me to come to help look over some of the documents."

"Ah, the psycho's next of kin," said Saul, sarcastically. "His father, Kuniharu Saiki? Isn't it? I've got the model Gundam kits, bistro reservations, translated graphic novels, and an all-expense-paid month-vacation in London for him and his wife."

At those words, Arthur shook his head in disapproval. "Saul, you probably should be a little more sensitive than that. Their son just died. There is not even a body for them to bury or mourn over. Vacation and trinkets are probably the last things on their minds."

Saul kept on going, "Then I'll make a memorial park out of the old office building footprint. Tyra, love, did you get all of that?"

"Yes," said Tyra, busily writing notes with a stylus onto a pad of paper. "On company charge?"

"Of course," said Saul. "I'm certainly not going to pay for it."

Unbeknownst to them, a certain pink-haired intern who was in the tripped out-cubicle just silently ticked his tongue at one of the many screens. Then, in rapid succession, each screen, popped notification in red display 'SEARCH COMPLETE. ITEM NOT FOUND.' He slouched in the chair, staring at the results in obvious displeasure. He allowed himself to stew for a bit until he heard hail striking the hanger roof. He tapped through the command menus to shut down the computers and monitors. It was time to move on.

Back to the three people who were chatting outside the meeting room, Arthur seemed ill at ease, as his business acquaintance kept on talking.

"I've looked into him," remarked Saul. "This, Kuniharu. He's a small-time editor at some third-rate manga publishing company, Shuensha. I hear that he wasn't very good at his job, and spent most of the time kissing up to the bosses."

By this time, the pink-haired intern had approached the meeting room. He stopped momentarily at the water dispenser.

"Shuensha was bankrupt at one point," Saul continued. "and that psycho actually came up with a wildly successful product and donated the profits to keeping that publishing company going. 'Familial sentiment,' that cold-blooded bastard had said. Can you imagine that? That nutjob actually having sentiment?"

It was at this time, the pink-haired intern approached the group of three outside the meeting room. The young man walked purposefully toward the meeting room door, fully intent on entering the room without acknowledging the three.

Before Saul could start another round of verbal reprimand and fire this disrespectful, good-for-nothing, Millennial, Arthur interjected.

"Ah. Mr, Saiki, wait a moment." Arthur addressed this pink-haired Millennial politely,

The said Mr. Saiki stopped in his track. He turned around, his lips still stuck in that half of frown.

Arthur, the consummate professional, completely ignored it. "I mean, Mr. Psi," Arthur corrected himself, "That is the name that you would like to be known here at Psi Industries, correct? In keeping with your late brother's pseudo name usage practices?"

The pink-haired intern nodded subtly.

"Ah. Very good," remarked Arthur. He then gently pushed Saul closer to the young man. With all the proper tones, Arthur continued.

"Saul Bridgewater, I want to introduce you to Kenneth Psi, the younger brother of the late Chairman Psi, and your new CEO and Chairman of Psi Industries."

(1) Legal drinking age in the UK is 18.