Chapter 2: THE BIRTHDAY KING
The Roy estate sprawled across its grounds like a monument to excess. Old money architecture pretending at taste while screaming look at what we can afford from every imported stone and manicured hedge.
I'd seen it on screen. Being here was different.
The car rolled up the drive. My stomach clenched. Not fear. Not exactly. More like anticipation before a performance where everyone knew the script except the audience.
"Mr. Roy." The driver opened my door.
I stepped out into orchestrated perfection. Catering staff moved with practiced efficiency. Bartenders manned their stations. Everything positioned just so, down to the flowers that probably cost more than a normal person's weekly groceries.
"Roman!"
Kendall's voice. I turned.
He looked younger than I remembered from the later seasons. Still had that hungry energy, that desperate need to prove himself that would curdle into something darker. Navy suit that cost a fortune and still somehow made him look like he was trying too hard.
"Didn't think you'd show." He grabbed my shoulder. Squeezed. Performative affection.
The Empathy Engine flickered at the contact. Fragments of thought, impressions, feelings. Needs to make a good impression today. Dad's watching. Everyone's watching. Can't fuck this up. Roman's going to say something inappropriate. He always does.
I pulled back before it could overwhelm me. "Miss Dad's eightieth? Wouldn't dream of it."
"Right. Because you're so dutiful."
"I'm a fucking Boy Scout."
Kendall's laugh had an edge. "Sure you are."
Shiv materialized beside him. Red dress that probably had a designer name I'd never heard of. Hair perfect. Makeup perfect. Everything calculated down to the centimeter.
"Rome." She air-kissed near my cheek. Performative intimacy. "Try not to embarrass us today."
"That's what I'm here for. Professional embarrassment. It's my job."
She smiled. Didn't reach her eyes. "Just... be normal. For once."
Normal. Right. Because I was doing great on that front. Totally normal to wake up in someone else's body with superpowers and knowledge of the future. Just your average Tuesday.
Connor shambled over. Oldest brother. Perpetual disappointment. The one Logan forgot about unless it was inconvenient.
"Brothers. Sister. Lovely day for celebrating the old man's slide toward death." He said it like a joke. Wasn't entirely joking.
"Jesus, Con." Shiv's voice went sharp.
"What? He's eighty. Statistically speaking, the mortality window is opening ""
"Not today." Kendall cut him off. "Today we smile. Today we celebrate. Today we pretend we're a functional family."
I watched them bicker. Surface-level shots wrapped in humor that wasn't quite humor. The Roy family's native language.
My hand itched to touch them. To use the Empathy Engine and read what they were really thinking beneath the performance. But that way led to information overload. Too much too fast.
I needed to pace myself. Learn the powers' limits before I pushed them.
"Where's Dad?" I asked.
Kendall's jaw tightened. "Inside. Holding court. Being... Dad."
"So, the usual."
"Yeah. The usual."
We moved through the party like actors in a play. Smiled at executives whose names I half-remembered from the show. Shook hands with board members I knew would become enemies eventually. Made small talk about nothing while the real conversations happened in glances and implications.
The food was insane.
I grabbed a plate. Some kind of salmon that probably swam in exclusive waters. Caviar that cost more than my old car. Truffles on everything.
I took a bite.
Holy shit.
Roman's body recognized good food. Appreciated it in ways I'd never experienced. Wealth had compensations. Terrible, soul-destroying compensations that came with family trauma and corporate warfare, but compensations nonetheless.
"Roman."
That voice.
I turned.
Logan Roy stood five feet away. Smaller than I expected. Older. The stroke hadn't happened yet, but I could see it now "something in his posture. A weight he was carrying that he hadn't noticed.
"Dad." The word came out automatically. Roman's muscle memory.
"Come here."
Not a request. Never a request with Logan.
I crossed the distance. He extended his hand. Power move. Making me come to him, making me shake like a subordinate.
I took his hand.
The Empathy Engine exploded.
Not thoughts. Not exactly. Something deeper. Physical. Like touching a live wire made of wrong sensations.
Pressure. Building. Something inside his head that didn't belong there. Blood where it shouldn't be. Vessels straining against forces they weren't built to withstand.
The stroke. Not happening. But coming. Soon. Today.
I jerked back. Almost dropped my plate.
Logan's eyes narrowed. "Something wrong?"
"No. I'm fine. Just..." I forced a smile. Roman's default expression when uncomfortable. "Surprised to see you out here. Thought you'd be in your office avoiding your own party."
"Can't avoid my own birthday." His voice carried that edge it always did. The one that said I see you. I know what you are. You're nothing.
"Wouldn't dream of suggesting it."
He studied me. Looking for weakness. For cracks. For any sign he could exploit.
I held his gaze. Longer than Roman usually would have. Long enough to notice the slight surprise in his expression.
"Go find your brothers," he said finally. "Family meeting in an hour. My office."
"Sure thing."
He turned and walked away. Dismissed.
I stood there holding my plate of expensive fish, trying to process what I'd just felt. The Empathy Engine wasn't just reading thoughts. It was reading everything. Physical state. Health. The biological warning signs that screamed something's wrong.
Logan was dying. Not today. But the countdown had started.
The party continued around me. Executives laughed at jokes that weren't funny. Board members networked and measured each other for coffins. The Roy children performed their roles while plotting different futures.
I finished my salmon. Set the plate down. Looked at the sprawling estate and the people who thought this world would last forever.
It wouldn't.
In an hour, we'd gather in Logan's office. He'd try to announce something. Probably about Kendall. About succession. About his empire and who would inherit the poison throne.
And then he'd collapse.
The stroke would hit like a hammer. The king would fall. The game would begin.
I just had to decide what role I'd play when it happened.
The original Roman would have frozen. Panicked. Been useless.
I wasn't the original Roman.
I touched my watch. Checked the time. Fifty-eight minutes until everything changed.
I needed to be ready.
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