Disclaimer: The author's imagination and passion are the only sources of inspiration for this novel, which is a work of dedication. Parallels between these pages and the past or present may be apparent to some readers, but they are completely coincidental. You are free to interpret this art anyway you see fit, and it is meant for your enjoyment.
The 50th floor of Spencer Global was usually a fortress of high-stakes negotiations and hushed financial projections. Today, however, the air smelled less like expensive espresso and more like strawberry-scented markers and organic apple juice.
It was the first official "Take Your Kids to Work Day," a concept Zayden had resisted until Ysabella pointed out that the heirs needed to "understand the infrastructure of their inheritance."
At five years old, Zeke Spencer was a miniature version of his father, sporting a tiny navy blazer and raven-black hair that he insisted on slicking back with a dab of Zayden's pomade. Four-year-old Zenie, however, was the true wildcard. With her golden-brown hair bouncing and her sharp hazel eyes constantly scanning for "discrepancies," she carried a small, glittery clipboard as if it were a weapon of mass destruction.
"Now, Zeke, Zenie," Ysabella said, kneeling to their level in the executive lounge. "Mommy and Daddy have a very important board meeting about the new port expansion. Marcus is going to stay here with you. There are snacks, and plenty of paper for you to draw your sailboats, okay?"
"I want to draw the logistics, Mommy," Zenie said solemnly, clicking her retractable pen.
"I'm going to draw a security perimeter," Zeke added, checking his toy walkie-talkie.
Zayden chuckled, ruffling Zeke's hair. "That's my boy. Marcus, if they need anything—literally anything—interrupt the meeting."
Marcus, the stoic head of security who had survived assassination attempts and international syndicates, nodded with a look of grim determination. "Copy that, sir. I have the perimeter secured."
For the first hour, everything was peaceful. Marcus sat in a leather armchair, watching the two siblings tackle a platter of chicken sliders and fruit skewers with the "Alpha Appetite" that had become legendary in the Spencer household.
Once the snacks were cleared, the "work" began.
"The folders are messy, Kuya Zeke," Zenie whispered, pointing to a stack of "Internal Audit: Preliminary Drafts" that had been left on a side table for filing.
"Let's fix them," Zeke agreed. "Daddy says everything needs a signature."
Marcus watched from a distance, leaning against the mahogany doorframe. He saw the kids diligently coloring on the papers. Zeke was using a bold red marker to draw "defensive shields" over columns of numbers, while Zenie was using a purple highlighter to circle random figures, muttering something about "unbalanced ratios" that she had clearly overheard from Ysabella.
Marcus checked his watch. It had been an hour. He stepped away to take a quick security update from the lobby, and when he returned ten minutes later, his heart nearly stopped.
The children weren't just drawing anymore. They had utilized the heavy-duty stapler, a box of "Top Secret" stickers they had found in a drawer, and a giant tub of glitter glue.
The "Internal Audit" was no longer a document; it was an art project.
Zeke had stapled a series of multi-million dollar shipping manifests together to create a "long boat," and Zenie had used her pink markers to "correct" the profit margins of the 2026 Q3 projections, adding smiley faces to the accounts that had "pretty numbers."
Marcus stared at the pile of glitter-covered, red-marked, "corrected" corporate secrets. He looked at the kids—Zeke was currently wearing a "Confidential" sticker on his forehead, and Zenie had purple ink on her nose.
He tried to keep his face neutral. He really did. But the image of the Spencer Global 10-year plan being held together by strawberry-scented glue was too much. A sharp, uncharacteristic snort escaped his nose. Then another.
He quickly pulled out his radio. "Sir... Ma'am... you might want to conclude the board meeting. We have a... significant re-audit in progress."
Two minutes later, Zayden and Ysabella burst into the lounge, followed by a confused-looking board of directors.
The scene was pure chaos.
"What in the—" Zayden started, his jaw dropping as he saw his desk.
"Zayden, look!" Ysabella gasped, but she wasn't angry. She was clutching her stomach, trying to suppress a laugh.
Marcus was standing in the corner, his face turned toward the wall, his shoulders shaking visibly. He was actually laughing—a sound the 50th floor had never heard in its entire history.
"Daddy! I fixed the numbers," Zenie said proudly, holding up a sheet of paper that represented a 500-million-peso investment. She had circled the total in gold glitter and written "GOOD JOB" in large, bubbly letters.
"And I made the boats safe, Daddy," Zeke said, showing Zayden the "staple-boat" made of the Thorne Art Collection insurance policies. "No one can break them now. They have extra staples."
The board members stood in the doorway, staring at the destruction of their hard work. One senior VP looked like he was about to have a heart attack.
"That... that was the final draft of the port expansion," the VP whispered, pointing at a paper Zeke was currently using as a hat.
Zayden looked at the red-marked document and the glittery profit margins. He looked at his daughter's purple-inked nose and his son's "Confidential" forehead. He looked at Ysabella, who was now openly giggling, leaning against him for support.
The "Shark" vanished. Zayden let out a booming, helpless laugh that echoed through the entire floor.
"Well, gentlemen," Zayden said, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye as he scooped Zenie up into his arms. "It looks like the 2026 projections have been officially audited by the new management. And according to the Junior Director, we're doing a Good Job."
"Zayden, look at this one," Ysabella laughed, picking up a paper where Zenie had crossed out a series of complex tax variables and drawn a picture of a cat instead. "She wrote 'Too boring' next to the interest rates."
"She's not wrong, Ysa," Zayden chuckled, kissing Zenie's ink-stained cheek. "Interest rates are boring."
"Hubby, we have to keep these," Ysabella said, her hazel eyes sparkling. "We'll frame them. The day the Spencer heirs took over the 50th floor."
Marcus finally turned around, his face still flushed from laughing. "I'm sorry, sir. I turned my back for five minutes and they mobilized like a tactical unit."
"It's okay, Marcus," Zayden said, ruffling Zeke's hair as the boy climbed onto his lap. "If they can dismantle a 500-million-peso deal in ten minutes with markers and glue, I think the Spencer legacy is in very capable hands."
As the sun began to set over Manila, the office was a mess of glitter and paper, but the atmosphere was lighter than it had been in years. The employees who walked by the glass doors didn't see a cold CEO; they saw a father showing his son how to properly "sign" a document with a crayon.
They didn't see a strict Director; they saw a mother laughing as her daughter explained why all the numbers in the ledger should be purple because "purple is a lucky color for money."
"Wifey?" Zayden whispered as they sat on the floor, watching the kids play.
"Yes, hubby?"
"I think we need to hire a full-time 'Glitter Auditor' for the 50th floor. This was actually more insightful than the last three board meetings."
Ysabella leaned her head on his shoulder, biting her lip to hide another smile. "Mana talaga sila sa'yo, Zayden. They don't just follow the rules; they rewrite them."
"They're Spencers, Ysa," Zayden said, pulling her and the kids into a giant, messy family hug. "We don't just audit the world. We make it look better."