Wednesday’s routine meeting room was on the sixtieth floor.
The long conference table could seat eighteen people; fourteen had shown up today.
Dr.
Lucas Vance’s nameplate was placed in the fifth position on the side near the door.
The title on the card was identical to the one at the dinner gala: Chief Psychological Consultant.
As he sat down, he scanned the faces around the table.
Madelyn sat at the head of the table.
To her left was Cohen from Legal, and to her right was an empty seat labeled Stan Edgar—just like last time, no one had shown up for it.
Serena Thorne sat on the opposite side of the table near the window.
Her folder stood upright on the surface, and a slender black sign pen rested beside her hand.
She didn’t look at Lucas, her gaze remaining fixed on her own documents.
The first twenty minutes of the meeting followed routine agenda items: quarterly budget approvals and progress reports on advertisement contract renewals.
Lucas didn’t say a word the entire time.
In the twenty-first minute, Madelyn turned the floor over to him.
“The quarterly report for the Psychological Assessment Department, Dr.
Vance.” Lucas opened the folder in front of him and slid the first page into the center projection area of the table.
The scanner overhead automatically read it, projecting the data onto the screen behind him.
“HL-001’s behavioral data for the past thirty days.” Three sets of bar charts and a line graph appeared on the screen.
“Incidents of violent tendencies in public settings decreased from 2.3 times per week to 0.4 times.
The PR cooperation metric rose by 67%.
Positive media evaluation increased by 12 percentage points month-over-month.” The rustle of turning pages echoed in the conference room as several people lowered their heads to cross-reference their printed copies.
Madelyn tapped her fingertip on the table.
“What was the statistical baseline for this dataset?” “Starting from the third day after I took over the initial assessment, excluding the data noise from the first two days.” “Is a thirty-day sample size sufficient?” “For an initial evaluation of behavioral intervention, thirty days is a standard observation window.
It is sufficient.” Madelyn nodded, shifting her gaze to the others at the table.
“Everyone has seen the data.
My proposal is to allocate additional special budget for the Psychological Assessment Department for the second half of the year, while adding two assistant researcher positions.” A few people nodded.
Cohen from Legal wrote something on the margin of his document.
From the far end of the long table, a voice spoke up.
“I have a question.” Lucas shifted his gaze over.
James Foley, Vice President of Internal Audit.
Early forties, top button of his suit jacket buttoned all the way up, tie knot pulled tight.
Holding the printed data report, he flipped to the second page and traced an index finger along a line of numbers.
“A drop from 2.3 to 0.4 times, PR cooperation up 67%.
The numbers certainly look impressive.” He set the report down, resting his interlaced hands on the table.
“What I want to ask is, how do we confirm that HL-001 isn’t simply putting on an act?” The sound of turning pages in the room ceased.
Foley continued.
“A supe with the highest combat rating in the entire country—if he wants to perform well in a psychological assessment, he is entirely capable of doing so.
Do these numbers reflect genuine behavioral improvement, or has he merely learned to disguise himself in a specific environment?” Madelyn pulled her fingers back from the table, leaning against her chair back without speaking.
She was looking at Lucas.
Everyone else was looking at Lucas as well.
Lucas closed the file in his hands and placed it on the table.
“Mr.
Foley’s concerns are reasonable.” Foley lifted his shoulders slightly, adopting a posture ready to brace for a rebuttal.
But no rebuttal came.
“Any behavioral data carries the possibility of being manipulated.
Within the framework of clinical psychological evaluation, there are dedicated verification mechanisms for this.
Page four of my report’s appendix lists the cross-validation methodology, including behavior sampling outside interview hours and cross-referencing third-party witness records.” Foley flipped to page four of the appendix and stared down for three seconds.
“The data sources these verifications rely on can also be influenced.” “They can.” Lucas’s voice remained unchanged.
“So if Mr.
Foley is uneasy about the verification mechanisms, the most direct method is to go confirm it with HL-001 in person.” Foley’s finger froze on the paper.
“Ask him if he’s acting.
Ask him if the data is real.
Confirm it face-to-face.” Lucas’s pace of speaking was identical to when he discussed budget approval procedures.
“You hold the authority of Internal Audit.
In theory, you can verify the authenticity of data in any department at any time.
I can help book a time for you next week.” No one spoke in the room.
Foley’s face began changing color from his earlobes, a red hue creeping upward along his jawline.
His mouth parted slightly, then snapped shut.
Beside him, Cohen lowered his head, masking the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.
Madelyn’s gaze moved away from Foley, falling back onto Lucas’s face.
The corner of her mouth curved up ever so slightly.
“Are there any other questions?” No one spoke up.
Foley flipped his report back to the first page, set it down on the table, and pulled his hands back from the paper.
The meeting concluded fifteen minutes later.
As Lucas gathered his files, Serena walked over from the opposite side, stopping a step beside him.
“Your verification methodology is written very rigorously.” Lucas closed his folder.
“Page four of the appendix is a standard template.” “A standard template wouldn’t silence a vice president in public.” Her sign pen was held between her index and middle fingers, the tip pointing down.
“The focus of your final statement wasn’t about audit authority.
It was that no one is willing to sit across from HL-001 and ask if he’s putting on an act.” Lucas tucked his folder under his arm.
“You’re very observant.” “So are you.” She tilted her head slightly toward the exit of the meeting room.
Foley’s back had already disappeared around the corner of the corridor.
“That man will cause trouble for you later.” “I know.” “You don’t plan to handle it in advance?” Lucas took a step toward the door.
“No rush.” Serena looked at his profile, her expression unreadable.
“The Wednesday routine meeting is over.
You said before that I should come find you.” “I did.” “When?” Lucas pulled open the door to the conference room, light from the corridor pouring in.
“Tomorrow afternoon, in my office.” Without looking back, he walked toward the elevators.
That evening, when the session ended, Homelander paused at the doorway for half a second.
“Someone made things difficult for you at the meeting today.” Lucas leaned against the wall.
“You heard.” “Thirty floors away, but his voice was grating.” Homelander traced a short line on the doorframe with his finger.
“What’s his name?” “Foley.
James Foley.” “If he tries to cause trouble for you again, I’ll go have a chat with him.” Lucas looked at his back.
“No need.
He was only doing his job.” “He was questioning you.” “Questioning is his right.” Homelander pulled his hand back from the doorframe, clenched it into a fist, then let go.
“Your rights are your business.
His life is mine.”