5
"I'm sorry, but could you please repeat that?" Chrysander stopped tapping his pen against his notebook and stared at the gray-haired man sitting at the head of the conference table. He hadn't gotten much sleep, and the early meeting didn't agree with him. "I don't think I heard you correctly."
Leonard Dreyfuss, the Chairman of the Board of Directors for Bach Industries, smiled without any warmth. "Which part?"
"The last thing you said." Because it couldn't have been what he thought he'd heard. Chrys had been called into the board meeting since Dionysus, known to the humans in this decade as Dion Bach, had been declared legally dead earlier in the month despite the fact his body had never been recovered. Chrys was one of the few who knew the truth. Dionysus was dead. Killed by Echidna in a ploy to free the Titans and her husband, Typhon, in order to take over Olympus.
Leonard clasped his hands in front of him and repeated, "The Board is naming you the new CEO of Bach Industries, as nominated by Mr. Bach himself in the circumstances he should be deemed unfit or should he pass away unexpectedly."
That was what Chrys thought he'd said. He opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it. Of those on the board, only four satyrs were ever members: Chrys, Eneas, Melancton—who had resigned when he turned his back on Dionysus—and Theron. However, Theron was a huge problem that went beyond any possible protest he might have if he were informed of this meeting he hadn't attended. A meeting he couldn't attend because, without a thyrsus or a set of Arcadian panpipes, he couldn't take human glamour. Melancton or Theron were more likely of being named CEO than him.
Obviously, this decision was chosen as a safe option should things fall through with the others, and with Theron not showing up for work and Melancton gone, here they were. Dionysus had never been particularly fond of him. What's more, Chrys had been an informant to Hermes and the Arcadian satyrs for several months. Had helped orchestrate Calix's escape—though, for the life of him, that whole situation was a complete blank. He suspected Hermes or Pan or someone had altered his short term memory, and he was not amused. He understood, appreciated it in some way, but definitely did not like having his memory tampered with.
"Well?" Dreyfuss asked, steepling his fingers on the edge of the table. "Do you accept?"
Chrys glanced around at the men and women staring at him along the glass table. Eneas sat directly across from him, not meeting his eyes. A slight flush colored his neck, and though the dark-haired satyr had a masterful poker face, it was obvious he was angry. Jealous maybe. He didn't know what to do. Taking the position would be way more trouble than it was worth. Angry Boeotians wouldn't think he deserved it. Theron might try to challenge him. And should the truth of his duplicity come out, things would get ugly. Fast.
Then again, a lot of good could come from having access to Dionysus' resources. Like stopping Theron, for instance, before he found Calix or caused more trouble with that vial of Priapus' blood. This was an opportunity that could do way more than pad his wallet. He could help people. Help his own people. Get Nestor and Pan space and resources to assist in the research and testing being done to beat this curse through scientific means.
"Yes," Chrys said and nodded. "I accept."
The remainder of the meeting wrapped up in short order. Eneas didn't stay to chat, but stormed out toward his office, typing on his cell phone. As the others exited the room, Dreyfuss opened his briefcase, which had remained closed for the majority of the meeting. Beyond him, through the floor-to-ceiling glass panes, the city of Atlanta hustled and bustled down below. The summer heat was gone with late October finally bringing cooler air. Hopefully, it would stay chilly through the fall. North Georgia couldn't ever seem to make up its mind with its fall and winter temperatures. At least it was warmer than when he was working at the offices up north.
"Before you go moving into Mr. Bach's office," Dreyfuss said and retrieved a small metal box from the briefcase. "I'm to bequeath this to you."
Chrys strolled over and accepted it, opening the lid. Inside was a portable hard drive. A note with a username and password was stuck to the top. "What's on it?"
"All of the information on Mr. Bach's…otherworldly interests and clients."
"Ah." This took him aback and he almost dropped the box. "So you—"
"Know?" Dreyfuss laughed dryly and smoothed his deep blue tie down his chest then ran a hand over his gray hair. "Yes. We worked for a Greek deity, and you and some of the others are satyrs. I know about it. I keep his interests secret as well as I can and help him keep tabs on things I think he should know about. Speaking of which…" He stood and slipped a hand in his pocket and brought out a small key.
Chrys took it and looked back at the box in his hand. There was no lock on the mechanism.
"It opens the bottom right drawer in the desk. There's a file in there you may want to look at sooner rather than later." He nodded as he gathered his belongings and headed toward the door. "After you settle in, of course."
Chrys glanced down at the hard drive and key, then back around the now empty room. This was really happening. He was CEO of Bach Industries, a multibillion-dollar company that specialized in anything from software to entertainment. Dionysus liked having a hand in as many cookie jars as possible.
As Chrys made his way toward Dionysus' office—one of his offices, one of many all over the
