Chapter Text
Three years ago.
The annual Bishop Foundation charity gala was an elegant, discreet, and tightly monitored event. No press. Just executives, investors, donors, and the occasional entrepreneur looking for partnerships they couldn’t secure by traditional means. Yelena Belova had no designer suits or diplomatic manners, but there she was. Wearing a simple, sleeveless black dress and boots that, in this context, might have seemed improper. In one hand, she held a glass of champagne; in the other, her tablet, like an invisible shield to hide behind. People usually don’t talk to you if you look busy.
CySec Horizon, her small cybersecurity architecture firm, was going through a critical moment. She had clients. She had a reputation. But she lacked resources. That night, she and her sister had decided to attend in hopes of testing the waters with potential private investors... Though, as always, they also planned to donate part of their yearly earnings to digital protection programs in vulnerable communities and to child protection NGOs.
Yelena had already spoken to two important people, maybe three. She’d lost count. Everyone sounded polite, and everyone was equally fake.
"Interesting choice," said a voice suddenly at her side. "Not many people bring their own portable firewall to a charity gala."
Yelena turned her head. An older man, with a cane in hand, a navy-blue suit, sharp eyes, and a genuine smile. His hair was gray and neatly combed, and he smelled of one of those old colognes that didn’t overwhelm the nose like modern men’s fragrances. Yelena recognized him from photos.
"Erik Bishop, I assume?"
"The very same." The man smiled, leaning on his cane before offering his hand. "Yelena Belova?"
"That depends," she said, though she accepted the handshake anyway. "If you’re about to offer me a position in offensive security, I’ll decline in advance. If you want to ask me to dance, same answer."
Erik let out a big, long laugh, his shoulders shaking with it. He liked her. Nothing got past her.
"Neither one nor the other," he finally confirmed, wiping a small tear. Yelena watched him carefully, waiting for the catch. There was always one with people like this. "I just wanted to greet the woman who convinced three hospitals and a university to shield their networks with custom code, without charging them a single cent."
Yelena tilted her head slightly, surprised. Not many people took the time to really look into her—just her degree and short internship at Stark Industries were usually enough for people to claim they knew her.
"Poor people shouldn’t have to choose between privacy and healthcare," she finally replied, without drama or flair.
Erik nodded. His gaze softened a little.
"And how’s the project going? CySec Horizon, right?"
"Alive. Barely." She gave a crooked smile that was more of a grimace than anything else. She took a long sip from her glass and glanced around the room. "Sometimes I wonder if it’s a business or a rebellious act held together with caffeine patches and pride."
"The best ones often start that way," Erik replied, narrowing his eyes. There was something about this man, Yelena was beginning to see it. Softer, more honest than anyone else here. And he laughed without apologizing, mouth wide, teeth showing. "Did you know I started Bishop Securities with three folders, a broken chair, and a fine from the IRS? Plus, a small son depending on me, extra motivation."
Yelena smiled, almost against her will. She raised her glass for a silent toast.
"To well-intentioned rebellion?"
"To those who don’t forget who they work for," Erik corrected, "even when the world demands they do."
They talked for nearly half an hour, maybe more. They spoke about security, ethics, business. About the donations Yelena and her sister made in silence, never posting about them anywhere. Erik listened with undivided attention. She moved him. She reminded him of someone.
Not himself, he wasn’t that self-centered, but his granddaughter: stubborn, principled, and fiercely determined to change the world without losing herself.
When Yelena walked off to greet someone else, it only took Erik a few seconds to look at his assistant, who had stepped beside him with a folder in hand.
"Write her down," he said in a low, reflective voice. "I want that girl to have options. You never know what kind of people the world will send to try to convince her she’s worth less than she is."
Present.
The office smelled of old paper, polished wood, and coffee no one had drunk. The leather of her grandfather’s chair felt precious beneath her fingers. Kate remembered sneaking into this office more times than she’d snuck into her parents’ bedroom to escape nightmares and monsters under the bed.
She remembered her grandfather spoiling her, letting her sit on his knee and play with the office papers. She remembered archery contests, the ice cream he always bought her, win or lose. She remembered their last dance, a tango, at the Christmas gala just a month ago. She hadn’t even enjoyed it—not like she should have, at least. She was in a rush, her mind elsewhere. Her grandfather had laughed, tapping her forehead.
"Always up in the clouds, Katie. You need to keep your feet on the ground more often, or the mere mortals will never catch up to you."
Kate Bishop had her fingers clasped in her lap, eyes fixed on the folder in front of her. She was sitting in her grandfather’s chair, black leather, where he’d run the family for so many years. Her mother, Eleanor, sat beside her, rigid as a marble statue.
The family lawyer, the same one who had served her grandfather for over three decades, adjusted his black-rimmed glasses and began to read.
"Regarding the succession of the majority shares of Bishop Securities, I declare that my granddaughter, Kate Elizabeth Bishop, shall be the sole heir to the entirety of my shares, provided she meets the conditions stipulated in Clause 17."
Kate blinked. Her fingers clenched tighter around the chair. Suddenly, it felt like her grandfather’s shadow had fallen over her, standing beside her, immense even now. Even gone.
"What clause?"
The lawyer turned to the next page. His tone didn’t shift in the slightest, and he avoided her gaze.
"Clause 17 states that to assume legal control of Bishop Securities, Miss Bishop must be legally married before the age of twenty-five. If not, the majority shares will pass to the designated Transition Council."
Kate felt the air evaporate from her lungs.
"No," she whispered. "No... he wouldn’t do this to me." Eleanor slowly turned toward her but said nothing. Kate stood from the chair. Suddenly, the framed photos on the shelves seemed to mock her. Kate on her grandfather’s shoulders at four or five, Erik smiling at the camera. It didn’t make sense. "Is it... signed? Really...?" Kate’s voice faltered.
The lawyer nodded with regret and slowly offered her the documents so she could read them herself. Kate could barely take the pages without crumpling them in her trembling hands.
"He wrote it himself three years ago," the lawyer added. "He included a list of individuals he deemed ‘suitable’ for you. People with integrity, vision, and... character. Among them, at the top of the list... Yelena Belova."
Kate didn’t respond. Her eyes kept rereading the clauses over and over again. Her heart pounded hard, not with anger or rage, but with sorrow. She vaguely remembered a story. A night on the terrace, her grandfather telling her about a Russian girl he had met who had made him laugh, who had made him think. Erik had leaned on the railing, looking out at the New York skyline, and told Kate there was something about her this sharp, dry security architect, that couldn’t be bought or taught.
She never imagined he’d thought of her for this too.
And for the first time since he died, Kate felt like her world was falling apart.