Dr. Sable Marquis shoves the glass lab doors open with her shoulder, the momentum of her anger practically flinging it off its hinges. The Research and Development floor of PriceCorp buzzes with quiet activity – engineers hunching over monitors, machines humming, wires coiled like sleeping serpents on the metal tables. R&D has its own floor, but it's just one big room – an office built for visionaries. It is an office built for Sable. She's the one who designed it. But right now, it feels like a cage. Her and Tom have their own little office in the back, Sable storms back towards there.
Tom follows close behind her, hands tucked awkwardly into his pockets. Sable slams the door. The engineers on the outside are so focused on their work that they don't even flinch.
"You okay Dr. Sable?" Tom asks, already knowing the answer. He sits down at his desk and resumes his work.
Sable doesn't reply. She drops her files onto her desk and collapses into her chair with a hard sigh, before connecting her laptop to the dock. Her red sweater – always a little too warm for the lab's climate-controlled chill – now clings to her like a straitjacket.
"She doesn't get it," Sable finally says, staring dead ahead at the wall of blinking lights. "This is bigger than quarterly profits or stock options. This tech can literally change how we interact with reality! It can change the world! But to Jenny Price?"
She gives a bitter chuckle. Tom turns his chair towards her, listening attentively.
"It's just another way to kiss up to the Department of Defense and line her and her shareholders' pockets."
Tom tries to smile, tries to be supportive. "I mean… it is cutting-edge. But yeah, I get it. She's not exactly a 'vision over value' kind of CEO."
"No, she's not." Sable's fingers curl around the edge of her desk. "She's a bully who wears Gucci instead of a… cheerleader uniform."
Sable pauses for a beat, her face twisting into a mug as if she recalls a bitter memory from the past. She collects herself.
"Jenny Price is a spoiled brat! She's not ready to run this company, she never was."
Sable stands up from her chair, her face red with passion.
"Her father understood the implications of all of this!" she says, before she starts pacing back and forth. "He saw the bigger picture. Harold would've protected this project. But she—"
Sable stops herself abruptly. Her eyebrows shoot up, eyelids popping as if she'd just been struck by lightning. She rubs her chin and points one finger in the air, shaking it. Tom waits. He's worked with Sable long enough to know when she is on the verge of saying something important. Or dangerous.
Sable looks at him suddenly. Her voice drops low and fast. "I'm going to patent it."
Tom blinks. "The neural transmitter?"
"I've got my own schematics," Sable says, returning to her desk and turning her chair towards him. She crosses her legs confidently. "My own design history, my own SOPs, my own test logs. Everything I need to file the claim myself. She won't see it coming." Her eyes narrowed. "It'll take some time to get everything together, but once I do that I'm out of this hellhole forever."
"Wow," Tom says, giving a low whistle. "That's... that's bold."
"It's ethical," Sable says. "I'm not letting her turn my work into some White House asset. This technology was meant to heal, not kill."
"Okay Doc…"
Tom nods slowly, then awkwardly swivels his chair back into his desk. There is a long, eerie silence between them.
"I'm gonna hit the restroom. Be right back."
She waves him off, already back at her keyboard, typing furiously.
The moment the door clicks shut behind him, she stops. A gnawing feeling creeps into her chest. Her eyes drift toward the hallway.
"…I shouldn't have said all of that," she murmurs to herself, sighing and cupping her face.
On the top floor, Jenny Price lounges in her high-backed leather chair, the glowing computer monitor casting cool blue light over her sharp features. The city skyline stretches behind her like a glass mural — a monument to her empire. She sips sparkling water from her tumbler when her PricePhone lights up.
Tom's name flashes across the screen.
"Yeah?" she answers, not bothering to hide her annoyance.
"Hey, Miss Price. Can I… talk to you for a sec? It's about Dr. Sable."
That gets her attention. She leans forward, elbows on her desk. "She better not have said one word about me," Jenny thinks.
Jenny has been looking for a reason to fire Sable since she took over the company, they never got along. Sable's idealistic passion for technology conflicts with Jenny's cold capitalist logic. When Sable wants to blow minds and innovate, Jenny asks what stakeholders will say. When a brilliant idea like the fiber-optic neural feedback technology is presented, Jenny asks what the profits will be.
The creative scientific genius vs. the rich heiress who doesn't have the same connection to the company and its products that her father Harold had. It's a river they'll never cross.
Harold was once a young Black kid from 1970s South Central L.A. who built computers in his mother's public housing flat. He did this while dodging gangs, crooked racist cops, and drugs, before founding The Price Corporation at just twenty years old and growing it into a global, billion-dollar institution. This company was his life's work, his passion, his fire – it was that fire in Harold that a young, starry-eyed Caltech Ph.D. holder named Sable Marquis once admired, believed in, looked up to, and dreamed of working for – before he died. Jenny on the other hand is spoiled, aloof, a tyrant.
These are all contradictions that have grown unbearable for both women.
So Jenny bullies her and makes her life at PriceCorp as miserable as possible in hopes that she would quit
But Sable – ever the seasoned vet – takes it in stride.
At least up until this morning's meeting.
"Sure," Jenny says. "Come in."
Tom walks in, faux nervousness hiding ulterior intent. He awkwardly walks to her desk and stands.
"You can have a seat," Jenny says, gesturing towards the two metal chairs in front of her desk with her hand. Tom grabs the one on his right, pulls it back, and sits down.
"So what's going on with Sable?" Jenny asks, making direct eye contact with him and folding her arms on her desk.
"She was saying some stuff after the meeting," Tom replies. "About patenting the transmitter. Taking the whole project and walking. I told her she was nuts, but… I think she meant it."
Jenny smirks. "Oh really?"
"Yes ma'am," Tom says. "She also said that you aren't ready to run this company and that you never were."
Jenny squeezes her fist and grits her teeth. The nerve of that old ass bitch.
She presses a button on her desk phone, picking up the headset.
"Security?" Jenny asks, "Sable Marquise has been terminated effective immediately. Shut off her badge and escort her out. Yes. Now."
She hangs up and glances back at Tom.
"Congratulations," Jenny says, smiling and offering her right hand to Tom. "You're the new head of R&D."
Tom's eyes widen. "Just like that?"
"Did I stutter?" Jenny asks, her smile turning into a piercing glare.
He grins and shakes Jenny's hand like a kid who just got his favorite toy for Christmas. "Thank you Miss Price!"
Jenny withdraws her hand quickly.
"We're done here," Jenny says, turning back towards her computer and waving Tom away. "Get back to work."
Tom leaves.
Sable is plugging away at her keyboard, when suddenly, she is automatically logged out. She tries to log back in but she is repeatedly met with…
"ACCESS DENIED. PLEASE CONTACT YOUR ADMINISTRATOR."
"What in the world?" Sable thinks aloud to herself, confused.
She stares at it, confused, until the door opens and two African-American security officers step inside.
"Dr. Marquise?" the taller one asks.
"It's Mar-kee!" Sable protests, angrily swiveling her chair to face them. "I've been here for 20 years I'd expect for you idiots to at least know my blasted name!"
"We've been instructed to escort you off the premises. Your employment has been terminated."
Sable stares at them, then at her locked screen.
Then the realization hits. "Tom."
She doesn't cry. She doesn't scream. Not right away.
But something behind her eyes hardens into steel.
"This is my life's work," she says, coldly. Her tone suddenly escalates. "Do you even know what you're throwing away? Who you're throwing away? The PricePhone, the transmitter – I built all of it! Those are my ideas! Not hers, or even her father's…"
Sable begins losing control of her emotions.
"Do you really think that little girl knows what she's doing???"
Neither officer responds. They have no idea what she's talking about, nor do they care. One of them gestures toward the door. Sable nods her head, accepting her fate. With her shoulders stiff and chin high, Sable gathers her belongings in silence. The officers escort Sable through the R&D lab and out into the elevator with no drama, no protest — just the cold weight of betrayal curling in her gut like smoke.
But as the elevator doors close behind her, her grip tightens on her laptop bag. Her lips curl into a sneer.
This isn't over.
Not by a long shot.