Not Just A Nanny: The Genius Returns

The security guard at the Morrison Institute lobby frowned at Althea's ID.

"Name?"

"Althea," she said. Just Althea.

"I don't see a last name here, miss."

"Scan it," she said.

He scanned the card. The light on the turnstile flashed a distinct, urgent purple-the color for Executive Access. The guard's eyes popped. He looked at her jeans, then back at the screen which read PRIORITY LEVEL: ALPHA.

"S-sorry, ma'am. Go right ahead."

Althea walked through the lobby. The scent of antiseptic and ozone was better than any perfume. She took the elevator to the top floor.

Bret was in the middle of a board meeting. The glass walls of the conference room allowed everyone to see Althea approach. Bret stopped mid-sentence. He stood up and waved her in.

The board members turned, confused.

"Gentlemen," Bret said. "I'd like you to meet our new Senior Researcher. This is Althea."

He didn't say Morrison. Althea had asked him not to. She wanted to earn her place, not inherit it.

"A researcher?" One of the older men scoffed. "She looks like she's twelve."

Althea didn't blink. "And you look like you have early-stage hepatic lipidosis based on the yellowing of your sclera, Mr. Henderson. You might want to cut down on the scotch."

The room went dead silent.

Bret coughed to hide a laugh. "Meeting adjourned."

Later, in Bret's office, he was pacing.

"I can destroy him, Allie. One phone call. I pull the funding for Harrington's medical supply chain. He'll be bankrupt in a month."

"No," Althea said, looking out at the city view. "I don't want you to fight my battles. I want to build something so undeniable that he realizes what he lost on his own."

Her phone rang. It was a restricted number. She answered.

"You thief!" Eleanor's voice shrieked. "Where is the receipt for my vintage Chanel coat? The dry cleaner says you dropped it off!"

Althea held the phone away from her ear. "I don't work for you anymore, Eleanor. Check your own pockets."

"I will call the police! I will have you arrested!"

"Do it," Althea said calmly. "I'd love to explain to the police how you treat your staff. And your family."

She hung up and blocked the number.

"Ready for the lab?" Bret asked gently.

"More than ready."

They went down to the clean rooms. The hum of the sequencers was music. Althea walked over to a workstation where a young man was frowning at a monitor.

"Problem?" she asked.

"Yeah, the protein folding simulation keeps crashing at 98%," he muttered, not looking up.

Althea leaned over his shoulder. She tapped a few keys. "Your algorithm is assuming a linear decay. It's exponential. Change the variable here."

The man typed it in. The bar shot to 100%. Success.

He spun around, jaw dropping. "Who are you?"

Althea smiled, putting on her safety goggles. "I'm the new admin assistant."