Insanity // J.Valeska

Part Twenty-Three: The Meeting

"Stephanie?"

Stephanie Harlem glanced up from the crisp sheet of paper before her, turning to look at her uncle. He was dressed well: in a dark suit and matching tie; his hair was gelled back - he looked good, a perfect guardian.

Steph rose on surprisingly sturdy legs, her fingers tightly clutching at the paper as if it were her life-line, and at this point, it essentially was.

Jim closed the distance between them, placing a hand on her shoulder. "They're ready for you."

She merely nodded her acknowledgement; right now she had a job to do.

The reporters had a field day.

News of Stephanie Harlem's rescue was spewing from every newspaper in the city, and every reporter wanted to be the one with the first statement from her. Her first time in the public eye, forever marred the fact that everyone she had ever loved was dead.

Yet here she was, about to make her statement.

There was a podium set up for her and on it, sat a microphone; the press really wanted her victim's statement. It seemed as though they forgot that not only was she just seventeen years old, but they seemed to entirely dismiss that she had just been rescued from quite a traumatic event. Alas, as usual, nobody in Gotham appeared to care for the orphaned girl.

It was why she had been so determined to make her statement sooner rather than later; the later it was the higher the chance that she could lose her parent's company.

"My name is Stephania Quinn Harlem," her voice rang out across the mass of reporters and citizens, echoing between the towering skyscrapers. "And my parents are dead. When I wrote this, I was seated at my father's desk in his office, the very office I had once coloured in while he was in business meetings; the same office where he had read me stories in front of the fireplace. And on that fateful night, weeks ago, I watched my father die as he tried to protect his wife and daughter. I watched as he took his dying breath as his killer turned on my mother, who shouted at me to go hide, to go find safety. I did not heed to her pleas, and instead I stood, frozen in fear as my mother too, perished.

"My parents died young, but they did not die in vain. Miraculously, I survived that ordeal, only to be thrust into a kidnapping scandal. During that time while I was captured, my paternal grandparents were killed as well," Stephanie spoke strongly, her voice unwavering. After all she had been through, this surely was the easy part.

She closed her eyes for the next part, squeezing them shut until she saw only black and when she reopened them, everything felt a little more clear. "I am seventeen years old, and the heir to the Harlem company, as per the request of my dear parents, Jefferson and Clarissa Harlem. On my eighteenth birthday next May, I will be taking office as the President of Global Incorporated."

"In the mean time," she read, "my maternal uncle, James Gordon, will serve as my legal guardian. In the event of something occurring to my uncle, I will thus be emancipated from guardianship.

"Any statement or questions regarding my parents' killer or my kidnapping will be responded to at a later time. Thank you, and no further questions."

Stephanie Harlem briskly pivoted on her heel, her high-heeled shoes clicking as she marched from the podium to her family's private car, waiting to take her to the head office of Global Incorporated. She was not done yet, not by a long shot.

Some time later, Stephanie Harlem sat at the head of a large, dark, wooden table in the building's largest boardroom. And sitting around it, was the Board of Directors for Global Incorporated.