NOVEL WEB Chapter 248: Signing the Club
Meanwhile, Darren's other employees had a job to finish for him.
All the way in Westblock District where the morning air carried a distinct blend of fresh ink, recycled air, and tension —the bureaucratic kind, lined with plastic badge scanners and filtered sunlight through reinforced skylights.
The Calivernia Department of Economic Recognition & Trade Licensing, or CERTL, stood like a blunt monolith in the business sector: thirteen floors of slabbed walls, smart-glass panels, and security cameras hanging lazily like vultures keeping watch over ambition.
Inside, the main atrium of CERTL resembled a cross between a futurist airport and a corporate mausoleum.
Queues of executives, assistants, and startup founders lined the chrome-inset floor in snaking patterns, all inching toward self-registration kiosks glowing with sterile white light.
Each kiosk pulsed with customizable interfaces, ID validation ports, retinal and facial verification pads, and contract scanners embedded beneath biometric plates.
Filling the air was the murmured chatter of pitch decks, legal debates, and whispered curses about licensing fees.
Among the crowd stood Sandy Meyers and Amelia Forrest, dressed to fit but not to blend.
Sandy, ever the definition of understated class, wore a high-waisted cream pantsuit tailored to perfection. Her blouse was dove grey silk with a subtle pattern of bronze-threaded pinstripes that shimmered only when caught by the light.
A pair of antique rose-gold earrings shaped like tiny ciphers swung gently from her ears. Her ash-blonde hair was tied in a low, minimal knot. Her expression was fairly sharp, though she could never get rid of the softness of her older gaze.
Beside her, Amelia brought a different kind of presence. She wore a navy-blue pencil skirt that kissed just below the knee, paired with a crisp sleeveless blouse of pure white tucked into a tailored vest.
Her dark hair fell close to her brows in her usual bangs, and a watch she had gotten from her last month salary glistened in her wrist. Unlike Sandy's cool calm, Amelia had a spark in her gaze— alert, precise, a constant mental current that matched her kill-bill expression.
They had just passed through level-two verification, having submitted the preliminary business code request under the name The Pantheon Club— an umbrella body meant to cover Darren's expanding investor network.
It was for the building he had bought a while ago; the one he wanted to turn into an exquisite get-together for the actors and other celebrities who were filling up Los Alverez like sardines.
At the fifth kiosk in row B, Sandy laid the encrypted authorization file gently into the plate slot. A soft beep followed, and the monitor before her requested signature from two founding board officers.
"I'll take left," Amelia said.
She placed her index and middle finger on the designated biometric pad while Sandy mirrored her on the right side. After that, they signed and the dual authorization was active.
They proceeded to file for the business architecture.
"Upload it," Sandy said.
Amelia tapped on her keyboard. A new window opened on the terminal screen, detailing the proposed internal structure of the Pantheon Club; Darren as Executive Chair and placeholders for upcoming department heads, press liaisons, and legal counsel.
The system paused for a second, then began cross-checking the proposed hierarchy against business ethics registries and pre-registered conflict warnings.
While it worked, Sandy exhaled. She wasn't necessarily exhausted, it was just a ritual to do that when one was waiting.
"They're slow today," she murmured.
"It's Tuesday," Amelia replied, lifting an eyebrow. "Tuesdays are for startups trying to look legitimate and hedge funds trying to pretend they aren't already laundering something."
Sandy smirked but didn't comment. The screen dinged again.
Step 3 was complete.
"Come on, let's go."
They headed to the Intent Registry to get the compliance agreement done.
There, Amelia selected the pre-prepared mission statement and scrolled through the clauses, her fingers moving in sharp lines as she toggled through:
Darren Steele's Club: Official Draft
Purpose: To provide an exclusive, private sanctuary for influential actors and musicians, facilitating discreet social engagement and high-level networking away from public scrutiny.
Membership: Invitation-only; closed circle, strictly for verified, high-profile individuals within the entertainment and music industries.
Key Offerings: Premium bar and lounge services, private soundproofed areas, and bespoke concierge for members.
Compliance Clause 17A: Subject to FEDTECH oversight in the event of AI-integrated forecasting modules.
When they were done, Amelia turned. "You want me to handle the rest?"
"No," Sandy said, adjusting her blazer. "Let's finish this together."
They walked together toward the lounge. On the way, Amelia gave Sandy a side glance.
"I always wanted to talk to you about something you know. You've known Darren longer than any of us," she said softly, casually, almost as if thinking aloud.
Sandy's eyes flicked to her, then forward again. "Yes. We were both in... Smithers Group."
"You ever think about that?"
Sandy gave a small smile. It was faint—almost imperceptible. "Sometimes."
Amelia hesitated, then asked more carefully, "I mean... The company's grown so fast. And Darren... he's always surrounded now. I think sometimes that you might feel left out... seeing how he spends more time with Rachel and Kara... and me. Even though you've known him longer than the rest of us."
Sandy didn't answer immediately. She stepped into the elevator, waited for the doors to shut, and then said, "Uhhh... It's just... he spends more time with you all because... your roles require proximity. I'm head of Finance so I just stay in the office more."
Amelia tilted her head. "But it still stings a little, doesn't it?"
Sandy turned to face her.
"Sorry if my questions are a bit..."
"It's okay," Sandy smiled. "I do feel left out sometimes. But what matters is the work. Darren's just pretty busy. Nostalgia doesn't matter when there's money to be made."
Amelia looked at her for a moment, but didn't say anything else and followed out as the doors opened to Level 2.
Inside the notarization lounge, a registrar with the seal of Calivernia walked towards them.
Amelia and Sandy presented their credentials and verified the signature token. The registrar confirmed and after a few documents were checked, it was completed.
They trademarked the club name, The Pantheon Club right there.
After that, Sandy picked up the hardcopy, brushed her thumb along the watermark, and gave a small nod.
"Done."
"Seeing how fast we got it done, hopefully Darren would consider giving us a raise," Amelia joked.
"Of course you'd need a raise after you spent all of last month's ceremony on a watch."
"Hey!"
Sandy giggled.
They turned back toward the main atrium, stepping into the streaming crowds with renewed purpose. But just as they were halfway through the hall, Amelia froze slightly.
She was certain that her eyes weren't deceiving her.
Across the atrium, near a vendor lounge, stood a man in a grey three-piece suit. His hair was dark brown, swept back in crisp waves.
When Amelia squinted her eyes, she realized that he was grinning straight at her.
She tugged at Sandy's blazer.
"What?" Sandy asked.
Amelia pointed with her eyes. "Isn't that Adam Scotland?"