Date: June 7, 2440 Time: 11:40 AM
“This is where it all started, back in 1947,” Matt said as they pulled into the lot. “The buildings looked different then,” he added, picturing the Quonset huts his ancestors had inherited from the government. “But Marmaduke Inc. began here—nearly five centuries ago.”
“That’s a long time,” T’mari replied thoughtfully. She’d already studied the Marmaduke businesses in detail—at W’ren’s request. He needed to understand the man they were entrusting with their people’s future, and T’mari had agreed. A million lives meant due diligence.
Matt likely wouldn’t mind, she reasoned. But she didn’t mention that she knew—out of millions of registered companies—exactly 614 were older than his. Only 50 of them were in the Americas. And none of the American-founded mega-corporations predated Marmaduke Inc.
“This afternoon,” Matt continued, “I’ll take you by the logistics headquarters, though I mostly run that out of the house these days. After that, we’ll stop at Leonard’s new HQ—he’s set up in the industrial park I co-own. Then… shopping.”
“Shopping?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“So you can find a scent that works for you,” he said with a grin. “Something you like better than my woodsy cedar.”
“Good morning, everyone,” Matt said, taking a seat at the head of the conference table. He sipped his coffee, handed a donut to T’mari, and pushed the box back toward the middle of the table.
Kemp Donuts had been his go-to indulgence as a student, and they were still some of the best on the planet as far as he was concerned.
“There’ll be time to meet T’mari properly later. For now, let’s get to business. As most of you know, I’ve personally acquired new and significant holdings. Most of it will filter back through lease structures into MOMA Agri-Solutions. But with the board’s approval, I want to split the engineering division into a separate entity—with a focus on agricultural engineering. I’d like recommendations for the startup team. Sanjay, I’d like you to spearhead the project. Susan, I saw your hand?”
“Is splitting off engineering really necessary?” Susan asked. “We’ve worked hard to build that arm for eighteen years, and it’s been a huge moneymaker.”
“Yes. It’s necessary,” Matt said, calm but firm. “We’ve built a reputation for quality and reliability. A lot of you made that happen. You’ll all get significant equity in the new company. But the reason for the split is simple: we’re going beyond agricultural engineering. We’ll be producing off-the-shelf components using V’ren technology. Some of you have already seen the prototype power supplies.”
He paused, scanning the room.
“And I don’t want any of the inevitable anti-V’ren backlash spilling over onto our core agri-business. If other nations restrict or ban V’ren tech, we need to keep our supply chain—and our reputation—clean.”
“They were impressive,” someone noted. “And if they scale like promised, they’ll change everything for small farms.”
“They scale both ways,” Matt said. “We’ve already got prototypes for personal vehicles. By the end of the week, you’ll each have test units. But these aren’t our only products. The engineering spinoff lets you all get back to focusing on farming.”
He leaned forward.
“I told Amazon it would take ten years to hit the grain quotas we quoted them. I now think we can do it in three to five—if we move fast enough. When we’re done, our tractors and harvesters will run on hydrogen power plants with antigravity lift. Your job is to make sure our success looks ordinary.”
“I’m also looking at Montana and Alberta for grain expansion,” Matt added.
“Why there?” someone asked.
“Better beef,” Alan Summers guessed.
Matt nodded. “Exactly. One of our biggest costs since founding has been transport—even with our own logistics network. Growing grain near our buyers means real profit.”
“I want to turn a profit,” Matt continued. “But I also want to make food more accessible for the people who need it. We’ve got to stop thinking of ourselves as regional and start thinking globally.”
“That’s… wildly ambitious,” Susan said. “More than I’ve ever heard from you. You’ve always been a ‘slow and steady’ voice.”
Matt took another sip of coffee. “The times are changing. And I’ve had an opportunity—one that quite literally fell into my lap and nearly flattened my house. If we don’t move faster than I’d like, we’ll have bigger problems than supply chains.”
“Maybe more problems for you,” Ashton said, folding his arms. “But we can weather the storm.”
Matt set his coffee down with surgical precision. When he looked up, his eyes were cold—colder than anyone had seen in years.
“No,” he said softly. “You won’t weather anything.”
The room fell silent.
“You’ll either stand for the truth or lie for convenience. If you lie, I’ll bury you in court—and depending on my mood, maybe not just in court.”
He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.
“Don’t test me, Ashton. Not on this.”
The silence stretched. Even the coffee went cold.
Matt leaned back and let his gaze sweep the table.
“If this is too much, I’ll accept your resignation from the board. And because you’re blood, I’ll honor the old ways—forty-eight hours to be off my lands before you’re declared outlaw.”
He let that sink in, then softened—barely.
“Out of love for the children, Tammy will have thirty days to pack up and join you. After that, any banner you raise will be treated as hostile.”
He looked around.
“Anyone else think the truth is a bad idea?”
No one answered.
Kate Littleton broke the silence, her tone dry but deliberate.
“I know this might shock a few of you, given our history—and the fact that Matt and I have tried to outmaneuver each other since puberty—but I agree with him. Completely.”
She gave a slight nod in Matt’s direction. Half alliance, half dare.
“We need to move fast. Which, to be fair, has always been my preference.”
She folded her hands. “Thoughts on hiding the truth in plain sight?”
Matt gave a half smile. “The first layer’s easy. I have a million more mouths to feed.”
Gasps. That number had weight.
“They’re not starving. They came prepared—colony expedition standards. But the food’s miserable. Processed slurry called porridge. They’re surviving, not living.”
“My sentiments exactly,” T’mari said, reaching for another donut. “But we’ve tested one of our staple grains—keft. Strong substitute for wheat. One of our hydroponic engineers—who happens to be a galactic foodie—ran trials. You can mix it fifty-fifty with wheat and produce breads, pastas, and even pastries. Higher fiber, more protein, fewer allergens. The results surprised everyone. Including me. I used to hate the stuff.”
“So,” Matt said, “we improve the food supply without importing a single ton. We introduce new tech disguised as ag upgrades. And as long as no one starts dissecting the power cells or chassis designs, we stay ahead of the curve.”
“Hide the miracle inside the mundane,” Kate mused. “I like it.”
“This is more your logistics division than ours,” Lilly Potts said. “But how are you planning to move that much extra grain? You spun that arm off years ago—smartly, I’ll admit—even if everyone thought you were crazy.”
“That’s a two-part answer,” Matt said. “First: keft. We’ll shift some wheat from food to seed, enough to support three thousand new farms. Those farms explain the yield bump. Plausible—if you’re not looking too close.”
He waited a beat.
“Second: counter-gravity tech. It’s going to revolutionize bulk transport. And no—I’m not proposing flying cars.”
The room chuckled. Of course not. The Jetsons’ dream had been dead for centuries.
“I have that tech,” Matt added, “but skyways are a mess. Infrastructure, liability, public stupidity. Instead, we’re using it for something practical: bulk hauling via tethered rail lines. Think maglev—but no magnets. Just anti-grav sleds on fixed paths. No engines. No structural loads on the rails.”
“You could lay it over anything,” Kate said, catching on.
“Exactly. Across rivers, up hills—doesn’t matter. And the rails can be made of anything. Including ag-waste composites. Wheat straw and polymer binder, for example.”
Ashton, quiet since the standoff, leaned forward—genuinely curious.
“Now you’ve got my attention,” he said. “Wheat straw composite? Reactive cellulose. Stable if cured right. I’d love to run stress tests.”
“Apology accepted,” Matt said, with the briefest nod.
Everyone understood what that nod meant. In a world where law was just another word for who had the most guns and grain, that nod carried more weight than any contract ever had.
Kate broke the silence again, her voice sharp and dry.
“I think it’s time we admit what we are. This isn’t a boardroom full of ambitious cousins. This is a nexus of competing fiefdoms—and Matt holds more thrones than most kings ever dreamed of.”
Heads nodded. No one disagreed.
She counted on her fingers. “Freeholder. The largest shareholder in this company. You hold 27% of the family trust. You are the sole owner of two businesses, soon to be three. You quietly own the majority in at least half the co-ops in five counties, and god only knows how many other local businesses you hold a stake in. And now High Lord of a people we barely understand but know damned well are ten steps ahead of us technologically. That’s a lot of hats.”
She met Matt’s eyes, but he merely shrugged.
“So here’s my question,” she said. “Which hat are you wearing when you talk to us?”
Matt smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“The one that feeds you.”
The room went still. A long breathless pause.
Because he did. He fed them—literally and financially. Everyone at that table had made a fortune riding the wake of his decisions. In the world after the collapse, money still mattered. Because money meant fuel. Security. Antibiotics. Choices.
And Matt kept the money flowing.
That was enough for most of them.
T’mari, halfway through her third donut and sitting just off to the side, smiled quietly.
This was her mate. Her High Lord.
Not a V’ren male—something else. Something more dangerous. Something more human.
A man who could dominate a boardroom in an industrial park with the same calm authority he used to silence a battlefield.
He was a power player.
And he knew it.
