Chapter 3: A Mother's Eyes
The kitchen was empty when Marcus arrived, which was both a relief and a surprise. Through Alexander's memories, he knew the residential floors always had staff available—private chefs, housekeepers, security personnel rotating through shifts to ensure the family's needs were met at any hour. The absence of anyone felt deliberate, like they had been ordered to give him space.
Or like they were avoiding him.
Marcus moved through the enormous kitchen, his footsteps echoing on floors made of some synthetic material that looked like marble but was somehow warmer to the touch. Everything was state-of-the-art—appliances that responded to voice commands, a refrigerator that tracked inventory and suggested recipes, cabinets that opened with a gesture. The kitchen could have served a restaurant, and for a family the size of the Thornes, it probably had during better times when they hosted political dinners and alliance celebrations.
Now it felt cavernous and empty.
Marcus opened the refrigerator and stared at its contents. Fresh vegetables, premium cuts of meat, imported cheeses, exotic fruits he didn't recognize. Everything perfectly organized, nothing expired or wasted. Even in decline, the Thorne Family maintained appearances.
His stomach growled, reminding him that Alexander's body hadn't eaten in three days. Marcus grabbed bread, cheese, and some kind of cured meat that Alexander's memories identified as Spanish jamón ibérico, worth more per pound than gold. He made himself a sandwich with hands that shook slightly from hunger and exhaustion, then forced himself to eat slowly even though his body wanted to devour everything in sight.
[Host vitals improving. Blood sugar rising to acceptable levels. Recommendation: Consume at least 800 additional calories and hydrate with one liter of water before attempting further social interaction. Your brain requires glucose to function optimally.]
"Noted," Marcus said around a mouthful of sandwich. The food was incredible—the kind of quality he had never imagined tasting as Marcus Chen. Even this simple sandwich was better than the best meal he'd eaten in his previous life. He tried not to think about the unfairness of it all, the lottery of birth that meant some people ate like kings while others scraped by on ramen and hope.
He was making a second sandwich when he heard the soft sound of footsteps behind him.
Marcus turned to find his mother standing in the kitchen doorway.
Eleanor Thorne was fifty years old but looked a decade younger, blessed with the kind of genetics that expensive skincare and advanced medical treatment enhanced into something quietly stunning. She wore a simple dress in deep blue, her dark hair pulled back, no jewelry except her wedding ring. But it was her eyes that caught Marcus—gray like Alexander's, like his own now, and filled with a complicated mixture of relief, worry, and something that looked like fear.
She was smaller than he expected, more delicate. Alexander's memories showed her as strong, as someone who had survived the brutal social warfare of family politics and emerged with grace intact. But standing here in the kitchen doorway, she looked fragile in a way that made Marcus's chest tighten.
"Alexander," she said softly. "Victoria said you came down. I wasn't sure if I should..."
She trailed off, uncertain in a way that Alexander's memories said was unusual for her. Eleanor Thorne was known for her poise, her ability to navigate any social situation with perfect grace. Uncertainty didn't suit her.
Which meant she was truly frightened.
"Mom," Marcus said, and the word felt strange and right and painful all at once. He'd never called anyone that before. Never had the chance. And now he was saying it to a woman who wasn't really his mother, whose real son he had replaced. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I worried you."
Eleanor moved into the kitchen, her movements careful, like she was approaching something fragile that might break or bolt. She stopped a few feet away, studying his face with an intensity that made Marcus acutely aware that mothers knew their children in ways that went beyond logic.
"Three days," she said quietly. "Three days, Alexander. You locked yourself in that office and wouldn't respond to anyone. Not me, not your siblings, not even Margaret when she demanded to see you. Do you have any idea what that did to us? After your father..."
Her voice cracked, and she stopped, taking a breath to compose herself. Marcus saw her hands trembling before she clasped them together.
"After your father, I can't—" She stopped again, and this time a tear escaped down her cheek before she could stop it. "I can't lose you too. I can't. Please tell me you're all right. Please tell me you're not..."
She couldn't finish the sentence, but Marcus knew what she meant. Alexander's memories showed him the signs she'd been seeing for months—her son withdrawing, losing weight, the light going out of his eyes. She'd been watching him fade away and hadn't known how to stop it. The three-day silence had terrified her because deep down, she'd feared exactly what had actually happened.
Marcus felt Alexander's guilt and his own grief tangling together, a knot of emotion so complex he could barely separate the threads. This woman had lost her husband six months ago. She'd watched her eldest son crumble under pressure that should never have fallen on someone so young. And now that son was gone, replaced by a stranger wearing his face, and she didn't even know it.
The urge to tell her the truth was almost overwhelming. To explain, to apologize, to say I'm sorry your real son is gone and I'm not him and I don't know if I can ever be what he should have been.
But he couldn't. The truth would destroy her. And it wouldn't help.
So Marcus did the only thing he could do: He closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her.
Eleanor stiffened in surprise—Alexander had apparently not been physically affectionate in months, maybe years—and then she collapsed against him, her composure finally breaking. She sobbed against his chest, her small frame shaking with grief she'd been holding back through force of will alone.
"I'm here," Marcus said softly, holding her while she cried. "I'm here, Mom. I'm not going anywhere. I promise."
It was a lie and a truth at the same time. Alexander was gone, but Marcus was here, and he meant every word of that promise. This woman would not lose another person she loved. Not if he had anything to say about it.
They stood like that for a long time, mother and son who wasn't quite her son, both grieving different losses in the same embrace. Marcus felt tears on his own cheeks and wasn't sure if they were his or Alexander's or both, all mixed together like everything else in his borrowed life.
Finally, Eleanor pulled back, wiping at her eyes with shaking hands. She laughed weakly, embarrassed by her breakdown. "I'm sorry. That wasn't—I shouldn't fall apart like that. I'm supposed to be strong for you children, not the other way around."
"You don't have to be strong all the time," Marcus said gently. "You've been through hell, Mom. Dad died six months ago. The family's in crisis. You're allowed to be human."
Eleanor looked at him with those knowing mother's eyes, searching his face. "You sound different. Not bad different, just... I don't know. More present, somehow. Like you've come back from somewhere far away."
Marcus felt his heart skip. She was too perceptive. He needed to redirect carefully. "I think I have," he said honestly. "I've been in a dark place, Mom. Darker than I wanted to admit. The last three days... I had to face some things. About myself, about what I've been doing, about how I've been handling everything."
"And?" Eleanor asked softly.
"And I realized I've been failing," Marcus said. "Not just failing the family—failing you, Victoria, Damian. Failing Dad's memory. I've been so overwhelmed by trying to be what I thought everyone needed me to be that I forgot to actually be anything at all. I was disappearing, and I didn't even notice until I was almost gone."
Eleanor's hand came up to cup his cheek, her touch gentle and warm. "You've been carrying too much alone. Your father—he was a brilliant man, Alexander, but he never learned how to ask for help. He taught you that leadership meant bearing every burden yourself, and that's not true. Leadership means knowing when to lean on others."
She smiled sadly. "Your father's pride killed him. I won't let it kill you too."
Marcus felt the words hit like a physical blow. Alexander's memories showed him fragments of the truth Eleanor clearly knew, Michael Thorne hadn't died in an accident. He'd made enemies, taken risks, pushed too hard in too many directions, and someone had decided the world would be better without him. Eleanor knew it, even if she could never prove it.
"I'm going to do things differently," Marcus said. "I talked to Victoria. Really talked to her. We're going to work together instead of me shutting her out because my ego can't handle admitting I need her. And I'm going to stop hiding from you and Damian and Grandmother. No more three-day disappearances. No more pretending I have all the answers when I clearly don't."
Eleanor studied him for a long moment, and Marcus held his breath, waiting for her to somehow see through him, to realize he wasn't her son.
Instead, she smiled, and it was like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. "Good. Because we need you, Alexander. Not some perfect version of what you think you should be—just you. Present and trying. That's all any of us can ask."
She reached up and smoothed his hair back from his forehead, the gesture so maternal and tender that Marcus felt his throat close with emotion. "Now eat your sandwich before it gets soggy. You look like you haven't had a proper meal in days."
"Three days, actually," Marcus admitted, taking another bite. The food didn't taste quite as good now, weighted with emotion, but he forced himself to keep eating.
Eleanor moved to the refrigerator and started pulling out ingredients, her movements precise and purposeful. "Then I'll make you something proper. Sit. Let me take care of you."
"Mom, you don't have to—"
"I want to," Eleanor said firmly. "I haven't cooked for any of my children in months. I've been so focused on maintaining appearances, on being the perfect widow and family matriarch, that I forgot I'm also a mother. So sit, and let me be your mother for a little while."
Marcus sat at the kitchen island and watched as Eleanor began preparing food with practiced ease. She moved through the kitchen with quiet confidence, and Marcus realized this was probably the most relaxed he'd seen her since he woke up in Alexander's body. Cooking gave her something to do with her hands, a purpose that didn't require political calculation or strategic thinking.
"Victoria mentioned the Kasparov situation," Eleanor said as she worked. "The accelerated timeline."
"We're not taking their offer," Marcus said. "It's a trap designed to strip our assets while making them look generous."
Eleanor nodded, unsurprised. "I agree. But rejecting it means we need an alternative solution, and quickly. Do you have one?"
"Maybe," Marcus said. "I'm thinking about the Morrison Alliance. They have reasons to want us as partners rather than letting the Kasparovs expand further into the Pacific Northwest."
Eleanor paused in her chopping, considering. "Jackson Morrison is ambitious and calculating, but he's also known for honoring his agreements. If you can offer him something valuable enough, he might be willing to help. The question is what we have that he wants badly enough to invest in a failing family."
"Strategic partnership rather than territorial acquisition," Marcus said. "The Morrisons are overextended. They need reliable regional partners who can handle local operations while coordinating on larger strategic goals. We offer them stability and loyalty in exchange for enough financial backing to restructure our debt and rebuild our position."
"It's risky," Eleanor said thoughtfully. "If Morrison decides we're more valuable as a cautionary tale than as partners, he could simply wait for us to collapse and pick up the pieces at pennies on the dollar."
"True," Marcus acknowledged. "But I'm betting that Morrison's long-term thinking outweighs his short-term opportunism. A living, loyal Thorne Family is worth more to him over decades than our liquidated assets would be worth right now."
Eleanor returned to her cooking, but Marcus could see her mind working through the angles. "You'll need to approach this carefully. Morrison will test you, push you to see if you have the spine to be a real partner or if you're just a desperate young man willing to promise anything for a lifeline. You can't show weakness."
"I don't intend to," Marcus said. Alexander's memories provided context for Jackson Morrison—a man who respected strength and despised begging. The approach would need to be confident, offering value rather than pleading for mercy.
Eleanor placed a plate in front of him, some kind of pasta dish that smelled incredible and looked like it belonged in a five-star restaurant. "Eat. You need your strength for tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Marcus asked, though he already knew.
"Margaret has called a family council meeting for nine in the morning," Eleanor said, her expression becoming carefully neutral. "She wants answers about where the family stands and what plans you have for addressing our current situation. She's also going to want to know why you've been hiding in your office for three days instead of leading."
Marcus felt a spike of anxiety. Margaret Thorne, the family matriarch. Alexander's memories of her were complex—respect mixed with fear, love tangled with the desperate desire for her approval. She was eighty-two years old, sharp as a knife, and utterly unforgiving of weakness.
"What should I expect?" Marcus asked.
Eleanor's expression softened slightly. "The truth? She's going to try to break you. She'll push every button, question every decision, force you to defend yourself under pressure. It's her way of testing whether you're strong enough to lead or whether she needs to take control herself."
"And if she decides I'm not strong enough?"
"Then she'll dissolve your authority as Family Head and assume direct control," Eleanor said bluntly. "It's within her rights as the family founder's widow. She's been holding back out of respect for your father's wishes and hope that you would grow into the role. But patience isn't infinite, especially not at her age. She wants to see the family survive, and if she believes you're an obstacle to that survival, she'll remove you."
Marcus absorbed that, feeling Alexander's fear of his grandmother and his own determination mixing into something new. "I'm not going to let her take control."
"Good," Eleanor said. "Because as much as I respect Margaret, her methods are... harsh. She comes from an era when family warfare was even more brutal than it is now. She would stabilize us through fear and ruthless consolidation. It would work, but the cost would be high. A lot of people would get hurt."
She met Marcus's eyes directly. "You have a chance to lead differently. To rebuild with loyalty and strategy rather than fear. But you have to prove to Margaret that your way will work. If you can't, she won't hesitate to push you aside."
Marcus nodded slowly. Another test, another person he had to convince that he was capable of leading. The seventy-two-hour clock was ticking down, and tomorrow would be crucial.
[System Analysis: Eleanor Thorne has been successfully reassured of host stability. Emotional connection strengthened. However, tomorrow's family council meeting represents significant risk. Margaret Thorne's approval is critical for maintaining authority as Family Head. Recommendation: Prepare comprehensive strategic presentation tonight. First impressions with Margaret Thorne will be difficult to overcome if negative.]
"I'll be ready," Marcus said, more to himself than to Eleanor or the system.
Eleanor reached across and squeezed his hand. "I know you will. You're more like your father than you realize—brilliant, strategic, capable of seeing patterns others miss. But you're also more like me than he ever was. You can admit when you need help. You can show vulnerability without it being weakness. That's going to make all the difference."
Marcus felt emotion tighten his throat again. This woman barely knew him—barely knew who he really was—and yet she was offering unconditional support and love. It was everything Marcus Chen had dreamed of and everything Alexander Thorne had taken for granted.
"Thank you," Marcus said quietly. "For not giving up on me. For still believing I can do this."
"You're my son," Eleanor said simply. "I will always believe in you, even when you don't believe in yourself. That's what mothers do."
Marcus ate his pasta slowly, savoring both the food and the moment. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new tests, new battles to fight. But right now, in this kitchen with this woman who thought she was his mother, Marcus felt something he hadn't felt since his original death: he felt like he belonged.
It was a lie, built on tragedy and impossible circumstances. But it was also real—the connection, the care, the family.
And Marcus was going to fight like hell to keep it.
Eleanor eventually excused herself, citing exhaustion and the need to prepare for tomorrow's meeting. She kissed Marcus's forehead—a gesture so natural and maternal that it made his chest ache—and told him to get some sleep.
Marcus returned to his bedroom, his mind racing despite his body's exhaustion. He stood by the window again, looking out at the city that was now his responsibility to protect and lead.
[Recommendation: Rest is critical. Host body requires minimum six hours sleep to function at necessary cognitive capacity for tomorrow's council meeting. Time management is essential.]
"I know," Marcus said. "Just give me the family council details. Who will be there, what their positions are, what they're likely to push for. I need to understand the dynamics before I walk into that room."
[Acknowledged. Displaying Family Council Composition and Analysis...]
The system screen appeared, showing profiles of the key family members who would attend tomorrow's meeting:
Margaret Thorne - Age 82, Matriarch, Family Founder's Widow
Position: Has ultimate authority to override Family Head decisions if she deems it necessary
Likely Strategy: Test Alexander's resolve, question his competence, push for more aggressive consolidation
Key Weakness: Age and old-fashioned thinking may miss modern strategic opportunities
Eleanor Thorne - Age 50, Marcus's Mother, Widow of Previous Family Head
Position: Influential advisor, controls significant family resources through inheritance
Likely Strategy: Support Alexander but demand concrete plans and evidence of stability
Key Strength: Respected by all family members, her support carries weight
Victoria Thorne - Age 24, Chief Financial Officer
Position: Manages family finances, has detailed knowledge of all accounts and debts
Likely Strategy: Support Alexander's new approach but demand transparency and inclusion in decisions
Key Strength: Financial genius, can validate or demolish any economic strategy
Damian Thorne - Age 21, Director of Public Relations
Position: Manages family public image and media relations
Likely Strategy: Probably supportive but may feel left out of serious discussions
Key Strength: Understands public perception and younger demographic trends
Thomas Thorne - Age 35, Head of Security
Position: Commands family military and security forces
Likely Strategy: Will follow whoever he believes can keep the family safe and strong
Key Strength: Loyal, capable, controls the family's physical power
Catherine Thorne - Age 42, Alexander's Aunt, Director of Operations
Position: Manages day-to-day family business operations
Likely Strategy: Pragmatic, will support whoever has the best plan regardless of sentiment
Key Strength: Operational expertise, knows every detail of how family businesses function
Marcus Lee - Age 56, Family Advisor, No Blood Relation
Position: Longtime family advisor who served under Michael Thorne
Likely Strategy: Probably skeptical of young leadership, may advocate for selling to Kasparov
Key Weakness: May have been compromised by rival families, loyalty uncertain
Marcus studied each profile carefully, building mental models of the personalities he would face. The family council was more than just a meeting—it was a battlefield where words and strategy replaced swords.
[Additional Critical Information: Family Council has authority to vote on Family Head competency. If six of eight members vote no confidence, Marcus can be removed as Family Head. Current assessment of voting patterns...]
Likely Support: Eleanor (mother's loyalty), Victoria (recent positive interaction), Damian (youngest, more flexible)
Uncertain: Thomas (will follow strength), Catherine (follows best plan), Marcus Lee (loyalty unknown)
Likely Opposition: Margaret (waiting to be impressed)
Assessment: Marcus needs to secure at least five votes to maintain authority. Minimum threshold requires convincing either Thomas or Catherine, plus maintaining current support. Margaret's support would guarantee success but is most difficult to obtain.
"So I need to walk into that room with a plan solid enough to impress a woman who has survived sixty years of family warfare," Marcus said. "No pressure."
[Correction: Significant pressure. However, pressure creates diamonds or reveals flaws. Tomorrow will determine which you are.]
Marcus laughed despite himself. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
[You are welcome. Now sleep. Your brain cannot form optimal strategies while running on three days of minimal nutrition and zero rest. Even brilliant minds require maintenance.]
Marcus knew the system was right. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally drained from a day that had felt like a lifetime. He stripped off Alexander's expensive clothes, leaving them in a heap that would have scandalized the previous owner, and fell into bed.
The sheets were absurdly comfortable, the bed perfectly calibrated to support his body. In his old life, Marcus had slept on a used mattress that hurt his back and creaked with every movement. This bed probably cost more than a year of his old salary.
He should have felt guilty about the luxury. Should have felt like an imposter in silk sheets, wearing a stolen life.
Instead, Marcus felt determined.
Tomorrow he would face the family council. Tomorrow he would prove that Marcus Chen, orphan nobody, could lead the Thorne Family better than Alexander Thorne, heir to privilege, ever could.
Tomorrow he would begin building the family he'd always dreamed of having.
But tonight, he would sleep.
Marcus closed his eyes, and for the first time since dying, he felt something like peace.