My son

The elevators at Olympus Holdings were made of reinforced glass, offering a dizzying view of the New York skyline as they shot upward toward the executive floor. Most employees stood at attention when they rode these lifts, straightening their ties and checking their reflections.

Percy Jackson, however, was currently leaning against the glass wall, yawning so widely his jaw clicked. He was wearing a faded grey hoodie with a suspicious coffee stain on the sleeve, baggy cargo pants, and a pair of beat-up high-top sneakers. His blonde curls were a chaotic mess, catching the morning light and making him look more like a hungover surfer than the Head of Research and Development for a multi-billion dollar conglomerate.

Standing next to him, barely reaching his shoulder, was Annabeth Chase. She was a vision of soft, bubbly energy that felt entirely out of place in the cold, corporate atmosphere of the penthouse. Her skin was a rich, warm brown, glowing under the LED lights, and her boho knotless braids were pulled back into a high ponytail that swayed as she bounced on the balls of her feet. She was wearing a tiered pink sundress and a denim jacket, looking like a summer breeze had accidentally wandered into a storm cloud.

"Percy, you’re late. Again," she said, her voice a sweet lilt, though her brown eyes were sparkling with mischief. "Your dad is going to have a literal aneurysm this time. It’s 10:30 AM."

"Let him," Percy muttered, reaching out to tug playfully on one of her braids. "The old man knows the algorithm I finished at three this morning is going to save him about four hundred million in overhead this quarter. He can wait thirty minutes for me to get my caffeine fix."

"You’re a brat," she giggled, leaning her head against his arm.

"I'm a genius, Annie. There’s a difference."

The doors slid open with a soft chime. The reception area was a sea of navy blue suits and expensive perfume. Heads turned as the pair walked through. The whispers were immediate. Everyone knew Percy Jackson was the CEO’s son, but more importantly, everyone knew he was the only person in the building allowed to treat the office like a dorm room.

They reached the heavy oak doors of the corner office. Without knocking, Percy kicked the door open with his sneaker.

Poseidon, the CEO of Olympus Holdings, was on a conference call. He was a tall, imposing man with sharp features and hair the color of a storm at sea. He looked up, his eyes narrowing as he took in his son’s attire—or lack thereof—and the tiny, smiling girl at his side.

"I’ll call you back," Poseidon said into the phone, hanging up without waiting for a reply. He leaned back in his leather chair, rubbing his temples. "Perseus. It is nearly lunch."

"Morning, Dad," Percy said, dropping into one of the expensive guest chairs and propping his feet up on the mahogany desk. "You look stressed. You should try those breathing exercises Annabeth told you about. Or just, you know, chill the fuck out."

Poseidon’s gaze flickered to the sneakers on his desk. A year ago, he would have roared. He would have lectured Percy for three hours on the importance of 'The Image' and 'The Legacy.' He would have demanded Percy go home and change into a bespoke suit.

But that was before Percy had redesigned the company’s entire logistics network in a weekend because he was bored. That was before Percy had identified a flaw in the merger contract with the Titans Corp that would have bankrupted them.

Poseidon sighed, a sound of pure resignation. He looked at Annabeth, who gave him a bright, sunny wave.

"Good morning, Mr. Jackson! I brought you a lemon muffin. Percy said you skipped breakfast," she said, her voice like honey. She stepped forward and placed a small paper bag on his desk, right next to a stack of legal briefs.

Poseidon looked at the girl. She was nineteen, a sophomore architecture student, and she was currently the only reason his son ever showed up to the office at all. She was soft, sweet, and looked like she belonged in a flower garden, not a boardroom. Yet, he knew better than to underestimate her. She was the only person who could translate Percy’s frantic, brilliant thoughts into something the rest of the world could understand.

"Thank you, Annabeth," Poseidon said, his voice surprisingly soft. He looked at Percy. "You’re wearing a hoodie. With a stain on it."

"Yeah, it’s my lucky one," Percy said, grinning. "Don't worry about it. Did you see the file I sent over at 4:00 AM?"

Poseidon sighed again, opening his laptop. "I did. The coding is... unorthodox. I showed it to the Head of Engineering. He said it shouldn't work, yet the simulations show a ninety-nine percent efficiency rate. How did you even think of a non-linear progression for the server loads?"

Percy shrugged, reaching over to grab Annabeth’s hand, pulling her onto the arm of his chair. "I don't know. It just felt right. Like a puzzle where all the pieces were upside down. I just flipped them over."

"He’s being modest," Annabeth added, leaning down to kiss Percy’s cheek. "He stayed up all night staring at the whiteboards I bought him. He’s a total nerd."

"A nerd who just saved your ass, Dad," Percy said, his blue eyes sharp and intelligent despite his lazy posture. "So, are we done talking about my clothes? Because Annabeth and I are going to go use the 3D printer in the lab to make a model for her studio project."

Poseidon stared at them. Any other CEO would have fired an employee for this level of insubordination. Any other father would have demanded his son show more respect for the family name. But Poseidon looked at the numbers on his screen—numbers that were climbing higher than they ever had in the history of the company—and then looked at his son.

Percy was a mess. He was loud, he was arrogant, and he cursed like a sailor. But he was the most brilliant mind Poseidon had ever encountered. And if keeping that mind sharp meant letting him walk around in rags and bring his bubbly girlfriend to work every day, then so be it.

"Go," Poseidon waved a hand dismissively. "Use the lab. Just try not to set anything on fire. And Percy?"

Percy paused at the door, his arm around Annabeth’s waist. "Yeah?"

"The board meeting is at two. If you aren't there to explain this new algorithm, I will personally throw your PlayStation into the East River."

Percy laughed, a bright, genuine sound. "I’ll be there, old man. But I’m bringing Annabeth. She’s the only one who can keep me from calling the investors 'fucking idiots' when they ask stupid questions."

"Fine," Poseidon muttered, reaching for the muffin. "Just... make sure she has a chair."

As the door swung shut behind them, Poseidon heard Percy’s muffled voice in the hallway. "See? I told you he was getting soft. He didn't even mention the cargo pants."

"He loves you, Percy," Annabeth’s sweet voice drifted back. "He just doesn't know how to say it without sounding like a corporate memo."

"Whatever. Let’s go print that bridge model of yours. I want to see if my stress-test math holds up against your design."

Poseidon took a bite of the muffin. It was delicious. He looked out the window, watching the reflection of his son and the girl walking toward the elevators. He had spent years trying to mold Percy into a younger version of himself—stiff, controlled, and professional. It had been a disaster.

The moment he had stopped caring—the moment he had accepted that Percy was a force of nature that couldn't be contained in a three-piece suit—was the moment the company had truly begun to thrive.

An hour later, Poseidon was interrupted by his secretary, a woman who had worked for him for twenty years and was rarely rattled.

"Sir?" she said, peering into the office. "Mr. Jackson and Miss Chase are currently... well, they’ve taken over the breakroom."

Poseidon didn't even look up from his papers. "What are they doing, Margaret?"

"They’ve moved all the tables together. They’re covered in blueprints and what looks like thousands of toothpicks. And Miss Chase is playing Taylor Swift on a portable speaker. Quite loudly."

Poseidon paused. He could hear the faint thumping of a pop beat through the heavy walls. He thought about the investors arriving in an hour. He thought about the image of a prestigious global firm.

Then he thought about the four hundred million dollars.

"Is the music good?" Poseidon asked.

Margaret blinked, caught off guard. "I... suppose so, sir. It’s very catchy."

"Then leave them be. And send down some of those expensive sandwiches from the deli. The ones Annabeth likes. If Percy’s brain runs out of fuel, we’re all in trouble."

"Of course, sir."

Downstairs in the breakroom, the scene was pure chaos. Percy was sitting on the floor, surrounded by discarded sketches, his blonde hair sticking up in every direction as he frantically typed on a laptop. Annabeth was standing on a chair, hovering over a complex structure of toothpicks and glue, her brow furrowed in intense concentration.

"Percy! The tension on the eastern span is too high," she called out, her voice still sweet but carrying a sharp edge of authority. "The math doesn't account for the wind shear in the gorge!"

"I’m fixing it, I’m fixing it!" Percy shouted back, his fingers flying across the keys. "I’m running a new simulation now. Give me ten seconds, babe."

A group of junior executives walked in, hoping for coffee, and stopped dead. They stared at the 21-year-old in the hoodie and the 19-year-old girl in the pink dress who was currently bossing him around.

"Can we help you?" Percy asked, not looking up from his screen.

"We... we just wanted espresso," one of the executives stammered.

"Machine’s broken," Percy lied effortlessly, his eyes glued to the code. "Go use the one on the 42nd floor. We’re doing actual work here."

The executives scrambled out. Percy looked up at Annabeth and grinned. "You look hot when you’re stressed about structural integrity."

Annabeth blushed, a beautiful deep rose color against her brown skin. "Shut up and fix my bridge, Jackson. Or I’m telling your dad you’re the one who prank-called the CFO yesterday."

"Hey, that guy deserved it! He asked me if 'the cloud' was an actual cloud. I had to do it."

"Just work," she laughed, throwing a toothpick at him.

By the time the two o'clock board meeting rolled around, the atmosphere in the conference room was tense. Twelve of the most powerful men and women in the industry sat around a glass table, waiting for the CEO.

The door opened, and Poseidon walked in, looking every bit the titan of industry. Behind him, however, came the chaos.

Percy walked in, still in his stained hoodie, carrying a laptop and a lukewarm slice of pizza. Annabeth followed, carrying a stack of folders and her bright pink water bottle.

The board members stared. One elderly man, a long-time investor named Mr. D, cleared his throat. "Poseidon, what is the meaning of this? Who are these children?"

Poseidon didn't even blink. He took his seat at the head of the table. "This is my Head of R&D, and his consultant. You’re here to see the future of this company’s logistics. Percy, the floor is yours."

Percy didn't stand at the podium. He leaned against the wall, opened his laptop, and projected his screen onto the massive 4K display.

"Alright, listen up, because I’m only going to explain this once and it’s fucking complicated," Percy started, taking a bite of his pizza.

For the next forty-five minutes, Percy Jackson dismantled every preconceived notion in the room. He spoke with a terrifying level of intelligence, weaving through complex data sets, economic theories, and advanced coding with the ease of someone describing their favorite movie. When he hit a point that was particularly dense, Annabeth would step in with a smile, using simple, brilliant metaphors to bridge the gap for the older board members.

"So," Percy concluded, snapping his laptop shut. "We implement this by Monday, we cut the delivery times by forty percent, and we stop wasting money on warehouses we don't need. Any questions, or can I go finish my lunch?"

The room was silent. Mr. D looked at the screen, then at the boy in the hoodie. "The projected margins... they’re unprecedented."

"Yeah, well, I’m an unprecedented kind of guy," Percy said, reaching out to wrap his arm around Annabeth’s shoulders. "We done here, Dad?"

Poseidon looked around the table. He saw the awe on the faces of his colleagues. He saw the way they were looking at Percy—not as a spoiled brat, but as a godsend.

"We’re done," Poseidon said, a small, proud smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Good work, Percy. And thank you, Annabeth."

"Anytime, Mr. Jackson!" Annabeth chirped, gathering her things. "See you at dinner on Sunday?"

"I wouldn't miss it," Poseidon replied.

As the couple headed for the door, Percy turned back. "Oh, and Dad? I’m taking the company car. Annabeth wants to go to that new exhibit at the Met."

Poseidon sighed, leaning back in his chair as the board members began to chatter excitedly. "Take the driver, Percy. You’re too distracted to be behind the wheel."

"Whatever! See ya!"

The door closed, and the room returned to its usual corporate hum, but the energy had shifted.

"He’s a bit... unorthodox," one of the women on the board remarked, looking at Poseidon.

"He’s a genius," Poseidon corrected her, his voice firm and final. "And as long as he keeps delivering results like that, he can wear a clown suit for all I care."

Outside, in the hallway, Percy pulled Annabeth into a quick kiss. "See? I told you. He’s totally under my thumb."

Annabeth rolled her eyes, adjusting her braids. "He’s not under your thumb, Percy. He’s just finally realized that you’re smarter than he is."

"Same thing," Percy grinned, catching her hand in his. "Now come on, let’s go look at some old buildings. I want to hear you geek out about Doric columns for three hours."

"They’re Ionic, you idiot!"

"Whatever, they’re rocks. Let’s go."

They walked toward the elevators, a blonde boy in a hoodie and a girl in a pink dress, looking for all the world like two ordinary teenagers. But as the glass doors closed and they descended toward the city, the skyscraper behind them hummed with the power of the empire they were quietly rebuilding, one line of code and one toothpick at a time.