I clutched my head, trying to hear my thoughts over the shouts and screams in the conference room.

"Roger, I'm sure we can take out these beams and fit the budget."

"You're crazy right? That will mess up the whole entire elevation plans we made!"

Sensing this was going to be a long meeting, i roller up the sleeves of my gray blazer, and smoothened the white dress I was wearing underneath.

There were 3 types of workers.

First, and most common, were the freeloaders. The intellects who could use their brains, but are too lazy to, and reap the benefits of their high paying job while pushing all the work onto others.

Then there were the loudmouths. Idiots, who can't shut up. They give stupid advice, and seem to be the root of most issues.

Then there are the real laborers. The people who put the most commitment, but never seem to get the credit.

I sighed, holding a hand to my head. "Can everyone just sit down and stop shouting over each other?" I complained. I felt my inner teenager self coming out again. Time to act professional.

Everyone froze, looking at me with a glint of fear in their eyes. "Robert what is this? I put you in charge of this project thinking that you were up to the job. Why are we still arguing over something as simple as schematics?"

A young man in his 30s cleared his throat. "Sorry Ms. Chase."

I made a point of sighing again. "Malcolm, you're taking Robert's place. Robert, you can work as a head engineer. Malcolm, I want this project finished and sealed by Friday got it?"

"But-"

I put up one hand. "I don't want to hear it. Get it done immediately." He closed his mouth, and nodded, with an anxious look on his face.

"And Samantha, how's the Walker Project going?"

A timid woman stood up, and shuffled around for some papers. "Yes, um, it's almost done-"

"Does almost done mean that none of the interiors are even started?"

She opened her mouth then closed it again. I raised an eyebrow, slightly amused. "Hurry up Samantha, we need to talk after this project is over."

"Now for Jacob-"

I stopped my words as I heard footsteps behind me. The door creaked open. "Annie?"

I internally groaned. "Bobby, Matthew, I'm in a very important meeting right now."

Bobby gave an innocent smile. "Daddy's calling."

I did my best not to scream. "Ok, tell him I'm on my way."

I blew a strand of hair out of my face, and started putting papers back into place. "You heard the twins. Fredrick Chase," I said the name very pointedly, "is calling. You will be notified about our next meeting, so please finish up all pending work before then."

With those words, I locked the briefcase, and walked out of the conference room, heels clapping against the marble. With one last view of a bunch of confused, anxious, and narcissist architects, I closed the door behind me, leaving a resounding boom.

Within minutes I was in the elevator. My mother insisted that it should be made of glass, to scare people by the time they entered a floor. I defied, and told her it was huge violation of privacy. Then, I was only 6, and she said she'd close the elevator as a gift for me. Now, ten years later, I still call in somebody every year to maintain the elevator and keep it in perfect condition. I pressed the number ten, and rested against the cool metal walls, pulling out the tight bun my hair was in. The golden strands tumbled to my waist, dancing and shimmering in the lights. I glanced at my reflection, and instead of seeing the multibillion dollar architectural mogul I was, I saw a sixteen-year-old girl who just wants to give up.

I stepped out, and navigated the building I knew so well. I finally ended up at an old wooden door, with a brass knocker in the shape of an owl. It didn't go well with the rest of the modern industrial building, yet it seemed perfect, with ornate carvings and dusty designed scrawled all over it.

I didn't bother to knock as I stepped right in. before me I saw a man, gray hair with glasses at the tip of his nose, reading through one of the largest books I've ever seen. Behind him we're bookshelf more books, and behind that bookshelf, even more shelves, to create a massive library filled with any information you'll need.

"I'm here."

The man glanced at his watch, and deeply inhaled. "4 minutes, 35 seconds. You're 20 seconds early."

"Well, can't wait to see what news you have in store for me today. Who died this time?"

Now usually I wouldn't mock my mother's death, but today he was in a good mood. I good tell in the way the corners of his eyes turned upward, and his usual look of brooding and evil conspiring was decreased a little bit.

"Annabeth," he said warningly. "Don't speak like that."

"You're right. We should pretend she never existed, and that life hasn't changed at all for us."

He sighed. "Annabeth, it has been 10 years. When will you let go?"

"I think it's better you ask that question to yourself," I backfired.

He looked at me straight in the eye, something most people would beg not to do. "You're going to New York," he spoke abruptly.

"What?"

"New York."

"No way. You can't do that. I need to run Chase Constructions here! These idiotic bachelors cannot function on their own! They can't even send an email on their own! And you expect me to leave?"

"Annabeth, this was never up for discussion. You are going. There are some family friends there that you have to reconnect with, and toe up some loose ends while you're at it."

I glared at him. His gaze softened. "Annie, I can run the company while you're away. I happen to be your father."

"You know nothing about running a company, much less architecture. And my father?" I gave a dry laugh. "I'd say you spend more time with your books than me."

I stood up and walked through the door. "And don't call me Annie."

3 hours later.

I flew down the stairs outside the large mansion. "Annabeth wait!"

My age let me run far ahead of him, and I gracefully seated myself in my familiar Maserati.

"Just start driving. Don't listen to a word he says," I shouted, breathlessly, over the roar of the engine.

I saw the driver grin, and felt the car lurch under me, going off at brakeneck speeds.

I finally relaxed as we tried to get past San Francisco traffic.

"So Annabeth Chase huh?" the driver asked.

I looked at him for the first time since i sat down. He seemed about my age, and had a troublemaker grin that seemed to spell out danger. His wild jet black hair stuck out in all directions, and he had bright green eyes, lively and full of mischief.

"No, it's Count Dracula," I deadpanned, already tired of this guy's antics.

He frowned. "Aren't you going to ask who I am or something?"

I sighed, as I glanced at my phone. "Perseus Jackson. Age 16. Lives in New York. Came to San Francisco to meet a certain Jason Grace," I smirked at the name. "And currently lives with mother, Sally Jackson."

He rolled his eyes, not seeming surprised. "Okay ha ha, very funny. Sorry, mistake on my part. Should've known you rich guys have access to everything," he said sarcastically.

I looked at him, calculatingly. He was wearing an old blue hoodie and dark jeans. A commoner. Dad, what did you do? "How do you know Jason?"

"We were friends back in elementary."

"That's not possible. We went to Yancy Academy. Private school. I was with him," I said irritated.

He raised his eyebrows. "Are you implying that I don't look rich to you?"

I rolled my eyes. "Well you aren't, are you?"

His eyes flashed dangerously. "I wouldn't judge a book by its cover."

I looked him over once more. Those eyes. They seemed familiar. I saw his phone light up with a text message. The screen showed a young boy grinning at the camera with a man holding him close.

"No way," i said, disbelievingly.

He smiled innocently.

"No. That's not- he had- he's dead!" I cried.

"Ah, Poseidon Olympian. What a man. He had one son you know? He kept the son a secret from the tabloids. Nobody knew he existed except for close friends and family. The son loved him dearly. Until one day, Poseidon died. Then did his huge water transportation industry just disappear? Poof?"

I held my head in my hands. Every word he said seemed to be bringing me into a bigger mess.

"No. All those industries were inherited by his heartbroken son. You know what that son's name is?"

"Percy," I whispered, remembering.

He smiled. "Hey Wise Girl, I'm back."