Thea had barely returned to Star City and caught her breath before she was whisked away by Moira, who had been anxiously waiting for her for three days.
Moira was deep into her campaign preparations. To win over voters, she had to play the part—whether it was an act or not—of someone far removed from billionaire status. She couldn't appear as a wealthy elite.
This required transferring her personal assets. Donating them to society was out of the question; no one actually did that. The standard practice was transferring assets to children. Although it felt like a redundant formality, almost all candidates projected an image of austere simplicity, often recounting tales of hardship during televised debates. Some even moved from wealthy neighborhoods to low-income areas for the sake of optics.
Moira wasn't that extreme. She had no intention of abandoning her mansion for subsidized housing. Still, the family assets needed to be transferred. Running for office as a billionaire wasn't impossible, but it would make her stand out in a way that clashed with her desired campaign image—that of a steady, pragmatic leader who didn't need flashy stunts to attract attention.
Before Thea fully understood what was happening, she found herself surrounded by nearly fifty lawyers, spending the entire morning signing documents. The sheer volume—hundreds of pages—left her wrist sore. She'd have summoned a double to sign for her if it wouldn't have caused a scene. By noon, she'd signed her name over a thousand times.
Although the Queen's family assets were now nominally hers, she was still a minor. The age of majority varied across the country, averaging 18, but in Star City, it was 17. She was still a year away.
Until she came of age, her guardian still controlled her financial affairs, and that guardian was, naturally, Moira. So, after all the maneuvering, her mother still held the reins firmly, essentially unaffected by the transfer.
Still, it was a small step forward, Thea mused. If inheriting a company was this tedious, she could only imagine the stress of ascending a throne in ancient times.
Taking over the Court of Owls had been a brilliant move. It gave her funds, connections, and loyal hands—everything she needed. Waiting for Queen Consolidated to simply fall into her lap might have taken forever.
After the busy morning of paperwork, Thea officially began her new 'duties' in the afternoon.
Naturally, this didn't mean actually working at the company. Walter Steele was managing the corporation effectively; there was no need for her interference. She merely needed a nominal position on the board.
Her real role was campaign support. As Moira's only living child at present, she had to appear at events to bolster her mother's campaign. To put it bluntly, she was there to serve as a mascot, demonstrating what a successful and wonderful mother Moira was, thereby attracting as many female voters as possible.
For the occasion, Thea wore a light red dress. Despite instructing the stylist that the event was in a low-income neighborhood and required something modest, the bearded man had chosen this piece, which left a large portion of her back exposed.
When she stepped out of the changing room, even Moira was struck by her daughter's radiant skin.
In her final days in Gotham, Thea had eaten a mysterious green fruit. Perhaps due to its earth-based nature, the transformation it induced was remarkably gentle. There was no major bleeding or sharp pains, just a few days of digestive discomfort before the process was complete.
Examining herself, Thea found no enhancement to her bloodline—no extra golden blood in her heart. Instead, her lungs had undergone a remarkable upgrade. An intuitive sense told her that her body's blood production had been significantly enhanced. If previously she naturally generated one drop of Golden Blood per year, that timeframe was now reduced to three months. Her resistance to toxins had also improved.
Externally, the changes were subtle but profound: her figure became even more graceful, her features softer, hiding the muscle definition from her rigorous training. Her skin radiated a luminosity that naturally drew attention.
Moira, as Thea's mother, wasn't worried about being overshadowed by her daughter. Her real concern was that Thea was becoming so exceptional that finding a suitable match might prove impossible.
Before leaving Gotham, Thea had sent Moira several photos—snaps taken at Bruce Wayne's private beach, though Felicity had edited them to look like Malibu. Moira had initially flipped through them casually, but then she spotted a familiar figure: Bruce Wayne! As one of the country's most famous playboys, she certainly recognized him.
Seeing the two together in the photos, clearly acquainted, set Moira's mind racing. Was her daughter being deceived? Dazzled by the notorious, wealthy bachelor? Had she been too strict, pushing Thea towards someone like him?
After much deliberation, her thoughts settled on the idea that they were, perhaps, actually quite suitable. Bruce was older, certainly, but undeniably wealthy. Truthfully, few young men in their social strata could be considered Thea's equal anymore. The wealthy ones were too old, the age-appropriate ones lacked standing. Moira fretted endlessly over her daughter's future prospects.
She had discreetly tasked people with investigating Bruce's habits and lifestyle in Gotham. However, Bruce's ability to maintain his privacy was legendary; countless villains had failed to uncover his secrets, let alone Moira's operatives. Combined with the general turmoil in Gotham at the time, the investigation yielded nothing. Moira could only file the concern away, waiting for an opportune moment to discuss it with Thea.
Unaware her photos had raised suspicions, Thea trailed a step behind Moira, smiling politely. She watched her mother shake hands with eager housewives who'd flocked to the event, but her mind was elsewhere—on the necklace she wore.
It was the sky-blue necklace Malcolm Merlyn had given her long ago (detailed in Chapter 13). Upon returning from Star City this time, she'd inadvertently discovered intriguing inscriptions on its inner surface. Like the black mist dagger, it was a magical artifact. While the dagger had four simple runes, the necklace bore fifteen intricate ones.
Deciphering the runes was a nightmare—ten times harder than the dagger. It was obvious this was an heirloom from Malcolm's lineage, passed down through generations, likely falling into obscurity as magic faded from the family line until it was regarded as mere jewelry.
Thea, acutely aware of her limited offensive options beyond physical combat, was thrilled at the discovery. But after managing to decipher just two symbols, she felt overwhelmed.
Although she had recently been dedicating time to studying this ancient, power-infused language, she lacked fundamental texts or a proper foundation. Many symbols required sheer guesswork, making progress agonizingly slow.
Taking a few deep breaths, she recognized her impatience. She needed to adjust her mindset. She refocused on the present, watching Moira on the platform, passionately discussing women's and children's rights, occasionally punctuated by applause from the audience.
The venue was too noisy and distracting for a complex magical study. Thea clapped politely a few times, resolving to examine the necklace later. For now, she needed to play her part: the supportive daughter, the campaign mascot.