Ali and Omer took the elevator in silence, watching the digital numbers climb until the tenth floor was reached.5Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaHEMJCd4Sq
When the doors slid open, a polished corridor stretched before them, reflecting the soft opal glow of the recessed ceiling lights. 5Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZsIyIHeNke
Their reflections shimmered faintly across the high-gloss marble floor.
A subtle fragrance of expensive woodwork lingered in the air, blended with a clean, understated freshener. 5Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcw36esBUHZ
This floor always felt different. 5Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZh4yXdSlrG
Out of reach.5Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiXYI18CKaI
Too perfect.5Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoTFRTNqfVR
Too still. 5Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRHOsMmWvM4
Too majestic.
As they stopped before the massive glass doors of the Executive Suite, an officer from the firm's internal security pressed a control panel. 5Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGi1qKMBSyi
With a soft mechanical hiss, the electronic doors glided open. 5Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCDCaQARcbu
The Boss's personal assistant, already waiting inside, greeted them with a courteous nod and gestured for them to enter.
Beyond the threshold lay the realm of absolute authority.
Behind a massive mahogany desk sat Mr. Haider.
He occupied the room like a monarch upon a throne. 5Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkhdryfCCdn
The gold cufflinks beneath the sleeves of his tailored suit caught the opal light each time his hands moved . 5Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9ZJvpA1mRj
A luxury Swiss watch rested neatly against the crisp white cuff of his shirt.
Though well past sixty, he carried himself with razor-edged elegance. 5Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSTTnyPNp4w
Age had not diminished him; it had refined him. 5Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrEcxwmVudU
His posture remained perfectly straight, his shoulders squared, his presence commanding without the slightest effort. 5Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnPGNLqeMbx
The media often described him as a man who had "aged like fine wine."
Ali had been explaining the transformative potential of Artificial Intelligence for the past several minutes.
The irony of the situation wasn't lost on either him or Omer.
They were explaining AI...
...to Mr. Haider.
The founder and Chief Executive Officer of Haideron Tech.
The Southern Republic's first internationally acknowledged computer scientist.
For over four decades, his name had become synonymous with technological progress. 5Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡryXBjZAc5t
Every major innovation associated with the nation's software industry somehow led back to him. 5Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqKzsT03lyg
Newspapers had celebrated him. 5Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiyjrjwxI3P
Universities invited him as their chief guest.5Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8hm649bHxs
Television channels sought his opinions whenever technology made headlines.
To an entire generation of engineers, he wasn't merely an entrepreneur.
He was a phenomenon.
Ironically, the man himself never discouraged younger employees from challenging his ideas.5Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFMn7c0iBHw
In fact, Haideron Tech had earned a reputation for promoting talent over age. Executive appointments and promotions were based on merit rather than seniority—a philosophy Ali and Omer themselves had benefited from when they were recently promoted to Director IT and Assistant Director IT.
Mr. Haider appeared more interested in the large HT Corridor blueprint spread across his polished mahogany desk than in the discussion itself.
His priceless laptop remained closed beside it.
Almost absent-mindedly, he adjusted one of the gold cufflinks beneath the sleeve of his suit before tracing a finger across one corner of the blueprint.
The executive suite carried the familiar fragrance of his signature cologne—a refined blend of sandalwood and aged leather that seemed to belong to the room as much as its owner.
Omer glanced at Ali.
Perhaps the explanation had gone unheard.
He cleared his throat.
"Sir..."
"...AI can now write code, troubleshoot complex software bugs, optimize databases, and even design complete software architectures in minutes."
Mr. Haider slowly leaned back in his high-backed leather chair.
The leather creaked softly beneath him.
He picked up his gold-and-titanium Caviar iPhone, glanced briefly at the screen, then looked over its edge at the two young executives.
"Is that so?"
There was the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes.
"Then perhaps..."
"...I should appoint AI as Director IT."
His gaze shifted towards Ali.
"And Assistant Director IT."
Now it settled on Omer.
"I imagine the Accounts Department would appreciate the savings."
Ali and Omer exchanged a helpless glance.
"A technology company still needs people, sir," Ali replied.
Mr. Haider smiled.
"A contradiction already?"
He rose from his chair and walked towards the floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the Port City.
The city's skyline shimmered beneath the afternoon sun.
"This company..."
"...is my life's work."
"It wasn't built by machines."
"It certainly wasn't built by Artificial Intelligence."
He turned around slowly.
"It was built by people willing to work until everyone else gave up."
He adjusted his gold cufflinks .
"You young men spend most of your lives behind screens."
He looked from Ali to Omer.
"For studies..."
"...then for your careers..."
"...and whatever little time remains..."
"...for entertainment."
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"Correct me if I'm wrong."
Neither of them answered.
"We didn't."
His gaze drifted beyond the glass walls of the executive suite, as though he were looking four decades into the past.
"In the seventies..."
"...and well into the eighties..."
"...my friends and I believed the Port City belonged to us."
"We ruled the roads."
"Music."
"Late-night clubs."
"Long drives that had no destination."
"We lived first..."
"...and worried later."
His smile broadened.
"We thought we were untouchable."
Then his expression changed.
"And speaking of my own youth..."
His dark eyes grew distant.
"I was a league of my own."
For a brief moment, silence settled over the room.
"Whatever stood between me and my ambition..."
"...eventually stepped aside."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"Or perhaps..."
"...I simply made sure it did."
Ali remained silent.
Mr. Haider slowly turned back towards them.
"So what am I trying to tell you?"
"That success demands more than technical knowledge."
"It demands a life."
"A complete one."
"A man whose youth is confined to computer screens..."
"...rarely understands the world beyond them."
His gaze moved between Ali and Omer.
"And now..."
He made a small gesture with his hand.
"...Artificial Intelligence."
He chuckled softly.
"I've never liked that name."
"If it's artificial..."
"...how can it be intelligence?"
He raised an eyebrow.
"Have you ever heard people admire an artificial smile?"
"An artificial personality?"
"An artificial accent?"
"An artificial voice?"
"No."
"Because people instinctively value what is genuine."
He paused.
"So don't become dependent on something merely because it appears miraculous."
"The adjective artificial..."
"...has never appealed to me."
The room fell quiet.
Ali wasn't thinking about Artificial Intelligence anymore.
He was thinking about something else entirely.
Here stood the nation's most celebrated computer scientist.
A man who claimed to have spent his youth ruling the streets, roaming the city, living recklessly, rarely mentioning computers at all.
The timeline refused to balance.
Ali knew enough about computing in the late seventies and early eighties to understand what it demanded—long hours, relentless discipline, and countless nights behind monochrome screens.
It wasn't a field one mastered between clubs, parties, and long drives through the city.
For the first time in nearly ten years of working under Mr. Haider...
Ali found himself wondering whether there were missing pages in the man's history.
5Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAatxsf0fLt
5Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3qBWfJ5fJu
and then Add to home screen.