Chapter 4 BECOMING GEORGIA

Chapter 4 – BECOMING GEORGIA

"Again."

The word cracked across the studio like a whip.

Sharon inhaled slowly.

Her back ached.

Her jaw throbbed.

Her name was no longer Sharon inside these walls.

"From the top, Ms. Laurent," the voice corrected.

She straightened.

The training suite was mirrored on three sides. Bright white light eliminated shadow. There was no place for weakness to hide.

Across from her stood Eliza Morreau - speech consultant, late forties, immaculate, the kind of woman who probably ironed her silk scarves.

"Investors," Eliza prompted.

Sharon lifted her chin half an inch.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she began smoothly, "Laurent Global Holdings remains structurally sound despite speculative volatility."

"Pause," Eliza snapped.

Sharon stopped mid-breath.

"You over-enunciated 'volatility.' Georgia never overcompensates. She expects the room to keep up."

Sharon nodded.

"No nodding," Eliza said sharply. "Georgia does not seek affirmation."

A pulse of irritation flickered in Sharon's chest.

"I understand," she replied.

"Lower your tone."

She tried again.

"Ladies and gentlemen..."

Better.

"Again."

They had been doing this for four hours.

Cadence correction. Controlled breathing. Micro-expression monitoring.

A large screen behind Eliza replayed public appearances of Georgia Laurent in slow motion - each blink timed, each head tilt measured.

"Georgia blinks less than average," Eliza said clinically. "It signals dominance."

Sharon felt absurd.

But she adjusted.

Blink less. Breathe slower. Hold eye contact longer.

"Again."

The next room held a narrow corridor with motion sensors.

"Walk," instructed the posture consultant - a thin man named Henrik with the emotional warmth of a marble column.

Sharon stepped forward.

A sharp beep.

"Too fast."

She slowed.

Another beep.

"Shoulders."

She corrected them.

Another beep.

"You're protecting your ribcage. Georgia exposes vulnerability strategically. She does not shield herself physically."

Sharon froze.

"Exposes vulnerability?"

"Yes. It disarms."

"Is that why she doesn't smile?" Sharon asked before she could stop herself.

Henrik's expression did not change.

"Georgia smiles when victory is secured."

That sent a chill through her.

She walked again.

Slower.

Measured.

Deliberate.

The sensors remained silent this time.

"Better," Henrik said.

Sharon reached the end of the corridor.

Her reflection stared back at her from a mirrored wall.

For a flicker of a second-

She didn't recognize the posture.

It wasn't defensive.

It wasn't apologetic.

It was commanding.

She swallowed.

"Good," Henrik said. "Now do it without thinking."

They moved her into a study.

A desk.

Heavy ivory paper.

A fountain pen engraved with the Laurent crest.

A stack of original Georgia Laurent signatures lay before her.

Each one identical.

Perfect loops. Minimal flourish. No hesitation.

"Georgia never hesitates on her name," said the handwriting analyst. "Hesitation implies doubt."

Sharon picked up the pen.

Her first attempt wavered.

The analyst circled it in red.

"Unacceptable."

Again.

And again.

And again.

After the twentieth attempt, her hand began to cramp.

"You're rushing the L," he said.

"She signs hundreds of documents a week," Sharon muttered. "How does she maintain this consistency?"

"She practices."

That answer didn't satisfy her.

No one practiced their own signature that obsessively unless-

Unless it needed to withstand scrutiny.

She glanced at the original signatures again.

Every single one was flawless.

Almost too flawless.

"Were these written at the same time?" she asked.

"Yes."

"All of them?"

"Yes."

Her pulse ticked upward.

That wasn't normal.

Unless-

Unless someone was preparing for replication.

"Continue," the analyst ordered.

Evening approached, though Sharon had no real sense of time.

James entered quietly during the final session.

He stood at the back wall, observing.

A recording played - Georgia in a closed-door board meeting.

Her voice was calm. Controlled.

"You mistake silence for weakness," Georgia said in the clip. "That's an expensive error."

Sharon repeated it.

Eliza stopped her.

"You softened 'expensive.' It should sound like a warning."

Sharon tried again.

This time, she let something colder enter her tone.

"You mistake silence for weakness. That's an expensive error."

James's eyes lifted slightly.

Approval.

The smallest nod.

Sharon felt something twist inside her.

Not pride.

Power.

It scared her how natural it felt.

"Again," Eliza said.

Sharon delivered the line a third time.

Perfect.

James stepped forward.

"Good," he said quietly.

She turned toward him.

"How long did she train like this?" Sharon asked.

James didn't answer immediately.

"Georgia was prepared from childhood."

"For what?"

"For succession."

"And fear?"

A shadow passed over his expression.

"You're straying."

"No," Sharon replied softly. "I'm observing."

James approached her slowly.

"You are improving," he said.

"That's not what I asked."

He ignored that.

"Tomorrow," he continued, "you'll review private communications."

"Emails?"

"Yes."

"Personal?"

"Yes."

Her stomach tightened.

"That feels invasive."

"It's necessary."

"To what extent?"

He held her gaze.

"To full immersion."

Silence stretched.

"How many people know I'm not her?" she asked.

"Very few."

"How few?"

"Enough."

That answer chilled her more than a number would have.

They left her alone at the end of the night in a bedroom suite identical to Georgia's public residence.

Same marble fireplace. Same art. Same scent - something floral and sharp.

On the vanity sat a single note:

Introduce yourself.

To who?

There was no one there.

Just her reflection.

She stepped closer.

The woman staring back at her stood straighter than Sharon ever had.

Chin lifted.

Eyes steady.

No visible fear.

"Hello," she whispered.

Her voice sounded wrong.

She adjusted.

Lower.

Slower.

"Good evening."

Better.

She tilted her head slightly.

Reduced blinking.

"Thank you for your concern," she said, practicing Georgia's cadence. "Laurent Global remains secure."

Her own face felt foreign.

Like a mask that had fused to skin.

She leaned closer to the mirror.

And that's when she noticed it.

A faint scratch along the inner edge of the vanity drawer.

Small.

Almost invisible.

She crouched and opened the drawer carefully.

Inside-

Nothing but neatly arranged jewelry.

But along the wood paneling-

Carved into the interior in tiny letters-

RUN.

Her breath stalled.

The word was rough.

Hastily scratched.

Not decorative.

Desperate.

Sharon's pulse pounded.

She traced the indentation lightly with her fingertip.

Fresh.

Not years old.

Recent.

Someone else had stood here.

Someone else had opened this drawer.

Someone else had left a warning.

Her mind raced.

Another impersonator?

Or Georgia herself?

The bedroom door handle turned slowly.

Sharon snapped the drawer shut and stood upright.

James entered.

He looked composed.

Controlled.

Watching.

"How are you adjusting?" he asked.

"Fine."

He stepped further inside.

His gaze swept the room.

Then landed on her.

"You're learning quickly."

"I have a good teacher."

He didn't smile.

"That will serve you."

Silence lingered.

Then-

"You have a dinner tomorrow," he said.

"With the board."

"Yes."

"Am I ready?"

"You don't have a choice."

He turned toward the door.

Then paused.

"One more thing."

Her heart thudded.

"Yes?"

"Do not open drawers you are not instructed to open."

The air left her lungs.

He knew.

He hadn't looked inside.

He didn't need to.

He exited the room quietly.

The lock clicked from the outside.

Sharon stood frozen.

Her eyes slowly moved toward the vanity.

Toward the drawer.

Toward the word carved into wood.

RUN.

Her phone - still technically without signal - vibrated once.

She didn't want to look.

But she did.

The screen flickered on.

A single image appeared.

Grainy security footage.

Timestamped two months ago.

A woman standing in this exact room.

From behind.

Same height.

Same build.

Same hair color.

The woman turned slightly-

Not enough to see her face clearly.

But enough to confirm one thing.

It wasn't Georgia.

And it wasn't Sharon.

The image glitched.

Then vanished.

Replaced by one final message:

You're next.

The bedroom lights flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Then stabilized.

Sharon's reflection stared back at her from the mirror.

But this time-

Her posture wasn't just rehearsed.

It was rigid.

Like prey sensing a trap snapping shut.

Becoming Georgia wasn't about learning how to speak.

Or walk.

Or sign.

It was about erasing the person she used to be.

And someone had already tried.

And failed.