Over the next few days, Moira Queen's face could be seen everywhere—on television, in newspapers, across the radio. One day she was speaking about Star City's urban development plans; the next, she was announcing a crackdown on crime, boasting about how many dealers and how much narcotics had been seized.
For a while, Moira seemed like the rising star of Star City politics.
Thea wasn't surprised. Some people were simply born for politics—sharp, poised, and naturally magnetic—but their potential often lay dormant until the right opportunity arrived. Once that moment came, they soared.
It reminded Thea of something from her past life: President George W. Bush. People mocked his low intelligence, his poor grades, but the man had known one-third of Yale's student body by name—and remembered each person's hobbies. For a politician, that was a terrifying kind of genius.
What did surprise Thea, though, was that Moira's sudden political enthusiasm began to strain her relationship with Walter Steele. Moira had grown so busy that she barely had time for her daughter, let alone her boyfriend.
Thea didn't mind. She actually supported it. Walter was a good man, but if they married, she'd be getting another stepfather—and that idea didn't sit well with her. Better to keep things at "close companions."
That evening, Moira lay on her bed, exhausted from another media interview but glowing with excitement. She had finally realized that she was no great businesswoman. Several of her advisors had already hinted—politely—that she should step away from corporate affairs and consider public office.
She wanted to test the waters, to see how her family would respond. Of course, by "family," she meant one and a half people: Thea counted as one, Walter half.
"Thea," she asked softly, both of them lying on the bed, "you worked so hard preparing everything, and then I took all the spotlight. You're not angry, are you?"
Young people loved recognition—at least, in Western culture they did. It was a fair question.
"How could I be?" Thea smiled lightly. "If it were me on that stage, I probably would've ruined everything. You deserve at least ninety percent of the credit for how well it turned out."
That was true enough. Thea had only made a few phone calls and chatted with some people. The real heavy lifting had been done by Felicity.
Moira exhaled, reassured. She had only expected that conference to be routine—she hadn't anticipated the chain reaction that followed. If it had damaged her relationship with her daughter, that would have been a real tragedy.
"Thea… what do you think about me entering politics?" Moira's eyes were bright, almost pleading. "These last few days, I've felt alive—happier than I've been in years. It's completely different from running the company."
Finally! Thea could barely stop herself from cheering.
Her plan had worked. It had taken careful nudging and a bit of luck, but she had successfully steered her mother onto the political path ahead of schedule.
Of course, she couldn't just blurt out Yes! Please run for office already—I'm dying to be a mayor's daughter!
So she said casually, "Whatever makes you happy, Mom. If you think politics suits you, go for it. Who knows, maybe when you're a big-shot official, I'll get to bask in your glory. Oh, by the way… if you do leave the company, what about you and Walter?"
If this conversation were happening under an Asian-style family roof, talking about a "stepfather issue" in bed would've been unbearably awkward. But here in Star City, it was completely normal.
Moira hesitated. "I've thought about that… Politicians aren't saints, but they do have to maintain appearances. Right now, as a widow, I can still play the 'tragic strength' card. If word got out that I'd remarried so soon, my reputation might not collapse—but it would definitely take a hit."
After a moment's silence, she added, "Let's just… keep things as they are for now."
Thea understood instantly. Ah, the American version of 'cutting ties with one stroke of the sword.' Her mother really did have a ruthless streak. Probably the same mindset that let her send her husband and son off to sea years ago.
She gave a silent moment of respect to gentle Walter Steele. Farewell, stepdad-that-could-have-been. You'll be missed… sort of.
Still, it was a relief. The stepfather crisis was officially over.
In the original timeline, Moira and Walter hadn't had any children together—but with all the butterfly effects Thea had caused, who knew? The idea of a mixed-race half-sibling made her shiver. Not out of prejudice—just… confusion. Three siblings, three fathers, one mother—that would be a soap opera she didn't want to live in.
Her mother entering politics and her stepfather being quietly dismissed—two missions accomplished. Perfect. Thea leaned over and kissed Moira on the cheek.
"You silly girl…" Moira laughed and patted her affectionately.
Over the next few days, Moira began transferring her corporate duties to Walter. Though marriage seemed unlikely now, she still trusted him enough to let him take over as acting CEO.
Walter couldn't understand why Moira had suddenly grown distant. He assumed it was his fault—that he hadn't been passionate enough—and resolved to stay persistent.
Meanwhile, Thea had her own transitions to make. Her acceptance letter from Princeton had arrived. Unlike universities back in her previous life's country, there was no elaborate ceremony here—no speeches, no orientation. She could start or leave anytime; earn enough credits, and she'd graduate.
She handed all software division matters over to Felicity, officially nominating her as the new department head.
When Felicity learned she'd have to update the facial recognition system from version 1.0 to 6.0, she nearly lost it.
"This is soul-crushing! You Queens have money—hire more people!"
And that's exactly what she did. On her first day as head of the department, she recruited thirty new engineers. Each of her original three subordinates was suddenly promoted, each managing a team of ten. The project would get done eventually… slowly.
Meanwhile, Thea's hoverboard project was entering its final testing phase. She wanted to finish it before leaving Star City—and maybe make some serious cash while she was at it.
Tech gear was expensive. Her allowance had long dried up, and if not for Felicity occasionally treating her to dinner, she might've actually starved.
"Thea," Felicity asked, pen in mouth, "why are you calling it the Red Arrow Board? What about Green Arrow Board? Sounds cooler."
"What's wrong with red? It's bright, passionate, full of life!" Thea argued. "Green's my brother's color, anyway."
Felicity frowned, muffled by the pen. "Red's also the color of blood and violence, you know…"
"What kind of logic is that?! Green means rot and decay to me!"
The argument echoed through the lab—two geniuses bickering over paint colors, one chasing idealism, the other irony.
For Thea, though, things were looking up: her mother was chasing politics, her stepdad was out of the picture, and she was about to take her next step into the wider world.
Finally, the chaos of Star City felt a little quieter.